Once a source of teen angst, ballet class now brings Corazon Miller a sense of calm and liberation.
It’s a simple moment that anyone who's spent years of their life in the rigours of classical dance training will know.
The moment arrives seconds after I place my left hand on the barre, the music starts and I take an anticipatory breath, before sinking into a small bend of the legs. Known in the ballet world as a “plié” it’s not the prettiest step in the classical repertoire, nor is it the hardest. But it’s the foundation of all that follows in a ballet class.
The predictability of the plié and its relative ease of movement to the gentle accompaniment of a classical tune never fails to make me happy.
There’s a sense of lightness in my body as we continue through the next few minutes of gentle warming up. It's a rare moment of calm as my brain stills its usual rumination through never-ending to-do-lists. The difficult conversation, the frustration over something that didn’t work, worries about life – personal and professional – they all fade into the background.
A repetitive sequence of the traditional first, second, third, fourth and fifth positions of the feet and arms is comforting. It comes at a point in the class where nothing feels too hard, yet.
Class does not stay that easy. Ballet is an activity that, even as a hobby, requires discipline and a regular fitness regime.
Unfortunately, the ten-hour days of a TV reporter don't allow as much time in the dance studio or gym as I'd like. So as class progresses things can become more challenging.
On a bad day, it can be hard not to think of what once was. As a teenager I danced 15 hours a week. Back then a double or triple turn came with ease and my hamstrings didn’t plague me in the winter as they do now.
But the beauty of being an adult amateur dancer is that I no longer stress about those awful exams, or how much better everyone else is. I just enjoy dance for what it is. Some people go to the gym, I go dancing. On average that’s two to three 90-minute classes a week, though I've been known to attend five in a week.
While it demands physical effort, dancing is that rare activity that doesn't require a lot of social effort. A smile, but no chat, can go a long way.
Instead my energies are spent on working my body, testing its flexibility and strength. There's a sense of control when I find my equilibrium while balanced on one foot; and twirling and leaping my way through space is liberating
The dance world is also the foundation of many of my friendships. While class is not in itself very social, I've made enduring friendships, some founded in my teenage years, others in the years since.
Dancing wasn’t always an escape. In fact looking back I’d say it was more a cause of angst. I dreamt of dancing on the big stage but, as someone who started late, without the perfect ballet physique or facility, it was always going to be an uphill battle. Even though I knew I’d probably never be good enough – I kept coming back.
I do sometimes wonder why I put my younger self through that. But over time as perfection became less of the goal, I learned to accept myself for what I could do and to just dance in the moment.
I’ll never forget those struggles, but my older self is grateful for what they taught me. I still always say it’s better to try and fail than to never try at all. I've learned to be resilient to criticism and, even when it’s felt too hard, to keep coming back.
Dancing has become something I can enjoy without thinking about what others think. It’s the one space where I can be me, imperfections and all.
This essay is part of a new series 'This Makes Me Happy' about the things that bring us joy.
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