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Yesterday I noticed my teacher watching me.
Not to say that they don’t watch us in class at this studio, because they do. They walk around and look at each of us to make sure we are doing the full execution correctly. Some will correct us separately, some correct the entire class in a general statement. My Monday teacher is usually the general statement type.

I missed class last Monday, and really wasn’t feeling too hot yesterday either, but I really wanted to be there and I had this notion in my head that going to dance would make me feel better. (Sometimes it does. And yesterday it did, if only for the 1.25 hours I was there) So I went, and was really wanting to do well and think about the movements as I was doing them instead of just going through motions.
I thought about what my turnout looked like, about leading with my heel, having a straight supporting leg, keeping my hips square, ribs over hips, arms strong. Ms. Lori has been challenging us with this and even though we haven’t had her for two weeks, I want to implement the things she’s been teaching us.
There was a good class full, but not an excruciating amount of people there yesterday, so our position at the barre was comfortable. As we were doing one of the combinations, I could feel my teacher watching me. I noticed her eyes in my direction, and she had stopped where she was (probably to avoid getting grand battement’d in the fact by some of the students) and was looking my way. Not just a glance, but an actual attention-focused gaze.

My first thought was, “Crap. I must be doing this wrong. It probably looks funny. Please tell me if it looks funny.” But I just tried to do my best and keep on the music and beat correctly and do the combination right.

When we went to the center, I noticed it again.
I stay on flat in this class because I’m not confident with some of the things we do. (I’m hoping to gain confidence and be able to do it next year.) The combination involved a tendu, coupe, pas de bourree, pique coupe, pique coupe, pique passe then it transitioned to a pique sous sous and a few other things I can’t remember now, but it was a lot of change of direction and keeping the energy up. It was quick.
When my group went, I noticed her watching our side of the floor. The good kids most people watch were on the opposite side, but she was watching ours. I figured she was focusing on my friend Mari who really has been improving substantially and doing really, really well overall. When we finished, I asked if she noticed her watching our direction and she said she did.
So it wasn’t just me imagining things.

The next thing we did across the floor, which involved adagio and a lot of balance and holds, was actually a really pretty piece. It felt good, even in it’s challenge. Chasse, temps lie, develope a la second, waltz, waltz, pique, pique, pas de bourree, pirouette, rond de jambe, en dedans pirouette, passe, extend arabesque, fondu in arabesque, and something else. (I might have mixed up two differen’t combos. Oh well.) Anyway, it was slow and specific and I’ve noticed my balancing ability improving so I’ve been really trying to hold balances at the barre and on the floor. I’ve also been trying to use my epaulement and have been paying attention to my head placement and all that. This time she walked over to my side and was watching. I felt her eyes in my direction again and just did my best even though I flubbed here and there. But this time, Mari was in a different group.

I’m not 100% sure she was watching. She could have been watching someone behind or beside me. If she was watching me, I’m not sure why–I could be doing something incorrectly, or holding myself in a funny way, or I could be commanding presence, or not at all. But this isn’t the type of class where someone like me is watched so intently for so long. It’s seen more as a class to practice rather than to learn new things all the time. (Many of the more advanced dancers take it to get more dancing into their week.)

Either way, I want to work harder. I  want to improve. I want to be better.

Also, my new pointe shoes were finally located and are now in my possession and sewn. I’m hoping  to be able to break them in today or tomorrow. I wish I knew more tips and trips for breaking in capezio’s, because they’re made as a “pre-broken in shoe” yet I break the shank before the box.
Trial and error I suppose.
Soon I’ll have the space and ability to practice more and really get my strength up. I’m on pins and needles.

Today I felt defeated.

There was hardly anyone in class yesterday.
I’m not sure what the cause was for the lack of people–if there’s another bout of the flu going around, if there’s rampant exams, if they’re burnt out from rehearsals, etc.–or if I preferred it being a smaller class or not, but I made it through.

