Uprooted

At the Barre

It’s been a long time since I placed my hand at the barre. 5 Years. A lifetime for a body that has been through the ringer. Though the action of it is familiar, there is a lot that is not. The way my body feels, the places that hold tightness that once did not. The weight of me in the room. The awareness of things I once was able to not feel.
Taking ballet is a type of torture. One I readily long for. Thinking about where my body is in space keeps me from focussing on what is going on in other areas of my mind. Just my breath. Just the bend of my knees. Just the sheer feeling of stretching, rising, bending, turning around and evening out both sides. Inhale, exhale. Up, down. Open and contract. Turn my spine from a rod to sea weed in the water.
This is not to say that it isn’t hard. That I have not felt nervous and self conscious doing the very thing that I think my body needs. I think I assume just because I am brave enough to enter the space that once I get there it will be easier. I forget the whole “actually have to do the work thing” in which one must suffer, sweat, pant and ache. The work is what makes you better. What makes it easier to enter the room again. But I tend to forget that part.
Oh well, I leave feeling so light and strong. It’s worth the fear in getting there. It’s worth the sweat dripping down my spine.
I hope it isn’t another 5 years before I enter the space again.

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