It started, as things often do, in a group chat.
It was a sign-up for aballet class.
Lets take this class, said Han.
Mia Fermindoza
Most folks were too busy, though, tied up with other commitments.
But I, a glutton for nostalgia and a recent deserter from the gym, said yes.
We went to theJoffrey Ballet Schoolin Manhattan.
Mia Fermindoza
Hans were pink and new; she couldnt find her old ones.
But mine, originally white, were browning and tattered.
The antidote, then, might be a ballet class.
I needed, as Han put it, an hour where were allowed to fuck up.
They were tighter than I remembered them.
But then again, existentially, everything felt constricting around me too.
The dance studio was spacious, bigger than both my and Hans Brooklyn apartments combined.
It had mirrored walls and high, arched windows to let in light.
We picked spots next to each other at the barre as more twenty-somethings like us trickled in.
Some looked like pros (they broughtfoam rollers!
), which made me nervous.
We were to be each others private audiences, I thought.
Id admire their pendulum legs, arrowhead feet, and Yumiko leotards.
I whispered all this to Han, who replied, Were not kids anymore, Matt, were adults.
Dont sweat it, she said.
The teacher arrived, dictated our plies and cambres.
My right hand took the barre and the pianist filled the room with music.
It was Faures “Pavane in F-sharp minor,” a lullaby but, like, exciting.
In tandem, I bent my knees and extended my arms.
I bowed to hug my legs and rose to the balls of my feet.
That existential tightness about me began to loosen even if the spandex did not.
As my body relaxed, so did my anxieties.Will they make fun of me?
Shhh… Will he text back?
Shhh… Will I get a second interview?
There was nothing but the music and myself.
Of course, I realized, this was what Han meant.
Ive had friends experience a similar shrinking of worlds, via tennis orrunning, knitting or basketball.
In college, ballet was my feel-good habit.
Dance classes were a reprieve.
To assuage the overachiever in me, I took them for school credit.
I relished the classes as a formal kind of fitness.
In the ballet studio, Im made to breathe, sweat, focus on the task at hand.
And, if all else fails, I have the piano, my body, and me.
I took the idea to heart, and promised myself Id keep dancing after school.
And I did for a bit.
Same teacher, different classmates.
Before, there were just seven of us, two with foam rollers.
Also in attendance was this beautiful dude in full ballet boy regalia.
He seemed like a legit ballerino and, indeed, danced like one.
By the adagio, I was keeping up.
And by the allegro, he and I found a solidarity as the only men in class.
Romeo and I got to talking in the locker room.
His dance story was inverse to mine.
He just started taking class again.
He was trying to find his center.
Im so out of shape, though, he said.
I told him he looked great in class.
I couldnt tell you were a late-start.
I waved off his compliment, but gave my thanks.
Isnt it funny, we agreed, how were our own worst critics?
Theres a lovely camaraderie in adult ballet for beginners.
First, seldom among us is a student whos a true beginner.
Romeo admired my tattered white shoes, similar to his.
They show our character, he said.
Then he left, not without a fraternal pat on the back and a Take it easy!
I told him Id try.
I texted Han and asked her to join me next week.
When she said she couldnt, I asked if I could borrow her foam roller.
Since then, Ive been to a few more classes.
In ballet, I can only breathe, sweat, and focus on the task at hand.
This is a gift.
