Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Ballet on a bad day

I'm a ballerina, at least on Tuesday evenings. When I slip on my pink ballet slippers and twist my hair into a bun, I stand up a bit straighter, walk with a bit more purpose. I see grace when I observe myself in the mirror that runs the length of the room, but not the kind that demands a delicate ferocity to pirouette without wobbling. Instead, I see a grace that allows me to make mistakes and to try again. The grace of joy that shines when heart and soul accompany the movements of my body and my mind is quiet. 

Today, I almost skipped ballet class. My to-do list was long and I wasn't just tired- I was weary, disappointed that I hadn't yet crossed off tasks that I was supposed to complete over the weekend. I didn't want to focus on finding my balance when I couldn't find my balance outside of the studio, my car still unpacked from my weekend travels and my papers yet unwritten for school. Dinner was microwaved, not quite the labor of love crafted from farm-fresh ingredients prepared with patience if only I had the time.

Still, I went to class. I didn't allow myself to storm off with frustration when overwhelmed with the combinations across the floor. I finished the steps. And tonight, that was enough. I breathed in grace. 


  1. Aww I would love to do ballet. Yoga is as close to that warm fuzzy feeling from when I was a kid as I've gotten. Barre classes are too much for me-doesn't have the same feel. :) Fun to find you through the 31 days link

  2. Perhaps one of the hardest parts of growing up is how elusive that "warm fuzzy feeling" becomes - - ballet is definitely my way to hold onto an unabashed enthusiasm, free of expectations or comparisons that tend to weigh such hopes down in my life now. I must admit - my favorite part of yoga is when we lay down on the ground, stretch out, and just focus breathing. A moment to breathe? Yes!


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