Here’s one of the best things about spending that (gasp) $$ for an adult ballet class. The air radiates with good intention and enthusiasm. No one is there just because they’re “putting time in.” This is not the gym where it’s enough to show up, or go because your spouse bought you a membership. Not that I knock gyms. I have a membership there too. There has always been a gym membership in my life, even during my ballet performing years (AKA, a lifetime ago). A weekly yoga class in my adult years. But taking a ballet class, boy. Nothing prompts me to work 110% like the grand allegro section of class, there at the end, the gorgeous music prompting me to ratchet the effort up to 115%. Actually, the entire class. Even those adagios in the center with my damned wobbly one-leg balances. How humbling. Adagios used to be my forte, back in the day. I had great leg extensions to the back, wonderful penché arabesques. Now with my 50 year old body it’s a lesson in humility. But, boy oh boy, I still have that ballet dancer’s ego, drive, that hunger to perform, to perfect.
Maybe you know how it is. Giving more than you think you have, in terms of energy, and at some point will supersedes energy; it creates it. It comes roaring through you, bringing the warrior in you back to life. I don’t think I’ve ever had to fake a smile as I’ve launched myself across the room from the corner in the grand allegro. It’s the glory of the class. The icing on the cake. The ten minutes that I am once again a ballet dancer, and it matters not one bit that it’s a classroom and not a stage, that I never made it to professional level performing but remained in the amateur ranks. It doesn’t matter. I am a dancer immersed in the craft and I’m loving it and that’s all that matters.