Be the ballerina.

I became a ballerina when I was 29 years old. So, let’s just get that whole, “you’re never too old to try new things” inspirational speech out of the way right now. Because honestly, it’s more or less true. It is never too late to try new things, to learn new things, to reinvent yourself- none of it. The only reason people don’t try new things is fear. And fuck fear. It’s stupid. Fear holds us back from everything magical that our lives could be. It doesn’t even have to be anything monumental to shift your entire life, or at least outlook. Maybe you just try a new food, lets say some Greek dish, and you love it so much that you end up flying to Greece to try that same food in a restaurant that serves it authentically and with local ingredients, and while you’re there you buy a pair of pants and when you come home, you are wearing them to the grocery store and someone stops you to tell you how gorgeous you are and next thing you know you are cast in a movie and now you are a star. All because you ate a dolma, I don’t know.

Or maybe you move to a new neighborhood and because you can walk to a bookstore every day, you lose a few pounds, your cholesterol levels go down and now you are not at risk for a heart attack anymore. Point being, trying new things can be scary but awesome and if you don’t try new things you will wither and die in a sad little ball of a human shell because what were we created for if not to explore our world. Dramatic? Maybe, but that’s how my brain works and I will not apologize for that. But I do honestly believe that the moment that we stop trying new things and taking chances is the moment we start to die inside. Again, dramatic but I am pretty sure there is some kind of science that supports this.

So anyway… ballet. I was 28 the first time I went to Argentina. I went to visit my Very Good Friend Stephanie who was living there. To date, this is one of my favorite adventures. It is also one of the hardest trips I have ever taken. It was the longest I had ever flown anywhere, let alone flying alone. We got robbed at gunpoint in Buenos Aires the second full day of my trip. The language barrier was incredibly difficult, and unlike other major global cities, in Argentina it was hard to find anyone that spoke even a little bit of English (I mean, nor should they, that’s not their language, but that’s not the point.) It was hot, the bugs were loud, but the empanadas that we ate from a bodega that had been sitting out in a shelf in the sun, without refrigeration, were delicious. The fina pizza was unlike anything I had ever tried. The midday siesta changed my life, and the Argentinian barbeque that Steph’s husband, Claudio, cooked for us in the backyard pit was incredible. The dinner party that they threw so I could meet some of their friends made me feel like family, and being Claudio’s favorite visitor because I ate meat was priceless. If you are wondering if all my vacation memories and travel plans revolve around meals, the answer is yes and Anthony Bourdain was a legend, and these curves I’m rocking were earned one fantastic culinary delight after another.

But something else came from that trip, and that was ballet. See, Stephanie is a ballerina. She has been dancing her entire life. I took maybe two ballet classes as a kid, felt self-conscious in a leotard (which is sad because I was way too young to thing I was fat in general, let alone when I was that young,) and didn’t want to do ballet anyway because it was too girly, and all the cool girls were taking tap and jazz. Needless to say, I was not a ballerina, nor did I have any formal dance training of any kind because I never got those tap or jazz classes. But it is funny what an afternoon of home-baked bread, cheese, fancy sausages, and Argentinian wine will do. I could not tell you for the life of me how it came up, but ballet entered the chat, I told her that my other friend Monet had always told me I should dance because I had such high arches. Next thing you know, Stephanie is strapping point shoes onto my feet in the middle of the living room and there we stood- hand in hand, on the very tippy toes of our feet, and a new love was born. I have this picture somewhere, and I will try and find it but not today. When I do, I will link it because it’s beautiful. What I can find is my old, old, old blogspot post about ballet, and one of my very first blog posts ever. I had to dig through the internet to find it, but here.

When I returned to the states, I signed up for ballet classes at the community college and started dancing as soon as Fall semester started. I even convinced my friend Heather to take them with me, and our Monday nights became ballet, bars and “THE BALLERINAS.” But I was smitten. I felt graceful. Poised. I felt like a new person started to emerge in those classes. Confidence bloomed. It was something special, and it’s hard not to wonder what would have been if I had continued to take those classes my mom had signed me up for. Why had I waited so long to do this? Because I needed Steph to unlock the door for me.

Within a few weeks of classes, going two times a week, they announced auditions for the school’s version of The Nutcracker. And this is where I introduce the third person that made me a ballerina. Stephanie got me into ballet, Heather decided to join me for the ride, and when I told my friend Sunshine that I kind of wanted to audition for The Nutcracker just for fun, she was the one to encourage me to lean into my delusion. That night, at my old favorite Oakland bar, she said something to me that I have never, not once forgotten, and have leaned into many a time throughout my life. I said, who the fuck do I think I am though- I can’t audition! I am 28 years old and have been taking ballet for exactly two months, I am not a ballerina. And she said, and I quote, once you get a driver’s license, are you not a driver? And hot damn if that didn’t sell me. To date, these are some of the best words of wisdom I have ever received, and I use that to jump into so many new things. ARE YOU NOT A DRIVER. Fucking brilliant. So I auditioned. Am I absurd? Yes. Do I care? No. Did I land a part as a Snowflake? You best your ass I did. And I pique-pique-turned my way around that stage like a pro, with my super supportive parents and friends in the audience like I was a professional, or like I was a toddler having my first dance recital. Either way, I was a ballerina.

That was 2008. Over the years, I worked my way into point shoes, danced on and off, lost my strength, went back, started at the basics. It is now 2024, and I still come back to it like a first love. I have a part-time job at a dance academy so that I can be closer to ballet. I started taking tap lessons at 39, because if ballet taught me anything, it is that it is never too late to try something new. And just like that very first day in Argentina, or that very first class I took at 28 years old, every time I walk I pull on my pink tights and slip into my ballet slippers, I love the person I become, even if it is just for an hour. Once I leave, I know my goofy, clumsy self steps right back up to the plate, but I also know that that graceful, tall, focused woman I see in the mirror during class walks with me, inside me, and is just another version of me. And I would have never met her if I hadn’t tried something new. So, I encourage you. Try that thing. Take that leap. Be scared. Because you only have to do it once to be whatever it is you dream. After all, if you have a driver’s license, even for only a day, are you not a driver? Take the leap. Be the ballerina.