Photo by Lindsey Tran via my lovely Karey...I’m about to state the obvious… Ready?
Ballet is hard. Really hard.
But it’s not hard in the way that I expected it to be hard -- my body isn’t crying; rather my brain is. See (for me) it’s hard in the way that the New York Times crossword puzzle is. It’s a bit of a brain tease. I can’t remember the moves I’m supposed to be doing, I can’t get my feet to do the right thing at the right time, I am furrowed in thought and concentration (and frustration) during the entire 90-minute weekly class...
The upside of the situation is all that mental angst makes me forget that I’m actually exercising, which is a bonus given my history of hate re: the exercising. I’m all about being active, I just don’t really want to be reminded that I’m being active while I’m being active, so I lean toward the family bike ride, the living room dance party…all the things you sort of get lost in and forget that you're actually (yes) exercising.
So the mental gymnastics is good for that, but for my ego, well…not so good. I’m not sure what it is about my personality that expects I’ll “get” things right away. I am frustrated easily, and then I’m not very nice to myself. Remember "the summer of self-improvement"? Yes, making a Polish chandelier is hard too. If it was easy everyone would be doing it. We’d have a glut of Polish chandeliers out there waiting to be snapped up. But it’s hard; it takes work, that's what makes it special…a good thing, yes?
my new ballet shoes...Last Saturday at my second (!) class (and I’m not sure why I felt I should be channeling Natalie Portman in just my second attempt ever at ballet, but alas I was), during a particularly tricky series, I was quietly chanting under my breath, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” I’m a real positive girl, clearly.
The incredibly lovely and graceful (and much older) woman standing next to me in class (and who is very much a beginner but somehow far more zen about the entire enterprise) leaned over and whispered, “say you can, embrace your inner-ballerina”.
Now a statement like that would have normally made me giggle and maybe even roll my eyes, but she was right, if I’m going to do this thing, I need to do it. After all, for the past year and a half, during the girlie’s classes, I’ve been watching the adult ballet class intently (albeit the advanced class) longing to be doing what all those amazingly graceful, strong people were actually doing (not thinking about doing).
So next class I’m embracing the inner-ballerina friends, full on. I’m not afraid...
