Giving Thanks (in February)
After missing an entire week of ballet for the Big Meeting, I returned to class on Monday, old shoes in hand (never did find the new shoes in The Abyss…grrr). Immediately upon walking in, I said to myself, "yup, that’s it. No more food for me."
Everyone in that class is tiny. I mean tiny. And it just so happens that everyone that’s tiny is really, really good. They make everything, even landing their grand jetés, look so light and effortless. Which is really hard since you have to concentrate on bending your landing leg while keeping the other leg…you don’t care. Nevermind. It’s just really hard.
Even the girl who’s not so tiny (i.e., she has a bust) is tiny.
This little self-esteem blip is fueled by a book I spotted at Borders about ballerinas and nutrition. Now, I work in health policy, I’ve read every article on nutrition known to man, and I’m a self-declared freak about it. Also, this book was published in the 80s when, well, the Dove ads (those ads are so gosh darn cool. They don’t make me want to buy Dove, but they’re still so gosh darn cool.) didn’t exist. I’m smart enough (I think) to know when something’s good for me. It’s not that hard, generally. Broccoli = good. Entire bag of tortilla chips in one sitting = bad. Eating a reasonable meal = good. Starving oneself = bad.
But somehow, this little book combined with tiny dancers ("hold me closer…" Ha. Ha. Ha.) sparked some crazy thoughts. Especially since the book stated, plain and simple, dancers my height should weigh about 102 pounts. So yes, that means no more food for me. I’ll go break out the iceberg lettuce.
(Incidentally, iceberg lettuce is a major source of debate in this new household. Lettuce and milk. He says we need iceberg lettuce because it’s way cheaper and that’s what he grew up on and how can it be bad since it’s lettuce? I say it’s a waste of money because it is devoid of any and all nutrients. He says skim milk tastes like water and so he’s getting the big jug of 2 percent. I say 2 percent tastes like liquid butter and why don’t we buy that and a little jug of skim? Since the theme of this post is gratitude, I’ll just add that we’re so lucky this is our major debate. Oh, and that I got my way on both counts.)
I beat myself up all class for haven eaten things and, well, stinking (stupid Big Meeting!). Because I was stinking, I had to watch one of said tiny people execute a combination. She was quite pretty - a little younger than me - and just looked great in her leotard and tights. And so light - her jetés were almost airy. So I sat there (well, stumbled across the floor trying to land properly) and started seething in jealousy. And did the natural, catty thing we do when we feel jealous - I started to pick her apart.
("She should fix her hair.")
("Her leotard looks old. She should replace it.")
("She has a hole in her tights.")
And then I looked at her arm. Right above the elbow the skin was pulled in very tight, like she had shoved a hair elastic that was too small up to her elbow and it was cutting off her circulation. In fact, that’s what I wondered - "isn’t her arm numb from that tight band?"
And then I realized it was a prostetic arm.
Even when I hate it here (and there are times that I do), I have to remember that I really am one of the luckiest people I know. And it’s simple things, like The Abyss, my job, my partner…my arms…that really, really matter.
I chatted with this girl after class, mostly because I felt the need to atone for my jerky feelings She was genuinely sweet. Maybe she can help me with my jetés.
