Fondues and Ballet Shoes

 

circa 1977

 

At the beginning of the year I chose a word – a word that would set my intention for 2015. The word is adventure. For those of you who know me, most of my adventure comes in the form of trying out a new art supply or reading a new book. Exciting, right? Although I do enjoy both of those immensely, I wanted this year to include new adventures.

My first adventure was last night. It involved a small room, a bar, several young women in tights and loud music. Before you let your imagination run wild, I must confess that it was not some seedy club, but a dance studio and I was showing up willingly (what the what???) for an adult ballet class.

Anyone who knows me is probably thinking that I’ve gone mental. Michelle, the girl who tripped up the stairs Freshman year earning myself the nickname “Clumbo”? Michelle the girl who ran into a very large, very visible pole while looking at a puppy walking by? Michelle, the girl who quit dance at the age of 11 after only two weeks because of her lack of coordination, and inability to shuffle tap (or do anything else with) her left foot? Yep, that Michelle. That’s the one folks. Welcome to middle age and my new this-life’s-too-short-to-give-a-shit-how-foolish-I-look attitude!

So back to the class last night. The minute I walked in, I wanted to walk out. The front room was small and filled with moms of ballerinas and a couple of other ladies who were putting on their ballet shoes. I pressed my back up against the front window, trying to blend in – with the window, not the people. My heart was pounding to the beat of the music blaring from the studio down the hall. I knew no one. My friend who got me into this mess adventure, had an emergency health situation and wasn’t able to make it. I promised her I would go. So, despite my better judgment, I stayed.

I stayed and I danced. Well, I mean I tried. I was completely put-off by the mirrors lining the walls. Not only was I stumbling dancing, but I was forced to watch myself stumble dance. Not pretty. In fact, I had a hard time concentrating because I was too busy criticizing myself.

The instructor was very nice, but was all about total immersion. All of the women in the room had prior ballet experience, but me (aside from my two weeks of right-footed dancing when I was 11). So here I was attempting desperately to discern the difference between a fondue and a tendue and still “do” the step without falling behind. Oh boy. Every time the instructor said “fondue” I wanted to ask, “Where’s the cheese?!” Somehow I think my humor might have been missed.

But you know what? Despite being completely out of my comfort zone, I showed up, stayed and plied (I know there is an accent mark there but I can’t find out how to do it) with the rest of them. And I left there feeling proud of myself. If I bailed out on my first adventure in 2015 that would have set the stage for the rest of the year and I won’t stand for that. So, today I ordered a pair of black ballet shoes (vegan) and am actually, sort of, maybe a little bit, looking forward to next Monday when I will know that a fondue is called a fondue because like the food version, the step resembles a melting of sorts. Yep, I looked it up today!

So, I’m here to encourage you to step outside of your comfort zones, and find out what you are really capable of. It’s a small world and you are huge so stride it like a colossus bee-yatch!