It was rough, especially after having my little dance heart stomped on this weekend. yeah, no, you’re not getting an explanation on that one. But I knew that the one way to heal from that is to get up and keep going. To face everything that hurt you. To not just cower away and let it win.

After class, two of the mom’s of two of our younger dancers that are insanely good were in the foyer waiting for the class after mine to end. One of them actually lives a bit farther out than I do and recently learned we were practically neighbors. She struck up conversation with me when my class ended, and managed to keep conversation until the class was over. No one here really knows me, like really knows me, and it was pretty cool to have someone asking me questions about myself.

“How long have you been dancing?”
“I think it’s so great that you started dancing as an adult.”
“We’re really glad you’re at this studio, why did you decide on this one?”
“Yeah, I didn’t understand the rivalry at first. Weird, isn’t it?”
“It was so great of you to take all those pictures backstage! Thank you so much! What made you think to do that?”
“Do you take other pictures? Besides dance ones? You should put up your business card!”
“That’s what so great here, they see the value. Everyone is valuable.”
“Every time we pass your house insert daughter’s name here always points it out.”
“What are your costumes like for Oz?”
“How are rehearsals going?”

Like, seriously, it made me feel good.
I guess it didn’t hit me how difficult it is to do what I do at my age. Not necessarily physically, but mentally. Although, physicality sure does play a part. There is so much that goes into it that you don’t really think about. And then not knowing anyone, and no one knowing me, sometimes the judgement feels heavy. And sometimes my interpretation of what other people think or feel is completely wrong, I just don’t know until I’m told. And most don’t know me to say anything.
It can be difficult maintaining optimism throughout.
To try and keep the spirits up for everyone else when they express self doubt.

It’s just difficult.
But, the Mom voiced it, and maybe that’s when it actually started sinking in,
“You just don’t give up.”

I could have. So many times, I could have.
But, I guess I don’t.
I want this.
It would hurt more to give up than all of these opposing pains.
I just won’t give up.

I’ve been debating and debating all weekend on whether or not I would post about my first two rehearsals.
They weren’t bad, but somehow I managed to find myself crying my eyes out in my car anyway, and the feeling seems to have lingered.

I’ve decided against posting it here and in favor of just leaving it to the barely-written journal entry.

I try to be as open and honest I can in this blog since this is about my ballet journey and this weekend was part of that journey, but honestly I just don’t think I have it in me.

I don’t want to hear that it will get better, I know it will.
I don’t want to hear that this is temporary, I know it is.
But that doesn’t mean that these feelings aren’t real right now.
And they’ve thrown me a doozy of a blow.

So, I’m gonna do the mature thing (hah) and avoid it until it passes and things get better, staying away from most people and pretending I’m okay until I don’t have to pretend anymore.

Stay tuned for better days.

I received one of the most meaningful compliments at ballet yesterday, and it wasn’t even related to dance.

I’m not the greatest dancer.
I don’t stand out.
There isn’t anything significant about me.
I’m not one someone looks at and says, “I want her!”
Honestly, I never have been. In anything I’ve done.
I’m used to being seen as the person you can throw behind the scenes because if they’re there, they won’t complain. This happened a lot in theater, which really made my heart a little sad because I love acting and I know I have a lot of talent and am capable of succeeding in it but I either 1.) can’t sing or 2.) get overlooked.
I’ve come to largely accept it and just work as hard as I can at what I’m doing anyway.
To do it for myself.

