The Barre in the Back
Why going back is sometimes the way forward
When I was in elementary school, it wasn’t unusual for a student, even in second or third grade, to check herself out during the day, walk to a dentist appointment down the street, and then walk back afterwards. No parents involved. After school was much the same. We walked ourselves to Brownie Troop meetings or wandered around town until it was time to go home. A kind of free-range childhood.
For me, that also meant walking to ballet class.
The dance studio was located a few blocks from my school in an 1890s converted mansion. Next to it was a city park with a gazebo where we’d stage little performances after class while waiting to be picked up. There were dance classes for everyone, the very young through adults. My mom and the other neighborhood mothers took classes there too and we’d all perform in the annual recital at the local high school. It was quite the event in our small town.
I had visions of becoming a world-class ballerina, dancing on my toes. I would spend hours practicing my barre routine at home, holding on to the back of our living room couch. First position. Second position. Third. I paid close attention to the arch in my feet, to the placement of my fingers, always imagining I was holding a delicate egg between my thumb and middle finger so they would look graceful. Like a real ballerina.
But sometime around 5th grade, I stopped. According to my mother, I didn’t like that ballet hurt my feet.
Apparently this was a constant complaint. We can’t be sure if this was the real reason, or just the one she offered up years later when I asked why I quit. What I do know is that even after I stopped formal lessons, I never lost the love for ballet.
So in my late twenties, I tried to pick it back up. I signed up for beginning ballet classes at the local dance company’s rehearsal space. The first class was mostly an introduction. A small warm-up. A few movements at the barre.
The second class, and every one after, something unexpected happened. Just as we’d settle in at the barre, the entire professional dance company would quietly run in and join us. They’d line up at the barre in the back of the room and go through the same fundamental ballet positions we were learning. The pliés. The passés. The relevés.
Once the initial barre routine was over and we moved on to learning something new, the company would quietly slip out of the room.
Our teacher explained to us that no matter how accomplished you are as a dancer, you must always return to the basics. The fundamentals. They are the foundation, the anchor from which everything else is built.
I continued with my ballet classes for a couple years. Long enough to be fitted for pointe shoes. Long enough to fulfill a childhood dream of dancing on my toes, even briefly, away from the barre. But I think my mom was right. It did hurt my feet. And eventually I stopped again.
However, after my daughter was born, I put her in ballet classes as soon as I could and continued to live my dream vicariously through her, as all good parents with unfulfilled dreams do.
I come back to that moment at the barre often. That idea that no matter how far along we think we are, we still need to come back and practice the basics. Even on the days I don’t feel like it. On the days the words won’t cooperate. On the days it all makes my head hurt.
Which is part of what this newsletter is for me. A kind of weekly barre routine.
Coming back to the basics of stringing together words in such a way that they create a meaningful story arc that is hopefully inspiring, or at the very least entertaining, and ends with a small takeaway. Over and over again.
Everything I’ve learned about writing over the decades is being practiced in this same format every week. Because without that foundation, it would be difficult to build something longer. Something more sustained. A long-format book, perhaps.
Much the same way that dancers return to the barre so that when they step out onto the floor, into a pas de deux or a full company performance, they don’t have to think about the basics anymore. Those fundamentals are already there and they can simply lose themselves in the art.
Lately, I’ve been noticing that when something feels difficult or stagnant, when I feel stuck or unsure how to move forward, it’s often a sign that I need to go back. To the barre, so to speak. To the basics of whatever it is I’m working on to help propel me forward again.
Or, chassé forward, if you will. Perhaps I’m not the only one.
Cheers,
Carrie
