I am thirteen. After an hour and a half long car ride up Highway 1 my bunhead ballet friends, and I see the front door of San Francisco Ballet for the first time. We are all in black leotards over pink tights under tracksuits. Three of us have the same Bloch dance bag. I am not one of those three. I keep my dance stuff in a backpack my Dad got me at a yard sale. When the sliding door of Beth’s Mom’s minivan opens the frenetic energy of nervous adolescent giggling girls pours into the cool, January air, along with the scent of a whole can of Aqua Net Hairspray.
“I want more than anything to be accepted. I think that if I am, I might be able to prove something to myself. To prove I deserved to be in that studio maybe.”
The building is grey and cold and towers over our tiny bodies as we rush in a huddle to find the registration table. We each pay twenty dollars to audition for the School of American Ballet, connected to New York City Ballet, in hopes that we might be accepted to their six-week-long summer program. We pay the fee and provide a black and white photograph of our best attempts at first arabesque. Then we each pin a paper to our leotard and find a spot in the hallway to stretch. We are quieter than we’ve ever been as we eyeball the competition.
“In this moment I am hyper-aware of what I am not.”
“As I think back on my thirteen-year-old self I would love to send a letter back in time to share with her what I know now.”
“I also want you to know that the things you love about dance are what make you good at it. Even the things you get in the most trouble for.”
In the weeks that followed I received acceptance letters from all but two places I had dance auditions for. Later I would be accepted to SAB, but no matter how many acceptances I received and challenges I overcame, no matter what role I landed or performance I loved, I carried around the vision of myself from that day. Inadequate and always needing to prove something. No matter what this became the truest truth about me. Eventually, everyone would see that I could never be good enough. Enter present-day me. I am thirty-seven. I am a Principal dancer with a long career behind me that contains an unimaginable amount of opportunity and experience. I have an exceptional seventeen-year-old son, a husband I love, two dogs (three if you count our sweet foster, Lady), and some serious life experience that has ultimately made a lot of room in my heart for what we go through as people.
“…being slightly “different” is the thing that will make you stand out, not only that but it is going to help you survive difficulties, in and out of the studio. It is something about you that keeps you humble and compassionate.”
“And just so you know, ballet is not the supreme ultimate authority on dance, bodies, and beauty. A lot of people still believe that. A lot… But it doesn’t make it true.”
“When you go to your photo session, when you take the audition class, when you meet the experts and look them in the eyes, remember this: they are auditioning for you. I’ll say it again. You are trying THEM out. “
“This dancing thing is about living and sharing. It has never been about perfection.”
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