All my life, I have wanted to do ballet.
On a random afternoon in my sixth year of life, you could find me whirling and twirling in the living room to “Wild Child” by Enya. A wannabe dancer.
But, I never got to make my dancing dreams come true. Until now.
But it’s quite surprising—sometimes, when life hands you the opportunity to do that thing you always said you wanted to do, you can find yourself wimping out. Maybe that’s why this “I want to do ballet” idea was a bit pie-in-the-sky.
Did I look up ballet studios? Once or twice. Did I save money for class fees purposefully? Well, not purposefully…
I finally decided, I couldn’t keep wasting time. Did I want to, or didn’t I? It was as simple as that. Thankfully, when I was researching, summer was coming up and found beginner ballet summer lessons at an actual dance school.
I daydreamed about how graceful I’d be. How it would come naturally. How the instructor would say, “Why didn’t you start earlier? We could’ve really done something with you!”
(I’m trusting you with these selfish, grandiose inner thoughts, so don’t judge me)
My first class started on a crisp, gorgeous June day. I arrived an hour early, because I’m anxious about starting new things (especially when they involve overly detailed parking instructions…).
The feeling of entering the ballet studio was unlike any other. I wanted to bottle the moment up and keep it close to my heart forever. I walked in, and there was a holiness that descended upon me. The stack of tutus made me want to clasp my hands together and jump up and down like a child. And to the left, GORGEOUS AND HUGE WINDOWS let in natural light, along with a view of Disney Concert Hall and The Broad.
Wow, what a view.
Our instructor jumped right into class and wasted no time. She showed us exercises, and then we quickly had to pick them up and complete them with the music. I had trouble remembering which foot should be in front, when to switch, and above all to keep my knees painfully straight.
Halfway through class, my brain simply broke. It said, Nope, kid. We’re done.
We put the barres away and did center work—well, everyone else did center work. My brain hard rejected the choreography and I was just flopping like a fish in the corner, a half-second behind everyone else as I attempted to follow the instructor and flip her mirror image to reflect her movements.
She makes everything look so effortless, but then I see myself in the mirror and think—aw darn. It does not look effortless. And why am I so crunchy? My flexibility is a negative fifty-seven, as this point (just a wild guess).
My second class was last week, and I’m lying if I said I didn’t leave a little teary. I love class, don’t get me wrong—I smile like a dork most of the time, because I’m living my dream. But, I also totally messed up the choreography and got called out in front of the whole class and had to try again (not in a negative way, but my face was burning up).
I thought I saw judgment in some of the more advanced students’ eyes. I suddenly felt far too curvy for this, far too awkward, and simply just lacking.
But I gave myself a pep talk.
“Listen—You are welcome to fade away and enter every class with shame. You can bumble your way through this summer, and then never do ballet again. You can think everyone else is judging you. OR, you can embrace the awkward. You can realize that, if you stop trying, or if you shrink away, you are only hurting yourself and no one else. What if, instead, you practice at home? You strive for perfection, for beating the version you were last week?”
So, that’s my new mantra. I’m aware that I may think I’m the worst in the class, but I wasn’t paying attention to anyone else. Maybe someone else got pointed out. Maybe someone else had the teacher holding her knee to make sure it was ramrod straight. Maybe someone else totally botched the choreography, lost the music, and never got it back during that specific routine.
But I refuse to be in my head about this.
When I was going to sign up for ballet, I asked myself—Is this something I will regret not doing? And I decided, yes. I don’t want to get sick one day and wish I’d done these things when I had my health.
So, I’m bumbling my way through it. And laughing away the awkward.
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