Coming Back to Ballet

For many years after I stopped dancing ballet professionally, I didn’t go see ballet performances. I suppose it is like athletes who enjoy playing the sport but not necessarily watching it. They enjoy being in it but not being on the sidelines. I suppose it also has to do with your relationship with the activity and your personality. Can you distance yourself enough from the event to enjoy others doing it? Does it make you nostalgic for the activity? I suppose that might also depend on what terms you stopped practicing the activity. Were you forced to stop due to an injury, or did you leave on your own terms?

I left dancing at age twenty-three for three reasons. First, I had a few recurring injuries that I could see were never going away so it made dancing difficult when they did flare up. Second, I had decided I wanted to do a masters in English which would have required more time than I could dedicate while dancing full time with the ballet company. Lastly (and what felt most critical at the time) the way things “worked” in the company became clearer to me and I became disenchanted. I’ll explain. I wasn’t so naive as to imagine that the ballet company’s artistic director didn’t have favorites or even make decisions based on what she considered was best for the company as opposed to for individual dancers. Yet, this instance showed me how little my hard work, dependability and talent mattered.

The story began when a choreographer came to see the company’s dancers to decide who would be the leads in the ballet he was setting. He singled out my friend and I, though he told me that since it involved a lot of lifts by the male dancers that I would need to lose weight to be chosen. When the choreographer had initially come to see the company, one of the soloists (soon to be a principal dancer) had been absent. At the time she was unreliable and volatile, often unsure if the sacrifice required of dancing was worth it. The director felt this dancer’s teenage temperamental outbursts were worth overlooking to keep such a talented dancer with the company.

Months later the choreographer came back to work with the company. By this time the volatile dancer had decided to come back and suddenly her and my friend were selected to play the leads in the ballet. If he had never seen her, how could he have picked her, I wondered. And then it occurred to me the artistic director had used this opportunity to entice the dancer back. When I asked the artistic director why I wasn’t doing the lead she said that the choreographer had asked for the other dancer. I didn’t counter with he never met her, how could he have cast her? Then she said, “We think you will be better for this classical piece that will precede the main ballet.” The ballet piece was boring and short. Unrewarding in that it was hard to execute but looked easy.

Up to that point, I had fooled myself into thinking that if I worked hard, and performed a role the best, that that would guarantee me said role. I thought the director had my back, not realizing that what she wanted in the past had just happened to align with what I wanted. It didn’t mean I got all the roles I wanted, but invariably when I didn’t get a role, I could see the other person just did a better job than I did. In this case, the director wanted to keep this talented dancer interested in dancing. Promising her this role was a perfect way to do that. I would always be there, she assumed. I was the reliable dancer that didn’t make waves and followed the rules. Did I lose weight you may wonder, I did. Not as much as the choreographer wanted, but the dancer who danced instead of me, was taller and weighed more than I did so she would have had the same difficulties the choreographer claimed I would have.

Months later (after the performances were over and I had given the issue a lot of thought) I told the director I was leaving the company, and she was shocked. She thought I would be there forever. She said I should really think about it because I would never find anything I would love more or anything that would fill me up like dancing did. I left afraid that she would be right. She was not. Did I miss the creative outlet? Yes, Did I miss making my body move to the music? Yes. Did I miss being good at something and pushing myself? Yes. I missed the applause after a successful performance and the high I got after performing, but I also moved on surprisingly quickly. In order to do that though, I cut off dance completely. Out of sight, out of mind. I did find other things to “fill me up.” They weren’t the same, she was right about that, but that didn’t make them less fulfilling.

The years passed and I started going back to see ballet again. Slowly at first and then a few times a season. And then, when life got busy and I had kids, it trickled down to almost none. Recently though, the daughter of a dear friend started dancing more seriously and the opportunity to share this love of ballet ignited a desire in me to go again. Her July birthday lined up perfectly with the summer ballet season. Perfect birthday celebration. Last year we saw Swan Lake and this year Don Quixote. As the orchestra started playing, I felt the excitement I used to feel (muted to a spectator role, but there nonetheless) before a performance and as the dancers performed, I remembered a lot of the choreography (even 25 years later). I held my breath in the difficult parts willing the dancers to do well and I got teary eyed when they performed beautifully and did things with their bodies that so few can. When the lights first went down, and the orchestra began the familiar music, I said a little of prayer of thanks for the opportunity to share this performance with people I loved but also for the renewed connection to a part of my life that consumed me for so long. My relationship to ballet is complicated like many worthy relationships can be, but I seem to have gotten to a place where I can appreciate its merits and leave any negative associations tucked into the past where they belong.