I really didn’t feel like going to ballet class tonight. I know, I know, that’s blasphemy but it’s the truth. My day was _____, please feel free to help me out with an appropriate obscenity of your choice. I don’t normally use curse words but off the top of my head I can think of several that apply. 5:45pm rolled around and I was exhausted, headachey, grouchy, and overall not in the mood to try to wiggle my little self into tights and a leotard, jump into bumper to bumper traffic, sit there making faces of exasperation for a hour, circle a couple of blocks of Melrose looking for parking, just to get foot cramps trying to do steps that I can’t do with turnout that I don’t have and pretend to be all ballerina-ey when I’m really more fruit bat than swan. What I really wanted to do was put on warm flannel pajamas, turn on the fireplace, and curl up with a good book and a bowl of cereal.

Instead, I donned the pink tights. And listened to my teacher’s ballet music all the way to West LA.

I love ballet. I love ballet class. I was not in love with the idea of going to ballet class tonight. I was not in love with a leotard that makes me feel fat. I was not in love with traffic from the bowels of Hades. I was not in love with foot cramps. I was not in love with the fact that I ran out of G2 Gatoraide. I was not in love with you and I was not in love with me. I was still in love with ballet. I am still in love with ballet class. When the music starts, I feel the cold of the barre in my hand, the seams of the floor under my dirty, pink flatties, and I am home inside myself. When I reach up into releve and feel my breath slow as I stick my balance pulling into high passe, time slows down and I begin to feel ballet instead of trying to make my body do something that my brain doesn’t think that I can do. When my awesome ballet teacher asks who wants to practice turns, my hand sails upwards without a second thought. From literally out of thin air, I am spotting my way out of turns and not making myself dizzy. I feel sweat run down the back of my neck, my legs begin to tingle sore as I drop down to the floor with my bag, sweater, and Chucks.

Class is over. 90 minutes just for love.

~X O X O