Play the music.
Give me the chance to come through.
All I ever needed was the music, and the mirror,
And the chance to dance for you.
I was 2 and a half when my mother first took me to ballet class, so tired of me dancing and twirling around the house to McDonald commercials on the television that she thought she would try to channel the energy into something creative.
When it came to musicality and rhythm I was a natural and in every other respect I was so in love with dancing that I would have given anything to be a world famous ballerina.It was like I was born with the ability to feel the music and once that started everything else disappeared. Ability and grace and perfect carriage of my arms and neck and…..the wrong height and body type.
I was 6 years old when I first saw the Nutcracker with Gelsey Kirkland in it, I thought she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I didn’t just want to dance like her I wanted to BE her, I was completely besotted. I would watch that video over and over and wear my hair like her and practice the steps over and over for the role I thought I was someday destined to play.
It seemed like if I wasn’t at school or dancing I was at home listening to the classics and choregraphing my own ballets dreaming of my name on marquees and dancing at the worlds famous opera houses.
I remember the first time I wore a pair of pointe shoes. The feeling of pride at going to Blochs (as it was called back then- they have changed the name like a thousand times I think now it is Bloch no s lol) and telling them I needed pointe shoes. I remember sliding my feet into them and having the younger girls in the store look at me in wonder imagining when they would be able to wear them. I then slowly raised up one foot and then the other, it felt incredible, it felt squishy and painful.
Pointe work is incredibly painful but when you are as in love with ballet as I was the pain doesn’t come into the equation as anything other than pride. Pride of your progress and your blisters, pride when those blisters get blisters. It surrounds horrendous I know but it’s a hurt so good kind of pain, like the burn of taking off high heels at the end of a big night dancing.
So whilst my dancing days are now more of the Baby got back booty shake variety I am a lady and a lady never forgets her first love.I remember it fondly and miss it often and if I happen to flick past a ballet on the tv I always pause for a nostalgic second and admire the beauty before me.
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