To dance is to give your body, your soul, your life away to a cause. To a form. To a culture. To a religion based on making something beautiful. Beauty comes from pointed toes and perfect arms that never straiten, always slightly curved. Beauty is when I’m told that one day my grand jetés will be beautiful, strong. Beauty is when I développé with perfect turnout. Beauty is double pirouettes. No, beauty is spotted pirouettes, landing in a lunge in fourth position.
Beauty is when I know I am improving. Beauty is forgetting I’m not perfect. Beauty is tendus. Oh, how much I love tendus! Beauty is being so close to the perfect splits I have wanted since I was small. Beauty is knowing that I love to work hard. Beauty is loving what I do. Every piqué arabesque, every soutenu is beautiful. And I love it.
I like to dance because I become beautiful. No matter what you say, I am beautiful. I don’t have to hide from myself when I dance. “To be or not to be, that is the question.” Well, Shakespeare, the answer is to be. To be beautiful. To be wonderful. I love dancing. I love feeling beautiful when I have only my tights and leotard on. When I am stripped of the wants. When I am stripped of my “falseness.” Then I am beautiful. Then I can dance.
Beauty is more than make-up and jewelry and clothing. Beauty is more than what you can see with your eyes. Beauty is an emotion. It’s a beautiful emotion. Beauty is when I can tell myself “Good job, you were amazing! You were beautiful!” this is when I am beautiful. I feel beautiful when I dance. When all I hear is music and the shuffle of feet.
I love myself when I dance. That is the beauty of it all. Allowing yourself to love who you can be. I am proud that I can become beautiful without make-up or pretty clothes or jewelry. Beautiful; me in my slightly grey tights, my black leotard, my smudgy black glasses, my hair in a bun. I am beautiful, sweat and all.