Okay, so, that isn’t 100% relevant to this post, but I guess it is.
I was looking at the rehearsal schedule for Wizard of Oz when some of the other dancers and their mom’s started coming in. Soon there was a little crowd around the board as we took pictures of the pages and discussed scheduling and roles and such. One of the mom’s talked of how her daughter was devastated to have the roll she did because the other girls her age were a different role and she felt left out. We talked of the various groupings, and how one of the girls in my class is such a beautiful dancer, but one of the mom’s felt she gets robbed of better roles, even though she gets good ones. Another mom chimed in that apparently this girl just started taking dance seriously, but she is doing what she needs to do to stand out and be noticed (going to festival, taking more classes, etc.) so her chances at better roles are hopeful. In the back of my mind I’m wishing I was younger, or could afford more classes so I could be better and improve more quickly, but reality is what it is.
One of the mom’s asked the other if they were going to the Emerald City Ball the company is hosting. They talked of if it is required for board members, the complications of the Ball starting thirty minutes after the last rehearsal ends and if they would allow their younger children to go.
(Here’s where the story really begins.)
One mom said to the other, “I mean, I could go, but it’s just kind of complicated find a babysitter and all.”
I raise my hand slowly.
She looks at me and says, “That’s right! I forgot you live so close to us!” (both of us live out of town.) “Do you babysit?”
“I sure do! I love kids! I was talking to [her daughter] about how old I was and how she didn’t believe me and I told her I’ve been watching kids since I was ten, so sometimes I’m confused for younger because I get along with younger kids. She replied, ‘You could babysit me!'” and we laughed.
The other mom said,
“That’s what I love about you. These kids genuinely like you, and you like them. You’re nice to them and you can tell you enjoy it. That’s not something you see all the time.”
Speechless. All I managed was, “I just really love them. I don’t know why. I just love kids.”
Through bumbling words.

But, hear me out, this is something I really struggle with. I mean, I love kids. I love them so much, but you don’t typically see twenty-six-year-olds hanging out with fifteen, twelve, nine-year-olds because they want to. Recently I’ve even been concerned it may be seen as inappropriate, even though there’s nothing inappropriate about it. The kids I actually hang out with know that, as do their parents, (I make sure of it) but as they introduce me to their friends and I get weird looks…I just don’t want to be weird, I guess?
And then people seem to be on this “You’re not fifteen?” kick, and that can be kind of disheartening.

I’m not fifteen.
I am an adult.

I get that I look younger, thanks to my Mom who looks forty-three when she’s really pushing sixty-two, but looking fifteen isn’t as much about looks as it is maturity.
I am an adult.

Furthermore, I’m an adult whose lived a life that made my fifty-something-year-old counselor cry because she can’t imagine someone dealing with everything I have. Sure, there are people who have had harder lives, and I am very privileged in many ways that I try not to take for granted; but that doesn’t cancel out or negate all the tragedy I’ve known. Sometimes I feel like I’m making this stuff up, but then I go back in my journals where I wrote down how I felt as these things happened and I remember that it wasn’t made up, that this is my life and these events occurred. No matter how far into the recesses of my mind I try and put it all. (It’s no wonder things come up here and there that try and bring me down.) But the way I see it, what’s the point of letting that all overwhelm me? What’s the point in talking about it all the time if it does nothing? If you want to know something, ask. If you’re struggling with something and you confide in me about it, I’ll tell you my stories if it’ll help you have some hope. But why live your life like those demons are still on your back, even if some days they are? So to be seen as a teen I guess shows that I’m accomplishing that, but I don’t want to be seen as someone who lacks maturity or who “adults” (like, the real ones) question or whatever.
I get that I don’t live a typical life for someone my age, but this is my hand that life has given me, and I’m playing my cards the best I see fit. It’s unconventional. And that in itself is difficult enough.

My head tells me all sorts of things most people don’t know or realize, and moreso that they don’t take the time to notice because they don’t know how to handle me if I’m not sunshine in roses–a stark contrast to what my life has really been. So I keep it in. Even what most people who do know things know isn’t the half of it.

I also hate being told that I talk a lot, because I really don’t. Not about things that matter. The drawn out words people associate with me are mostly surface to help alleviate awkwardness or make other people more comfortable. Not for me. If I’m comfortable, I’m more quiet. Which is ironic being that this blog is so lengthy. Oh well. I wouldn’t expect people to understand which is why there isn’t a post about it.

