This I believe-- Essay

-This I believe essay-

I’ve had my share of disappointment. It’s hard to do what I do, which is ballet, and not be disappointed from time to time. Being disappointed in an emotional hazard of any competitive sport, and ballet is harsh. It’s really and truly survival of the fittest. Who can be nice to everyone, who can do the most pirouettes, who can suck up to the teacher. It’s a hierarchy; the kids whose parents give the most are put first, no matter what. You have to learn how to show the teacher that you have the stuff she wants or needs. Being me, I always have been very confident in my skills. I grew up in a theater environment, where everyone is confident and everyone is out spoken about his or her opinions. At the ballet studio, opinions aren’t appreciated. You keep them to yourself. Emotions aren’t appreciated. You hide them. Emotions are for your pillow late at night, not for the ballet studio. Learning how to hide emotions is hard, especially when you have to learn in a split second. About a year ago, I learned what it means to hide your emotions.

After auditioning for company, I was sure I was going to get it. It didn’t even enter my mind that I might not be. I’d always been confident in my talent, always been sure that if I went for something, I would get it. And with everything else I had done, it was true. In truth, I had never been turned down, so the thought didn’t even enter my mind. Even when Ms. Pauley handed us our letters before the rehearsal, I didn’t hesitate to open it. I was sure. I can’t even begin to tell you how I felt when I read the words on that letter. Can’t even begin to tell you how the emotions that crashed down on me hurt. I almost didn’t believe it. It took a minute at least for the fact that I hadn’t gotten in to register in my brain. When it did register, it’s almost as if my heart stopped. I don’t remember much after that. Except the determined thought that I would not give anyone the satisfaction of crying. I would not show weakness. I would not show how much it hurt. After the two-hour rehearsal, blessed relief came. Well, not until after my supposed best friend laughed and told me she had known all along I wasn’t good enough, and not until after I got out of the building. However, once I was in the car, I could collapse and sob, let the feelings finally spill over the edge. It wasn’t just the hurt of being told no for the first time. It was the embarrassment of being proven wrong, publicly, and being too confident in my abilities.

That day was an eye opener to me. If I was to be honest, this was a turning point in my life. This was when I realized that I wasn’t always right, and I wasn’t always going to get my way. I wasn’t always going to be thought of the way I thought of myself, secretly, and that was embarrassing. It took months, almost a year for me to get over the fact that she had said no. It took months for me not to be angry with her, to let myself stop wanting to quit and enjoy ballet again. But even though I was angry for being wrong, I was also angry that she let me down so hard. That she let me down before a two-hour rehearsal. I was mad that she put everyone else in, but not me. Five other girls auditioned that day. They all got in, leaving me to wonder what they had and I didn’t. Talent? Experince? Money? The answer isn’t clear, but I know that I will never fully forgive her for that. The next day, when I went up with my the last shred of pride I thought I possessed and asked if there was anything I needed to work on, and what the reason for not getting in was, she delivered the final blow. “I didn’t put you in because I knew you’d push yourself to hard. You’re a hell of a dancer, but you’d lose your spirit if you pushed yourself to hard. And that’s what makes you a fantastic dancer.”

Can you, the reader, imagine for one second being told this? That you didn’t get in simply because she didn’t want your spirit crushed? A bit of me was glad, a bit of me couldn’t believe that she valued my spirit that much. However, the rest of me was angry that she could do such a thing, instead of allowing me to find out on my own what my limits were.

This brings me to what I truly believe. No matter how biased or how stuck up, or how egotistical it sounds, I believe in myself. I believe that I can stand up to anything, that I have the ability to overcome what life throws at me. Because, if I could take that big and embarrassing disappointment at age thirteen, doesn’t that prepare me for what I was going to face later in life, doesn’t  that  prove that I am stronger than I think? I believe that if I truly love something, I’m not going to let a bump in the road stop me. Even if it’s painful, I’m going to keep doing the thing I love, because at the end of the day, whether I’m in company or not, I’m there because I love to dance and I want one more day to do it. I’m there because I want to feel the rush of doing that double pirouette you’ve been working at. I’m there because I want to be excited and happy when I master a difficult combination. I’m there because I live to dance, and no matter how I love anything else, whether it is theater or something new, ballet always has prominence. Because ballet offers me a challenge. Ballet offers me something to work for. Life without a challenge is boring, life without something to work for is normal. I’m not normal. I’m me, crazy, over the top, friendly, bouncy me, who wouldn’t be the same if ballet hadn’t entered my life. I wouldn’t know what sweat, tears, and blood felt like. I would have never known what accomplishment after heartache felt like. I never would have known what crazy happiness felt like. Because, with everything in the world, only ballet offers the ultimate challenge to me. Other things I can master. I can master the art of writing poetry to where it is rhythmically perfect. I can master dialogue tags, and how to deliver a monologue. I can master how to audition for a show, or how to cold-read. However, ballet always offers a new challenge, always offers something new for me to take on and master. There’s always something new, something exciting, something complicated. And at the end of the day, it’s about me and my dancing. At the end of the day, it’s all about how I feel about the day’s work. How I feel about my accomplishments. It’s never about anyone else. It’s about me. And in this day and age, where everyone tries to make everything about them, it’s nice to find an escape inside something. Inside a belief and love so strong, I don’t think it can ever be broken, no matter how many rocks are thrown at it.

I believe in me. I believe that one day, I’ll find perfect peace inside me because I’ve been dancing, and that’s truly what I want to do. I believe there is no greater power than the power of doing what you love.