A New Beginning

I danced in a ballet company for the past four years. Since age eleven, ballet has been my dream, my purpose, my goal. Ballet was everything to me, and I gave all of me to it. Even still today, I imagine the wonderful rush of wind as I spin or leap. The feeling of complete freedom. Each time like a young bird spreading its wings for the first. I believe it is called inspiration. Last August 2020, I was finally beginning to reach my dream goals as a dancer. My teachers were gaining a new respect for me, I was becoming stronger, more flexible, more confident, but something was not right. That feeling of freedom was not as magical is it used to be. I felt as if I were straining to maintain a fire amidst a coming blizzard. Little did I know what sort of blizzard I was dealing with.

Around this time I also began writing poetry, the sands of inspiration slowly began to shift from movements on a stage, to words on a page. I remember telling myself, “Just wait until Nutcracker this Christmas. Even the Grinch feels the magic of Christmas.” When I stepped out onto that stage on December 21st, 2020, I had no idea that that would be my last performance. By this time I had written over twenty poems and was already making preparations to write them all together and publish my first book. But of course, maintaining the spark that once lit my dance career was top priority. I hardly remember much from that Nutcracker. I wasn’t nervous at all, I didn’t feel anything in fact. It all happened so quickly.

Over the next few weeks I had Christmas and New Years break. I spent most of that time enjoying the holidays with my family and writing at night. On January 2nd, 2021, one week before I would go back to ballet, I fell while playing a game of four square with my cousins. I twisted my left ankle in the process, but it only hurt a few days. The next week I returned to dance and I completely forgot about my fall. That is until my ankle started hurting half way through class. After a few days of sitting out of classes, and the pain in my ankle gradually increasing, I finally went to the chiropractor. He told me it was probably a hair line fracture and I’d be back to normal in a few weeks.

By mid January I had written over thirty poems and the pain in my ankle had spread down to my toes and up to my calf. My mom and I finally agreed that I would take a break from dancing until the pain had gone away. By January 20th I was borrowing my friend’s crutches and my leg was completely numb from the knee down. I spent the next three weeks limping around with fluffy socks and heating pads strapped to my ankle to keep it warm. I remember waking up every morning and spending several minutes staring from my foot to the ground wondering if I’d feel it today. But the answer was always no.

By mid February the air was beginning to grow warmer and life was preparing to spring. All but the life in my ankle, which continued to puzzle my teachers, myself, and my chiropractor. With forty poems and counting in my notebook, I finally found a physical therapist who said he could help, “You’ll be up and dancing again in three weeks!” He told me. He concluded that the muscles in my leg were not strong enough to withstand all the pressure I was putting on them, and over time they grew tighter and tighter until finally choking the veins, hence the pain and numbness. After many therapy sessions, the numbness had lessened and I was off of the crunches, but as February came to a close, the pain threatened my entire future from hip to toe.

March brought fifty poems, warm winds, and springing life, but up in my room I felt as if my leg were slowly rotting away. I spent my days dragging around a cold and lifeless stone as a constant reminder of my old life. My old dreams of dancing until I die. Not even the sweet escape of poetry could make me forget how cold and lifeless my own leg felt. One mid-March afternoon, I was driving home with my mom from another mildly successful therapy session, when my mom asked me a question that changed everything. All this time, through all this pain, I was still trying desperately to maintain that fire amidst a blizzard. All this time I told myself no matter what, I will dance again. However, all of that strain had made me secluded from the life around me. I became agitated and broken. I felt alone. It was as if time had stopped for me but life had forgotten to. I was in a sort of a limbo stage.

That’s when my mom asked me if my leg isn’t getting better because of a reason deeper than any physical ailments. She told me to go to my room, close the door, and let out all of my anger and confusion. Then to pray and ask God what I should do. I held back tears as I limped up the stairs and into my room. The moment I stepped in the door, before I had even asked, God answered. It felt like he had ripped me in half with his words. Like a beaten, breaking wall of glass finally shattering under the pressure being forced upon it. With one gentle whisper, He extinguished the fire I had been desperately maintaining for so long. I finally gave into the blizzard. A feeling both devastating and liberating. I knew there was no hope in fighting, all I could do was cry. An hour later, I had cried, showered, cried some more, and changed how I parted my hair. When I walked into my room that afternoon I really was just rotting and fading away, but as I left, I was a new and light hearted person. I immediately informed my mom that I would be quitting ballet for good.

That summer I dedicated my time completely to publishing my poetry book, and taking therapy for my leg, which started improving faster. On August 4th, 2021, exactly one year after writing my first poem, I received the first copy of my book in the mail. “A Thousand Lives: Poetry Collection” is now available on Amazon and in two local stores. I have already sold about one hundred copies and I am currently organizing a public signing.

I still miss dancing sometimes, and my leg still hurts every now and then, but never in my life have I felt so free, so right. I realize now that the fire I was trying so hard to keep burning, was never even mine to maintain. My fire lies between the folds of books, it burns letters into the pages, and words onto hearts. I would never want to go through all that pain again, nor would I wish it upon another, but I thank God I did. He knew I would never have left ballet on my own. I had to be pulled out, and if he hadn’t pulled me out, I would have never found my true inspiration. There is no blizzard trying to snuff out my fire now, here I can rest, and I can relax my feet in its generous warmth. With this new inspiration I have been given a new beginning and a new life. Only this time, it is my life.