The Not-So-Definite-Definition of Ballet

Point your toes! Harder! Harder! Harder! Harder! Squeeze your legs! Shoulders back. Long neck. Arms out. Don’t sickle! Stomach in. Turn out… Relax… make this look easy. You are an artist, tell a story, make it believable… smile.

I struggle to do all of this and more at the same time before toppling over like a tower of books stacked too high. A loud thud echoes through the room as a lazy elephant takes my place on the floor. Falling is a good thing though… it shows that you are working hard. You gave it your all, and that’s better than most people can say.

Let’s go to the corner, the teacher says, and she begins to demonstrate our new combination. As smooth as silk everyone glides across the room. We go to the right, then left, then right, then left until the whole room goes dizzy. Now time for petit allegro. So, you jump, and jump, and jump higher and higher and higher… until you feel like a bird soaring over the clouds. And finally, when you are so out of breath you feel like you are stuck at the bottom of the ocean you may thank the pianist, thank your teacher and leave.

Pointe: your toes squished in a tiny box grasping for air. Your toe nails crying out like the passengers on a sinking ship. You may even have decided to just completely cut your toenail off. But for some reason point is your favorite.

Like a graceful crane, twirling across the floor. That is what you are on point. Medora, Esmerelda, Kitri Act 1 and 3, Sugar Plum, Swan Lake Act 3, and many more variations run through your head.

Perfection is your goal. You can always do a little better. Try a little harder. Do each step more precisely. Go again, and again, and again, and again, and again. It still isn’t perfect enough though. You will never be perfect… But don’t get upset. Perfect is the impossible. You are striving for the impossible. You are doing the impossible. You are the impossible.

Kicking yourself in the head is an everyday occurrence.

But when the music turns on… You’re not on earth anymore. You are a super human. Follow the music, let it guide you. You are the music. You are not just dancing for yourself anymore… you are dancing for everyone… and you love it.

You love all the pain, the suffering, the shaking muscles, the sweat. You feel elegant, you feel strong. And wearing a tutu makes you feel on top of the world. And you love ballet. Even as a lazy elephant dancer who falls a lot… you love ballet.

What sport do you do? Others ask.

None, I say.

What do you do then?

I do many things, I respond.

What are they?

I am an artist, yet I paint with my feet and draw with my fingers. I am a story teller, yet I never speak. I am a hard worker. I am a performer. I am a picture, a picture of imperfection and perfection at the same time. I am a ballerina.

So why, why all the work for a perfection that you can never achieve?  

Why would you ever work for the impossible?

It doesn’t really matter, does it? Ballet isn’t really a sport, or important, right?

That is what most people think.

And to that I just laugh…

Because ballet is what makes me feel alive. Ballet is a piece of cloth floating through the wind. Ballet is the moment someone blows on a dandelion. Ballet is the first sound struck on a piano. Ballet is another world. A world filled with color and beauty. A world where perfection is expected yet imperfection is understood. A world where my biggest competitors are my best friends. A world with no words. A world where actions are everything.

The best advice that I have received is that ballet sucks. This may seem contradictory but it’s true, ballet sucks. Everyone hates ballet at first. But it is the most terrible wonderful challenging thing in the world. Ballet is a paradox.

Hours upon hours upon hours working, for a role you may never get. But deep down inside that role is yours and always has been. Deep down inside is your love for ballet, is your soul. For the fleeting movements on stage when you are more than one person your soul escapes. And everyone can marvel at how wonderful you are… The real you.

Because on stage your soul is set free from the cage of expectation and standards. Free to fly were ever it wishes to go. Free from hardship, and struggle and pain, and disappointment.

So yes, ballet sucks, and it may suck every single class that you take. But when you finally get to share your dance, your soul, your ballet. For that brief instant you know why ballet is worth it.

Because ballet forms you. Because you know that hard work is the key to everything. You know that ballet isn’t just girls in pink tutus skipping around and doing pirouettes. You know that ballet is indescribable. And maybe someone might laugh, because “ballet isn’t really that hard”. And maybe you laugh back. But not because you agree with them, because you know just how wrong they really are.

Because ballet isn’t some cliché. Ballet is a freedom, an escape… and a way of life.

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In the beginning, I had set about the task with infallible perseverance. With $500 on the line, there was nothing too difficult and no challenge too large. I had accepted the job from my parents at the beginning of the summer of 6th grade, and had immediately set my mind to creating the shed that would one day sit in our backyard. The first few weeks of my work were pleasantly easy, and I progressed through my project at a great pace. But once the basics of the shed had been created, my work came to a standstill. I had set about making the shed, determined that I would craft something unique and special. I was sure that my creation would be no run-of-the-mill backyard appliance. But each time I tried to add my own piece of ingenuity, the shed would, in the most literal sense imaginable, come crashing down. When I attempted to put in skylights, I could not figure out how to keep the ceiling from caving in on me, and as a result was left with numerous cuts and bruises. When I tried to build a secret crawl door, the screws warped and I was left with a pair of hinges sticking out into a conspicuous hole in the shed’s wall. These made up just a small portion of the armada of setbacks that I faced. However, when I brought this predicament to my parents, I was met with only mollifying comments that went in one ear and out the other, serving as nothing but an annoyance like mosquitos buzzing around my head, harmless but bothersome nonetheless.

With each day that passed, I worked harder, and each night, I grew more bitter as the sun set, silhouetting my failure against the tangerine sky. Finally, as July drew to a close, and I looked out at my ramshackle creation after another hard day’s work, I realized something. Now, one might have expected this to be a story of a young boy, overcoming his failures and building something beautiful, and in a way that’s true, for as I looked out at that shed, pockmarked with lopsided birdhouses, crude windows, and other various architectural shortcomings, I realized that in a way, it was beautiful. Over weeks and weeks of hard work, and cruel failures, I had made this homely shed with my own hands, and it certainly was no run-of-the-mill backyard appliance. It defied the norms and had within it weeks of my blood, sweat, and though I’m not proud to admit it, some tears as well. While my craftsmanship was not perfect, it served a purpose far greater than it would have if I had been successful. It gave me a great deal of humility, and taught me that, sometimes to overcome challenges does not always mean to accomplish what you set out to do, but to learn to accept, and cherish things as they are.

- Nicolaus Dahl