When I went into “retirement” from ballet, I never thought I’d stand at a barre again. Dance was my entire life for almost two decades; I trained for over 20 hours a week after school, my weekends were regularly dedicated to rehearsals and I spent my summers at intensives across the country. I always imagined myself becoming a professional ballet dancer, maybe going on to teach ballet or work in the arts in some other capacity.
I quit unexpectedly.
It was just a few weeks into the pandemic, and I felt a sudden shift. I always valued the community of a dance class; I learned a surprising amount just from being around my peers. It was hard to take classes in isolation, but it was torture to shrink the combinations to fit in my small New York suburban kitchen, using a dining room chair as my barre. My refrigerator stood in the way of adagio, and the tile floor made turning painful. Combinations that once made me feel alive felt soulless. The hour-and-a-half classes I never wanted to end turned into long periods of watching the minute hand tick by. For the first time in my life, I loathed seeing ballet class on my schedule.
I decided to take some time off, just until life went back to normal. About six years passed, and I found other ways to spend the time that had once been occupied by studio hours. Between supplemental coursework, extracurricular involvement and personal passion projects, my temporary hiatus became seemingly permanent.
I’ve been getting the itch to move recently. I saw a few contemporary ballets on Broadway and at New York City Center that resonated with me. I started taking yoga classes a couple of times a week.
The moment that switched it all, though? I was walking to the bathroom at work when I heard someone playing cinematic scores on the grand piano in the hallway. It had been a particularly rough day, and the only thing my brain wanted was to take my frustrations out with a grand allegro. I got home that night and activated a class card for adult open ballet at my local studio.
As I slipped on my new ballet flats to replace the hole-riddled pair that waited for an encore that never came, I was nervous. But then, as my classmates started to come in, I saw familiar faces who also recognized me; peers from when I previously took open-level classes during summer breaks. I started pliés, and muscle memory kicked in. I felt successful until I started grand adagio and petite allegro, but I knew I’d feel my stamina atrophy somewhere.
It’s been a few weeks of Saturdays at the barre, and I never realized how much my adult self needed just a piece of my childhood routine. Pop culture often talks about healing our inner child by pursuing activities or expressions that felt out of reach in our younger years. However, I now feel that continuing the parts of childhood that provided the most stability and strength helps me feel grounded.
For me, returning to ballet has added more than just a weekly occurrence to look forward to. I was a staunch perfectionist in my earlier years of training, mostly because I felt it was necessary to pursue my dream career. Now, I show up as the opposite of a model ballerina; I’m typically wearing athletic shorts and an oversized T-shirt instead of a leotard and tights, while my hair is messily put up in a claw clip instead of a neat bun. Rather than trying to complete every combination perfectly and adding extra challenges, I do what I feel comfortable with each week. Sometimes that means marking jumps; other times, it means modifying a sequence to make it a little more comfortable.
This “destination over journey” mindset has permeated into other areas of my life. At school and work, I feel more empowered to enter spaces as my full self, rather than presenting myself to fit into a mold. I’m also a lot more comfortable with failure; I may not hit all the marks one week, but I know how to listen to my body to improve. Accepting myself as I am has been key to this growth. I may never be as talented as my 15-year-old self, but I’m having a lot more fun than she did.
While ballet has lifted me in my adulthood, your childhood passion has a spot in your adult life. Whether it’s soccer, gaming, painting or crafting, the activities that made you feel the most “you” growing up can serve the same purpose all these years later, while giving you a bit of respite from the demands of adult life. These passions were formative in your development, but we’re at our best when we allow ourselves to continue finding the joy that carried us to where we are now.