I am going to tell you a story. It’s a short story over a long span of time.
I took ballet for nine years.
Of course, when I was wee, I wanted to be a prima ballerina. That shifted into just plain enjoyment, trying to get better, working harder, dancing boldly on stage, wearing pretty costumes.
At the end of my eighth grade year, I finally made the Company. I had been on pointe for a year. My toes hated it, and me. I loved ballet but I loved music more, and I had to make a choice: ballet several days a week, or music several days a week.
I chose music. I quit ballet. My senior year of high school I took again, at a different studio. This studio was rather lax on technique and discipline, which was a major departure from my earlier training, but I still enjoyed it. I did it for fun.
Fast forward six and a half years and I am attending Atlanta Ballet’s Nutcracker in 2013 with my best friend, Katie. Katie took ballet longer than me (at a different studio) and we share the glee we get from ballet and also we commiserate over missing it.
We’re really close to the stage and I’m watching the dancers flit over the stage like they are lighter than air and I really, really miss it. I was never that good, but I still felt like I could float. I knew what I could do and I knew how to push myself, and I felt beautiful.
That weekend, I resolved: I am going to take ballet again. I want to feel like that again. I want to flit around and feel lovely.
And so I signed up for adult ballet classes at a very reputable studio here in the city and attended my first one tonight.
It was tough.
It wasn’t anything I hadn’t learned before, but, my body forgot how to do it. Years of neglect. Passés and pliés in the kitchen and piqués down the hall just don’t really cut it.
It was tough but it was fun. I do love a good challenge.
And my legs are burrrrrning.
I think I’ll keep at it.
The End (or is it?)