Some of my earliest memories are of a theatre. The smell of hairspray and blue hair gel scooped out of a tub takes me back to cramped backstage rooms, a slight tension headache resulting from a very tight bun and the anticipation of going onstage. I was a child who loved Tchaikovsky, Stravisky and Prokofiev. I stepped into my first ballet class at age three, and a long and tumultuous love affair ensued.
Dance was my earliest love. My nose has been perpetually stuck in a book, but before I learned to read, I was already enthralled by how dancers told a story. Even though I hung up my pointe shoes seven years ago, I think a lot of who I am today can be traced back to those years. My main beau was ballet, but I flirted with tap and jazz. From my years as a dancer, I learned to appreciate the arts, I became extroverted and communicative, my face coached into heightened expresiveness, a double-edged sword, leaving me easy to read and considering “preventative botox,” one of the many contributions dance offered to a complicated relationship with my body. I’m rarely surprised to discover that some of the most disciplined people I’ve met have a dance background. There are knowing looks and a quick bond that forms over finding out someone else also grew up spending weekends at the studio and still wears their retired Bloch warm-up booties around the house.
The Honeymoon Phase
Those early years have been pieced together like a jigsaw. Bits I think I actually remember, stories I’ve been told, shaky photos offering supplementary support. I remember my first costume, a red tutu, butterfly wings and antennae I’d rewear at any given opportunity. Growing up meant making my way through the cast list for The Nutcracker. There are core aspects of my personality that are intrinsically linked to spending my formative years in a dance studio. My love of live music was forged in Saturday classes with piano accompaniment. My easy friendships with the girls and the gays, and my appreciation of drama and camp. In the early stages, you can’t help but talk about them to anyone who will listen. I’d stare longingly into the classes before mine, dreaming of one day reaching the level of grace and artistry of the big kids. I also crushed on the limited male population and envied the girls practising pas de deux. I learned card games and traded secrets within the intimacy of the wings.
Defining the Relationship — What Are We?
Inevitably, things start to get serious. You might not have set out with that intention, but if you’ve been together for long enough, it’s only natural that some questions start to crop up. Where do you see this going? What are you looking for? What are we? I’m not usually one for labels. I’m happy to take things slow and see where they lead. We’re having a good time, why complicate it?! Only we’re spending so many hours together, and things are going well. There’s the occasional fight, you sometimes feel like you might be sacrificing too much, but it’s all worth it for the good times. Somehow, without you even noticing, you built your whole life around this thing; you share friends, passions and weekend plans, and it’s easier to commit.
The Breakup
It’s not working out anymore. You want different things; they no longer fit into your life. You might have outgrown the relationship, but you also don’t know who you are without them. What if you’re not good at anything else? You get stuck in a sunk cost fallacy, figuring that you’ve put so much time and energy into this, you can’t throw it away. You need divine intervention, and a well-timed injury means you have to step back; it’s not a breakup, just a break. In this trial period, you start to realise what your life looks like without them, and that you’ve been quietly mourning the end of this before it was really over. Your world feels bigger, and you’re surprised to see how little you miss it, how much you might be missing out on, the appeal of someone or something shiny and new and different. You expected a relationship this long and intense to go out like a bang, but instead it fizzles out, no big fights, no drama, just realising it doesn’t make sense anymore.
Rebounds — Everything Reminds You of Them
You go back, against your better judgment. Settling into a new city, seventeen and homesick, you pull a leotard from the back of your closet and make your way over to class. There’s the crushing realisation that they’ve moved on without you, you’re not as good as you used to be, and in the years you stepped away, someone else stepped up. You expected your shared history to feel comforting, but instead it’s painful. You need a clean break, cold turkey, no contact.
I Hope We Can Be Friends
Once enough time has passed, you get over the hurt and look back fondly. A friendship emerges. You might not be as close as you once were, but that’s probably for the best. You appreciate what they taught you and how much they meant to you at a time in your life. You fall into a new dynamic, not twenty hours a week together, but the occasional evening out. I found other things to fill my time, but Tchaikovsky is still playing in the background when I’m working from home. I’ll occasionally sneak into Sunday morning ballet, I’m a sucker for live piano, but you’re more likely to find me at Salsa socials or breaking a sweat in an 80s-themed class. I credit much of my current obsession with Yoga to bringing me the same feeling I had when dancing, of focusing on every inch of my body and emptying my mind in the process. When someone from outside our circle starts talking shit, I’ll jump to your defence, only I’m allowed to say nobody cares about you. I’ll move on, but there will always be a place for you in my life. After all, you never forget your first.
If you haven’t already gathered, I love the ballet and am always trying to spread the love. This week, I brought my friends to watch Mayerling at the Royal Ballet and Opera in London on one of their Young RBO nights, which is always one of my favourite nights of the year. I’ve been a patron of the Young RBO programme since moving to London in 2020 and share their belief that great ballet, opera and music should be for everyone. For London residents under 25, you can get discounted tickets and access to Young RBO nights here. I’m a ballet fan around the world, and considering I have a fair few NYC-based readers, I feel compelled to share that the under-30 crowd can get rush tickets to the NYC Ballet for $30 here.