I work at an Insurance Agency as an Office Assistant. I sit behind a desk for eight hours a day with two gruff manly men who discuss sports and politics. I rarely contribute leaving most of my day's words spent on inward dialogue. Hence the need for a blog. I need a self indulgent outlet. The office runs on testosterone so imagine my surprise on my first day entering the storage room (which contains the bathrooms) to find an entire room filled with Ballet shoes (we share a storage room with the dance shop next door.)
My heart did not stop, nor skip a beat. Instead it immediately switched it's beat to the rythm of classical music as it once kept cadence with. My past was staring me in the face as I manuevered my way to the bathroom. I heard a range of calls. Some were sweet and said "we miss you." While others were much more stinging, "hey quitter long time no see." I tried to drown out the cries but found myself doused in nostaliga and regret. I have many excuses for quitting Ballet that I try to fire back at the attacking regret. But I never really seem to win. Sure my hips were much larger and much more "child bearing" than most ballerinas. And yes I never could quite commit my stomach to a lack of food espcially the good junky stuff. My chest was never flat and my Earl flinstone feet were never arched enough. Even with these quite legitimate excuses I'm still filled with the overwhelming wish that I didn't quit. On my way to the bathroom I have these daily conversations with the shoes, apologizing and feeling the weight of a "has been."
As I was going through old pictures and possessions last night, I found the best excuse for ammo. It came in a photo and a memory.
My Junior year of High School I was given the role of Sleeping Beauty in Sleeping Beauty. With that role came the duty of finding my own "Prince" to be my partner and waking kiss. Jon Edwards, just a boy that I was dating and slowly convincing I was wonderful, stepped in at the last moment. The ballet was nothing phenomenal. Our new dance teacher was dancing with crazy more than dancing with us. Our costumes and set were amateur and our male dancers were really high school boys wondering just what they agreed to. Was I the most dazzling lead ballerina? Probably not. But that is not the point. The point is that I danced, I loved, and I felt. And I have a photo that brings a far better feeling than platform toed satin shoes ever will.
So today as I passed by the attacking shoes I touched my favorite pair of Capezio Pointe shoes and explained that I had my moment and could walk away knowing that Ballet could never offer me anything sweeter.