Being told by a Mom of some of the dancers, one who is sixteen and one who is ten being the ones I know, that her favorite thing about me is this one fact that most people can’t get past or understand…it brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it.
I don’t think she’ll ever realize what her words meant to me, and I’m fairly certain she didn’t realize she was saying anything out of the ordinary rather than just stating an observation. But those few words did more good for my heart than this poor beating thing has had in months.

You see something in someone else you enjoy? Tell them.
Have a compliment in your head? Say it.
Most times what you see as common knowledge about a person is something they don’t realize in themselves or don’t hear enough. Something they forget or overlook.
Say it.

These are the things I learn in ballet class.

As I’ve said before, I love Ms. Lori.
In case you didn’t hear it enough, I made an entire blog post about her and how wonderful she is.
I think it would be safe to say that she is the leader of a class that is full of wonderful and talented people. When you get all of us together, it’s almost like magic.

I have said before how Ms. Lori has mentioned that the class possesses something so special that she is telling her friends about it, and she brought it up again yesterday.
Even now, I’m struggling to find words to describe what this class possesses.

There was a point at the very beginning of barre where we did a combination and held it at the end and when we finished, one of the girls shivered. Ms. Lori asked if she was cold, since it was like an ice box when we first got in there and she said, “No, it was just, I don’t know, something about that. We were all together and it was just, beautiful.”
This was just at the beginning of barre.
It wasn’t working on recital, or doing some grand thing in the center. It was just barre; the most basic of ballet repertoire. (Granted, the most important.)
Ms. Lori commented again on what this class means to her, “I talk about you guys. It’s like there’s some kind of magic in this room.”

And there is.
There’s something about this group, that when we come together to dance, magic happens.

We may not be the best, we may not be the most advanced, but there’s something binding among us that creates a bit of magic that is near-tangible.

Honestly, I don’t want this dance year to end. I don’t want to leave this class. I don’t want to get to the next level and have the lax habits of some of the other girls infiltrating what we have.

I want these girls to hold on to what we have, to know that they are capable, to try without fear of opinion.
And maybe that’s it.
Maybe this group is so special because their minds are still pure.
What I mean to say is, the world hasn’t gotten in and convinced them that they can’t.
That their efforts aren’t enough.
That it’s pointless to try.
That they aren’t going to get anywhere.
These girls still dream.
They dream and work hard and improve.

When everyone was putting on their pointe shoes, Ms. Lori was making comments about the recital piece and how great it’s looking and how we’re ahead and almost done and it’s only January.
I said, “I love this class. This is the class that makes me want to dance.”
And she said, “This is the class that makes me want to teach.”

I can’t tell you what it means to be a part of something that makes someone feel that way.

There are multiple times I’ve written about class and mentioned how much I love my Ballet/pointe IV teacher. It’s easy to see why within five minutes of time with her. (Really, you can see in 30 seconds or less) Yesterday’s class just left my heart bursting and I figured I would make an overall appreciation post for Ms. Lori.

Let me start with before class. There was over an hour until class started, and I was reading in my car like I usually do. I get a text from a photographer friend of mine text me and asked me if I was doing anything at 7pm. She had a food and wine show she was shooting for a magazine here locally and was told she could bring a plus one. I told her I would if I could, but I have ballet that starts at seven. I seem to have a knack for missing these due to dance or a previously booked shoot, which makes me sad, but this is the life I choose and I do like my choices, so that’s nice. She text me again about ten minutes later saying she ran into Ms. Lori at Barnes & Noble and asked if she wanted to go with her. Ms. Lori works for the magazine as well, which is rather ironic. She had to turn her down do to the fact that she was, ya know, teaching my class.

