I attended my first ballet class at two years old. An extremely chubby kid, I could barely walk ten steps at that age without toppling over, but my parents jumped on the put-your-little-girl-in-ballet-class bandwagon regardless. Most girls are put in ballet class at a very young age. Of those girls, most quit within a couple of years. For whatever reason, ballet stuck for me. By middle school, I took ballet class five days a week, by high school six to seven. I played Clara in the Nutcracker when I was eleven, and the Sugar Plum Fairy when I was eighteen. Next to, maybe, school and my family, ballet was the biggest part of my life for over ten years.
When I graduated from high school, I didn’t think my ballet career was ending. I knew I wasn’t going to join a professional company or even concentrate in dance at college, but I thought I’d take ballet class maybe a couple of times a week either through Brown or at a studio in downtown Providence. But among all of the craziness of freshman year– a new home, new city, new classes, and new ‘friends’– ballet fell through the cracks. After my first semester I thought, okay, I’ll sign up for a ballet class or two next semester. This was, of course, to no avail. I am now a junior here at Brown, and I haven’t put on a leotard and tights since my senior year of high school. The older I get, the smaller a percentage of my life my ballet career comes.
Sometimes I feel really sad about quitting. Beyond sad, I’m regretful and deeply nostalgic. I often think about how weird it is having something go from being the biggest part of your life to taking up none of your time. Upon reflection, however, I am able to understand and appreciate that ballet is still a big part of my life in that it has truly influenced who I am. It taught me about hard work, commitment, competition, and discipline. The importance of collaboration, teamwork, and camaraderie. An activity marked by constant physical and mental scrutiny, ballet made me less sensitive to criticism. It made me aware of my body and the space I take up in a way that I really value. It taught me to appreciate my body and fuel it consciously and healthily. (On this point, I consider myself lucky. The constant criticism and focus on one’s body in ballet has and can have horrible, life-threatening effects on a woman or man’s self-image and mental health. I recognize that in not experiencing ballet to this negative extent, I am not only incredibly fortunate, but also an exception). Ballet also gave me lifelong friends and a real community. Whenever I go home, I always visit my old ballet studio and watch the younger girls perform solos I used to perform myself with immeasurable pride. I can recognize a fellow dancer by the way she stands, and strike up an immediate conversation.
Then there are the slightly sillier, more lighthearted, but equally important things ballet has given me. I can still touch my toes, do the splits, balance on one foot, and jump notably high. Most of my friends cannot. I can understand a little bit of French, the language of Ballet, and Russian, the language of my old teacher. I can go to ballet performances– from Brown University to Lincoln Center– and have the time of my life, rather than fall asleep as my dad does. And finally, when Halloween rolls around and a friend wants to dress up as Tinkerbell, I can assemble the perfect ballerina bun on top of her head.
I will make no promises as to whether or not one of these days I will actually take the plunge and enroll in a ballet class. There is one in my C@B cart right now, but I guess we shall see. I will say, however, that whatever sadness or hesitation I feel over ballet is nothing compared to the joy I feel when I reflect upon its contribution to my life.