When I was young I took ballet for about 10-15 years. As a child my studio was a beautiful small town studio with hardwood floors, an old piano, and a teacher who still used a records for us to dance to. When was older my parents split up and we moved away to another town. I attempted to take class in diferent styles of ballet in other studios. And it just didn't feel right. There was alot competitive energy everywhere else I went, and I didn't want to be in those environments. After a few years of no ballet, time went on, I turned 16 and started driving. Eventually I found myself propelled to return to ballet decided to start going back to my childhood studio and teacher, Cathy. It was a 45 minute drive one way, yet I was committed. So I was back in the studio for awhile for a time longer, then high school ended, college began, work, etc...my life was devoted to many other adventures once again. While in college, though not in ballet, I took an amazing world dance class that surveyed many types of dancing...I loved the Balinese and Brazilian styles especially. Sometimes we would have live drumming to accompany us, which was so organic and amazing.

     One night, standing in the kitchen in my apartment, during my community college days, Cathy called. Must have gotten my phone number from my mom. This was a rare occurrence, though she'd been very good family friend since I was 4, I only saw her outside of the studio on rare occasions. She called to tell me that she was leaving the studio and would be passing it on to another teacher I had known from childhood who used to substitute for her, Charlou. I knew this would happen eventually, that Cathy would retire, but one can never prepare for things like this, a clear ending to precious chapter of my life. I cried when we got off the phone and knew I would always remember where I was when I received the news. I was thankful that while dancing in my last class with Cathy—that I didn't know at the time it would be my last class.

     Sometime later I went back to the studio to inquire with Cahrlou about taking class again, but found at the time I couldn't really afford to take class. Cathy had given me a scholarship when I was young and I was able to come and go as I pleased, now I would have to pay for it and I knew it wouldn't be the same...I started to feel resistant to the studio and Charlou. I decided to take class at the local college instead because I only had to pay one price for the whole semester...but when I couldn't take class as a “pass/no pass” being that it was under a grade system, I dropped because I just wanted to be there to be there, not to earn a grade.

     It's been 6 or 7 years since I stepped foot in a ballet class. About 2 months ago I walked by that old childhood studio and stared through the back windows noticing the subtle changes and what had remained the same. I started crying thinking back to all the memories, all the hours, years spent there, and the many dreams I've had of the studio or of ballet.

     About a month ago I was visiting with my grandmother and a short ballet clip came on the arts channel on tv. It was the first time I've watched a ballet in a long, long time. I remember being confused by some of the operatic stories as a child and had a hard time making sense of it all...I wondered why there wasn't any words or lines like a play. I found myself pleasantly surprised, now I understood. I could feel and sense and hear...the body language spoke the words, the story, the emotions. I finally understood just enjoyed. When I was young I would always critique the technique of the dancers, noticing proper alignment, flow, every detail. Watching tv with my grandma I didn't care about judging the technique...I just admired. Having the technical knowledge gave me a greater appreciation for the commitment the dancers undertook and now I could really feel more with my heart the spirit of the dancers and the true talent of each unique person.

     I was always told throughout childhood I could be a professional dancer and for years felt guilty about what could have been...now I know my heart was right in the decisions I made growing up, to not become a professional. My life would have been mostly about ballet...and there would have been so many missed lessons, loves, and adventures lost to the hardcore pursuit.

     I spoke to Cathy on the phone recently about going back to ballet someday and she encouraged me to go see Charlou. I was really nervous about it...I even went in to a different studio in town to feel the energy of the place...it felt too competitve and judgemental for me as the studios I visited when I was younger did. So, I had to consider going back to Charlou and my studio as a real possibilty. I suppose I was afraid of the memories, of the emotions it might bring up.

     Last night I stretched out at the kitchen counter as if it were a ballet bar...I couldn't tell you the last time I did that. Then this morning during meditiation it became clear that I was to finally go by the studio after work. A long time ago someone gave me two blankets for Christmas with ballet images on them. I decided to keep one and give the other as an offering. When I drove up I saw many pairs of toe shoes lined up on the banister walking up to the front door. I took some photos, put the camera back in the car and as I walked up to that same old door that has always been there, the doorknob in hand, my heart began to race. I could feel my blood pulsating throughout my body...the door seemed to open in slow motion as I saw straight through the entryway and into a class in session. There were young girls, older teenagers and a few college-aged women, a mixed class. They were dancing a combination across the floor. I became choked up and unceratin about where to even stand in the entryroom. I leaned against the same old desk that's been there for probably 40 years or more and a mother of one of the students began asking me questions.

     I could barely answer the mother. She asked if I was there for class, if I had taken ballet...etc. Though I could barely speak, and a part of me didn't even want to, I said I had been there from '84 to '92 then on and off from then on...she asked if I knew Cathy...all of these questions I found myself answering very quietly, like the little Susan I was when I was 6. It was almost painful how vunerable yet knwoledgeable I felt and was. The mother explained that there was another student there in the class that night that had come back after years of being gone. I didn't recongnize her.

     Class ended and Charlou approached me, calling me by name...I offered her the blanket and a bit of small talk ensued...I started to tell her about my heart racing as I approached the door just a while before and tears came to my eyes. Charlou looked off into the distance and stated “Don't you wish you could turn back time sometimes and be like it was?”...our eyes floated toward the young women out on the floor preparing for recital practice. A time ago I might have agreed with Charlou, yet I know now I can't let myself fall too far down that rabbit hole of wishing for the past. Tears ran down my cheeks as she told me what I beautiful dancer was and how my body would remember. I knew that..that my body would remember if I began dancing again, yet somehow, being in the old studio amplified my feelings of uncertainty and even fears that I might get emotional during class. I was already standing there quiet tears running down my face among many strangers passing by our conversation. I guess I had to show emotion. I guess a part of me was ready to heal, heal my relationship to myself as a ballet dancer and allowing myself to walk into the studio once again...Charlou saw my tears, looked into my eyes and said it would be an honor to have me back in class.

     I made my peace with Charlou, with the studio once again. I grabbed a schedule, and someday, soon, I will take myself to dance.

     Do you ever take yourself to dance?

     Do you ever go for a drive to see the house you grew up in?

     Do you ever listen to that old music you may be embarassed to admit you enjoy?

     Where have you been?

     Where are you now?

     Where are you going?