9 Years Long Ballet

Social embarrassment is basically my cardio at this point. Just the other day, I fully introduced myself to a random guy at work. I assumed he was doing a trial shift, so I went: "Hi, I'm Marcel. It's so nice to meet you! What's your name?" The poor guy looked at me a bit terrified. When I realized he was a stranger about to pick up some carton boxes, I cringed my way up the stairs in silence. But that is nothing!

What if I told you that I spent almost a decade feeling like a misfit? Yep, that's right, nine years feeling like a fish out of water. It all started when one day, some uptight lady entered my primary school classroom when I was just ten years old. She introduced herself as someone from ballet school and started handing out brochures to mostly skinny kids (I know, that's wrong on so many levels.) Anyway, I was one of the "lucky" ones who got it. I was surprised when my dad said it could be a good opportunity for me. Ballet? Seriously? Is anyone still doing that? But as a very energetic kid, I was soon auditioning for the school, and one summer after, I officially started my ballet journey as a now 11-year-old.

Even as a kid, I always wanted to become an actor. The problem was that in Poland there are no performing arts schools. It was either that or music. And since I couldn't carry a note or play the flute, ballet it was. I don't know what I was expecting. I have really no idea. But definitely not what came next. We had a class called complementary techniques, which was basically stretching etc. All my classmates were so naturally gifted. They had no issues with splits and all that jazz. Marcel, on the other hand, was a piece of work. There was this terrifying stretching bed in the gym downstairs where we would have classes. It was there to get you to do splits (trust me, it looks even worse than it sounds.) Well, guess who was a regular crying his eyes out on that lovely thing? I was a piece of wood when it came to flexibility, so when all my classmates would do fun and light exercises, I would be on the bed for an hour with my ballet teacher sitting on my thigh. Sounds totally sane, right? And my classmates would look at me like: "This is the price you pay to be a great ballet dancer." I was like: "Relax, Sara. You are not in The Nutcracker yet."

One day, the artistic director of the school came in to watch our ballet class. Our teacher was so proud to show off her newbies to the headmaster, everyone except for one person. She came up with the director to every single person standing in line. She'd be like: "He's got incredible pointe. He is so naturally gifted. Look at the flexibility!" When she finally got to me, she just gave me that awkward smile I will never forget and walked away with the principal. And to be clear, I wasn't like a full-on uncoordinated, stiff meatball. I just didn't fit in, vibe-wise.

I didn't belong on so many levels. We had those rhythmic classes run by a very old and hm, traditional lady. She would always start a session with this weird piano melody that I'm sure could've been a bop in some alternate universe. In our first class ever, she asked us the following question: "How can you say good morning in a different way?" I answered, wait for it: "Good evening." I literally said good evening. It's safe to say that I didn't get the question right. I realized that when one of my classmates started saying things like: "It depends on how you feel emotionally" and started saying good morning in many different ways. Well, my answer was good evening. I can't believe I actually remember that so clearly, but that gives you an idea of how uncomfortable my first year was. Twelve years later, I still cringe.

When my classmates talked about La Bayadere or Swan Lake, I wanted to scream inside and talk about films instead. When my friends stretched during lunch breaks, I would eat donuts and learn English. You might think to yourself: "Okay, Marcel, but it must have gotten better at some point. Otherwise, why would you stay?" Yeah, it wasn't always a total nightmare. I mean, I became friends with some of the ballet enthusiasts, I enjoyed modern dance classes, and I was even into choreography at some point. Of course, there were days when I even loved what I was doing. Dancing a choreography on a big theater stage and growing as an artist and performer will never be wasted. But that doesn't change the fact that I felt like a misfit for nine years, constantly experiencing a social shock in the same place, with the same people. I was never what you would call a perfect ballet student. Ballet teachers were not exactly crazy about me. I always had something to say about the conservative rules and overall regime.

At some point in our final year, one of our ballet teachers lost it. We were a few months before graduation, and the pressure was real. We didn't have a good class, and we messed up one of the adagios (I know, the drama is on.) Our teacher started throwing things around. He broke his pen and somehow managed to spill the ink on his face. He called us worms, zeros and said that we would never achieve anything in our pathetic lives. A bit harsh, huh? Before you feel bad for us, remember it came from a guy with ink on his face and a cut on his hand from a pen. To me, it felt like a great moment to laugh. But as much as I wish now I did it out loud, I had to pretend I was stretching instead, praying not to burst out laughing.

Looking back in time, I wish I owned my differences more. It's okay to feel like a misfit, to feel self-conscious or lost. There's nothing worse than being a grey wall and blending in with whatever comes your way. The social shock will always hit you when you least expect it. It's likely to be awkward, uncomfortable and might make you feel like a star of the cringe festival. But next time it happens, remember, we've all been there, and we will all be there again. And if it makes you feel any better, well, I've been there for nine years, in super uncomfortable ballet tights. Do I still do ballet today? I'll let you guess.