Nothing seemed to go my way yesterday. I spent the entire work day in a bad mood for no reason, aside from the fact that I was off in class, I couldn’t get on my leg, I was bloated, and ballet seemed to fight me every step of the way. This frustration, of course, led to the dramatic why-do-I-even-care-so-much negativity spiral, in which I question my intense love for an art form that half of the world has never given the time of day. Why does ballet have such a power over me? Why can it destroy my emotions with the simple wobble of a pirouette? And though it maintains this ability, why does it feel the need to exercise it over me on such a random Thursday? Ballet can be so cruel sometimes.
And then I read this review from last weekend’s Up Close On Hope performance (Alex and I finally premiered Moonlight!), and my trust in ballet was completely restored. It’s one of the best reviews I’ve received in a long time, and reading it gave me that tickly toes feeling, like when you finish a whole crossword puzzle (nerd alert). I put so much of myself into that performance, sitting cross-legged with my forehead pressed into the marley for 15 minutes just before dancing, mentally returning myself to this dark place I told you about, so having that vulnerability validated felt like a huge triumph.
And with the quick skim of that article, I was back in ballet’s warm embrace. She’s a fickle beast, that one.