Yesterday was my first actual class back since I had to sit out/was out of town (conveniently during the same time.)
And I’ll be honest with you, part of me didn’t want to go.
Don’t get me wrong, I love ballet. I’d dance every day if I could.
So why didn’t I want to go?
Honestly, I’m not sure.
Maybe a part of me got lazy. Maybe I liked having time to get things done.
Maybe it’s because it’s the more difficult and advanced class, with the students who are better than me. Maybe it’s because I was exhausted of facing that by just the thought of it.
Still, I went.
Like all the time before, I told myself how much happier I would be after going.
That I want this.
There is always the risk that it’ll be an off day and my fears will be confirmed and I’ll wish I hadn’t gone. But the odds of this happen are far less than the odds of it not happening.
I went, and I was exhausted.
My arches were angry and my calves were sore.
I had to soak my ankle after class to be safe. It did alright in class, but I could feel it which isn’t a good thing. I figured better safe than sorry.
These days can be extra overwhelming, since I’m still adjusting to the new studio.
It’s getting better, and I’m acclimating, but part of me is still homesick for the place I can never be again. To be surrounded by something familiar, predictable, and to be around people whose names I know and who know mine. There’s an unspoken competitive strand that every dancer gives off, and sometimes it can be overwhelming. Until you get to know them, and are reminded that even the greatest dancers are human and probably look to you for one thing or another that you had no idea about.
Leaving class, a few more people spoke to me. One of the sweet younger ones smiled at me and I think recognized me from Nutcracker rehearsals. My teacher smiled at me as she passed by me.
I know I’m not perfect, and I know this class is a little above where I stand, but it is a nice feeling to go and leave feeling like people like having you there. Instead of feeling like you don’t belong or aren’t wanted.
Here is a picture of one of the younger girls watching the older girls doing their fouette’s.
I didn’t get my phone out fast enough for the better shot of it, but considering how long it took to get my phone, I was lucky to have a chance at a shot at all.