The joy of being a tottering idiot

I've spent only a very little part of my life trying to balance on my tippy toes. There were no dance classes in my early childhood and no one has accused me of being a particularly graceful mover. And yet! At the beginning of this year I signed up for an introductory ballet workshop for absolute beginner adults. Most of the other students in this weekly class are just barely adults and while many may technically have no prior ballet experience, some are dancers from other disciplines or former gymnasts. In contrast, I'm a lumbering, tottering idiot. 

I walk into class every week and think to myself, "You don't belong." And yet, here I am, several months into this adventure.

Although I watch the teacher intently, with all the best intentions of trying to recreate her moves, I fail. In fact, she told me at one point to stop worrying about getting the moves in the right order (there were only three moves, so, you know, I suck at ballet). So why is it that being in such an uncomfortable situation, feeling old and unstable among a group of swans, is an occasion I look forward to weekly, and pay for the pleasure of attending? 

Well, for one thing, it's been a great excuse to buy more pink-colored clothes (and shoes!). There are no tutus in adult ballet, but there are definitely brightly colored leotards (at least on this dancer). But the costume of ballet doesn't make me feel more comfortable about my lack of skill, so that's not the reason I keep going back. 

My personal history does not suggest that I'm a thrill-seeker of any variety. So being uncomfortable for its own sake isn't something I've sought out too much. But maybe that's been a mistake. Being uncomfortable (within safe bounds), and surviving that discomfort, is a wonderful medicine, I'm learning. In addition to ballet I've also taken up aerial yoga, which involves being suspended some few feet above the ground. I'm not at risk for breaking my neck or anything but the height and danger, however controlled, are a thrill for this desk-bound office worker. 

Age has mellowed me and in many ways I'm thankful for that equanimity. But we are all endowed with limited abilities to comprehend the world views of our neighbors, and as we make the choices necessary in living our lives, we are also forced to choose the few things to concentrate on. A lot of the rage and hurt in this world (according to me, at least) is exacerbated by the natural narrowing of world views that happens as we make decisions about what to pay attention to.

Consciously working on expanding the types of experiences in our lives is, if not a moral imperative, at least an obligation for those of us with the privilege of time and resources. I'm not saying my taking ballet classes is me fulfilling a moral duty; I'm saying that making the decision to take ballet, knowing it's an experience that would make me uncomfortable, is one expression of my trying to intentionally expand my world view. And it turns out to be an experience that's thrilling and brings me joy, even through discomfort. 

What I hope to take away at the end of each ballet lesson, in addition to a slim French vocabulary and an acceptance that my turnout will never improve, is a reminder of the joys of exposure to a new experience. And to bring that joy to the rest of my life.