So seven rolls around and we get into class and Ms. Lori tells me she saw Rachel. I told her Rachel had text me and she said, “Yeah, she said she had asked you and you couldn’t do it, and I told her I was teaching your class. She asked me if you really had to be in class or if you could skip and I told her I had just finished giving y’all a lecture about being in class for recital! I couldn’t let you go!” I laughed so hard. I told her I didn’t have my camera on me anyway, so I would have had to go all the way back home first. Plus if I’ve come to class sick the last three Thursdays, I’m not missing for something fun. I’m committed.
It was just really funny. Maybe you had to be there, but the irony just made it great.

When we opened class, she told us that our energy two classes ago was so good and the class went so well that she was actually writing to tell people about it. She was that excited. She told us that the class we’re in now will be the class we tend to stick to–we’ll do roles together and advance together, etc–and she said it’s up to us to choose to carry that energy with us. She said if we do, that we can do great things. “I can’t wait to see y’all do Waltz of the Flowers in a few years!”
As a dancer in this class, it made me feel really good to know that our class made our teacher feel good. Sometimes the girls can get chatty or distracted, but overall they’re very talented and want to do well. It also helps that Ms. Lori is such a gentle person. She has a way of communicating that makes you listen to her, but you don’t feel like she hates you. If anything, you feel like crap for making her life a little more complicated by whatever it was you did.

She started giving us more complicated combinations to see if we could do it since we were mastering so many other things. She also wants to work on the details with us, which personally makes me really excited. It’s something that has seem to fallen through the cracks throughout my training so I do what I can to make it through, but I really want to be doing what is right rather than just anything, if that makes sense? Using your head and strong arms can make all the difference in your performance. Also, I can’t always see that what I’m doing is right, or wrong, or if it can be done better, so it’s nice to have Ms. Lori walk around and correct me on these little things that everyone else just assumed I knew.

That’s the hard part being an adult dancer–people assume that since the number of your age is higher that you’ll know more. Most of these 12-year-olds have been dancing over triple the amount of years I have. I’m learning more just from watching them than anything.
And now, I finally have a teacher that will see me at the barre, will see me in class and move my head to the right angle or call me out when my hips aren’t square or my barre arm is too far behind me.
Not only that, but she encourages me and sees me when I do things correctly. She’ll compliment my back attitude when it’s showing improvement, and she’ll scream out, “Nice!” or “Right, Emilee!” or “Good!” when she sees something done correctly so I know that what she saw is good to do over again.

I also love that when someone does something correctly, she’ll have them show the class. She did this yesterday with some of the girls and you could see them take such pride in what they were doing where before they may have been a little self-conscious or uncertain about the step.

It’s such a positive environment. I wish I could be in class with her every day like this.

Our recital piece is coming along really nicely. One of the girls had an idea on something to do and instead of shutting her down or talking to her like a little kid or condemning her for voicing her idea, she said, “Let’s try it!” and worked it into the choreography. That little bit right there to a 13-year-old speaks volumes. That shows her that her ideas are valid and worth attempting. That ideas she has are worthy contributors. That she has value.

To say that I have the utmost respect for Ms. Lori would be an understatement. I hope to learn as much as I can while I have her, not be too sad when I’m solely in the V’s class, and look forward to the VI’s when I have her again.

They posted the cast list for The Wizard of Oz yesterday. Being that I didn’t have class yesterday I wasn’t sure if I was going to get to see it or have to wait until today. My friend was sent pictures of the list, which she passed on to me.
I was cast.
As a Winkie Guard (I have no idea what this entails, but I was cast, so I’m rather excited.) which predominately consists of girls from my class, so I know I’m at least on the same level. My eye caught on one of my friend’s names who is a 4/5 with me, and I saw that she and a few other girls on that level had two roles, which was pretty cool. I just kinda figured that maybe I’m just not on that level and that’s okay. It’s a character part anyway, and I haven’t taken a jazz class in years, so they’re way better anyway. I scanned it over kind of quickly, and just kind of carried on texting, not really paying attention.
Then my friend said, “You’re a winkie guard and cover crow!” I said, “What?” And then connected that the girl’s extra role was a crow, and that “cover” was what they were calling understudies. I pulled up the picture that listed understudies and looked at it more clearly.
There is one understudy for the Crow role, and that one is me.

