Picture It and Write It-Memories of a Young Dancer

Thank you Ermilia for the picture prompt this week. It is so romantic and majestic. I have no idea what will come of it, but we’ll see what this silly brain can come up with.

Genre: memoir

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“Many other women kicked higher, balanced longer, or turned faster. These are poor substitutes for passion.” -Agnes de Mille

I wished to wear those shoes once. To be a ballerina. To dance. To feel the music flow through me and out of my body. I wished to move with grace and utter elegance. I tried. I did. I was okay at it. Who am I kidding? I was more than okay at it. I was good. Very good.

I remember working the barre on Saturday mornings. One arm fixed lightly on the handrail, I would practice placing my feet in the first through fifth positions. My favorite was fifth. Although it was the most difficult on my body, I liked the complexity of it. How it morphed me into an exquisite creature. I stood straighter. My free arm would be lifted above my head and I felt bathed in heavenly light. I would raise up demi-pointe and Releve’. Nothing I had ever done made me feel so free.

Mind you, I was only 12. I had not yet found the joys of the flesh. Or the simplicity of a night spent with a loved one. Eating take-out from a box and snuggling on the couch. Or felt the incredible love I had for my children on the day they were born. No, I was only 12, and dancing was everything to me.

I would release my hand from the practice barre and raise my other arm above my head. Ah, the sweet freedom. I was a statuesque beauty dancing the part of the Black Swan. I’d close my eyes, and see the choreography in my mind. I would smile and know, that this was my life; my passion. I’d open my eyes, turn my whole body and fix them on the mirror across the studio. It was time for Pirouettes.

Feet from fifth to fourth position. Arms at third position and turn…

I injured myself that year. Dancing would not become my passion. Β It would be another dream stored away, dusted off and remembered from time to time. I’m still exhilarated by the memories though and my heartbeat accelerates when I watch Baryshnikov dance. I always fantasized about being his partner. It’s okay though, I have found my passion. It’s here in these words, stories, pages and posts. These are my dreams, come true.

16 thoughts on “Picture It and Write It-Memories of a Young Dancer

    • Yes honey they sure do. But I tell you nothing thrilled me more when I put them on for the first time and laced them around my ankle. I though I’d died and gone to Heaven.

      Love, Renee

  1. Dance in all forms is a beautiful art. I taught clogging and Irish dance for many years, what a wonderful way to raise my daughters and now both of them teach in different cities…

  2. Awwwwww…. that’s sad…!
    I’m happy though, that you’ve found other passions… a loved one, take-outs and snuggling on the couch, children, and I’m sure hundreds of others… πŸ˜‰

    • And writing. No reason to be sad. Life is a series highs and lows. Accomplishments and disappointments. Discoveries of one’s self too. I hope to keep finding more passion in my life. Fulfilling more dreams. There’s no hope about it. I KNOW I will.

      Love, Renee

  3. Wow, that is incredibly powerful and the ending is so sweet! I’m honored to get to be a part of your passion, getting to read your blog and watch you express yourself through writing. Obviously that’s a passion I understand and share.πŸ˜€

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