Honestly, I can’t even explain the emotion of euphoria that came over me. It was equivalent to that of my friend who got the cover of Wicked Witch of the West which is a principal role and she’s 15. (Pretty big deal.) My heart exploded. I almost cried.

I felt I bombed that audition. I left and my heart was so heavy. I’ve never experienced that after an audition before. Not even in high school theater or that time I went to a casting call for a movie (hah.) I went in to that audition and wanted to prove myself; to prove that I was better than how I did at the Nutcracker audition with my bum shoes. I wanted to show them that I work hard and can do what they throw at me and that I have potential.
I wanted so badly to have potential.
To be something, to not just be another dancer to fill numbers.
The girls who are the crows are really good. They deserve to have that extra role. They will rock this. They work hard. And as I see them in classes, they’re the ones that I size up to be close to where I am in level. And when you think these things, you hope against all hope that you’re not just kidding yourself. That you really are at least at that level, and not just making yourself out to better in your head than what you really are. So they are this role. And there is one cover. And that cover is me.
I am the next best thing to them. I am the one they trust to fill in should anything happen. They looked at me and thought I could do this.
They saw potential.

Maybe all of this is cheesy. Maybe I’m pathetic.
And if I am, I don’t care.
This really meant more to me than I could put into words. It makes me want to try harder to figure out what the issue is with my shoes. It makes me want to work harder to improve on these things I’m struggling in. It makes me want to put in extra effort to get this right and be better.
It makes me want to do everything I can to show them that they made the right choice.

Plus now I have to get character shoes for this so I’m prepared in case I have to dance it which is kind of exciting.

I’ll have posts and updates on rehearsals and shows.
And Pictures, I’m sure.
🙂

“I trip and stumble again, again
(again and again)
But at least these steps are mine”

Oh, Thanks Barbie in the Pink shoes
Yeah someone on Instagram posted a ballet picture (she has a ballet instagram I follow. This sentence really sucks. I could word this better. Oh well.) And in the caption she said if you’re having a hard time to look up the Barbie in the Pink Shoes song.
I have the movie. Unashamed to admit this fact. I remember hearing the song and choking up.
So I looked up the lyrics. And BAM.
Then my best friend came by work to drop off my Christmas present and she needed to borrow purple leotards, and part of the present was a Barbie Sugarplum Fairy ornament.

Oh, Barbie. How you can be an odd source of encouragement.

There’s never been a time that I actually seriously considered giving up ballet.
That is, until this weekend.

I was going to write this blogpost this weekend, but I wasn’t sure how much I actually wanted to say. And, even though very few people read this, I feel I owed it to y’all to at least say something.
But how much? How honest do I get? What is reserved for my journal, and what is acceptable to put here? I’m sure most people would say I’m over reacting or that it was probably better than I thought, but at this point I really don’t think so.

The audition was rough. I was nervous going into it since I was dancing with the 5s instead of the 4s, and the 5s have the 6s and beyond with them, where as the 4s have the 2s and 3s. There is a substantial difference in level as the 4s audition favors to the younger ones and the 5s audition favors to the older ones. (I could take time to explain this, but that’s exhausting so just go with it.)
I’ve kind of noticed that I have been struggling a little with simple things like rolling down out of an arabesque and things I used to actually be pretty good at, but I didn’t think too much into it. I figured I was just nervous or scared or out of sync since Nutcracker. I told myself I would figure it out and work through it as we began learning our recital piece which is when I really started noticing. Maybe my shoes were dead. The box feels good, but it could be dead in other places, right?

I tried to go into the audition confident. The mind can do more than the body, right? I signed up at the same time as my friend and we were next to each other and I felt I would be fine. I’ve been sick for two weeks with God-knows-what so breathing was kind of hard, but I pressed through.
Barre was good
I felt good.
I got this, right?
Well then we did a few things that were character pieces. I haven’t done jazz in seven years, so I was a little rough compared to these girls who take the classes on the regular, but it was fun anyway and I tried to play it off. I was kind of frustrated, because I knew I could have done better, but whatever. Do my best, right?
Then we put on our shoes.
I tried to psych myself up and not just let doubt rule me from the beginning. I ran through the tips my friend had given me at Nutcracker about turns and had a flinch of panic that I hadn’t done a pirouette since then. (All we’ve had for recital so far is a pique turn.) It should be noted that I was number 79, and the numbers started at 73, thus putting me in the first 10 people. So I was in the first group when we did it in tens and the second when we did it in fives.
Great.
The combinations were all things I could do on flat. (Except the brisse, which almost no one knew anyway so I didn’t feel too badly.) My brain could do it all, but boy did I struggle. They would have simple things mixed in with things I struggled with (which should have been simple) which would then throw me off and I’d struggle to get back on track.
I tried my hardest. I really did. But all in all, I ended up leaving really embarrassed. There were even a few points toward the end of the two-and-a-half hour audition where I was near panic and wanted to just sit it out, but I couldn’t. This is an audition. (This brings me to tears just writing this and remembering how I felt. Dang it.) And it sucked because this time I actually know these people, and they know me, and here I’m pretending to present myself as someone they want when really I know I’m not showing that I have much to offer. It was embarrassing.
I held it together and pretended like it wasn’t as horrible as it was but that almost made it worse. Because no one is going to tell me I bombed it, but no one is denying it either. I tried to tell myself that I’ll just be the person who isn’t perfect that makes everyone else feel a little bit more at ease knowing if they mess it up they won’t be the first and they’re probably better than the girl in the first group who did horribly.

I put on my shoes yesterday and went out into the building my dad is building since I knew he had some concrete sheets on the floor that wouldn’t mess up my shoes and tried to give myself some confidence, but it didn’t really do anything.
Is it my shoes? The wear is going to the far edge of the box. I’m rolling over too far. But is that the shoes or is that me?
What the hell am I doing wrong here? Why is this so difficult?
I used to struggle with getting on my box, but now I’m going too far over my box. What gives?
Maybe my shoes are dead. I can order some new ones and see if that does the trick.
I go online and search Capezio. Okay, they have the Glisse’s, but where are the Glisse Pro ES? Wait. I seem to remember these being on sale a while back. Like, around the time I first got mine. I google-searched.
Yep.
They’re nowhere to be found.
So then I research the difference between the regular Glisse’s and the Pro ES. It seems to be mainly the hardness of the shank. Apparently I use the hardest shank available. Is that what’s hurting my dancing? Is a hard shank something I actually do need? I had a hard shank with Gaynor Minden’s.

At this point I was clearly at a loss. The shoe fits great but I go too far over my box. I have no one here I can ask and don’t have time nor resources to go anywhere else since it’s all so far away. What do I do?
I decided to make a last ditch effort and emailed Jordan, from the Capezio store in Austin. I don’t know if she’ll respond or even be able to help me, but I didn’t know what else to do.

So, I toyed with the idea of just giving it up.
Who am I kidding?
I dance to feel alive, yes, but what’s the point if I can’t even technically dance because so many things are hindering me, and I just leave feeling deflated? What’s the point if it makes me feel this badly?

It makes me wish people didn’t know I danced or about the audition so they weren’t asking me how it went because I can’t even pretend this went well. At this point, I’m not even sure I’ll get cast and if I do I’m sure it’ll be with the younger girls. Which is fine, but dang I really wanted to do better than I did. I can  do better, but I can’t seem to. Which makes no sense except that it does.

So, there you have it.
My disastrous audition.
We get results within the week, supposedly.

And for reference, here’s what my feet looked like in my shoes yesterday.
(Please ignore the untucked ribbons, etc. I was by myself and it’s hard to take a picture of your own feet in sous sous.