Grace

My six-year old is learning ballet.  It's a little ballet and a lot of squiggling, squirming, giggling, and cleaning the dance floor with her leotard.

These silly girlies are our next generation's young women;  I watch them gliding across the floor, and then, suddenly, sliding across the floor!  They plie at the barre, building  muscles, controlling that core, all the while whispering and humming to the classical piano.  I supress a grin when they sashay across the room, their bodies learning to express beauty, emotion.  Some day, I think, a handful of these women-in-progess will be enviously graceful, pliable, with posture unequaled.  They will possess that elusive  "je ne sais quoi."

Someday.  Not yet!

For now, their tongues are sticking out while they attempt a leap, their butts are sticking out as they tendue, their arms are flailing and suddenly all their body parts are flailing and they are on the floor.  Cleaning again.

I see my six-year-old.  She is already muscular.  She stretches and I see the beauty peeking out.  It is a hide and seek game.  Mostly hiding. 

It will take years of practice--rigorous practice--to get it all working together:  posture, legs, pointed toes, rounded elbows, straight necks, buns that don't fall out!  It will take years of daily stretching, weekly rehearsals, to transform these gangly girls into remarkable women.  We may not get there. I don't aspire, in my daughter's stead, to a short career in dance.   It is the journey we value, the effort and time it takes to learn this elusive grace;  the miles and minutes of pounding feet transformed into fluttering toes, calm and poise in the face of serious musculature, immense pressure enveloped in a perfectly tensed grand jette. 

Of all the people thriving and flailing on this planet, little girls are the ones who know how to multi-task:  they can have a good time no matter what demands are set in front of them.  "Write my name?  Okay!"  A little girl will add curley-cues, smiley-faces, hearts and flowers.  "Go get my sweater?  Okay!" Little girls will pirouette along the way, maybe make up a sweater song on the way back.  "Do my homework?  Okay!"  A little girl--do you have one?--may do it with her imaginary friend, chatting away....

I understand why ballet is perfect for little girls.  It's not the pink leotard, or the pretty tutus (although they are so appealing!)  It's work;  it's play.  Yes, she may take years to perfect that plie.  She may need months to remember fifth position.  She knows where she's going, but she will benefit from dilly-dallying.  "What's the point," she may state," if you're not having fun?"  Indeed!

This ballet lesson is not just for our little girls.  This benefits humanity:  There is no instant gratification here.  Progress is marked in months, not minutes, and --here's the secret--all the while,  we are having fun!  I look at my busy life, my friends, our scurrying and scheduling. I stare into the mirror and see a blur of activity:  schedules, responsibilities, meetings and playdates.  I keep looking, deeper, and I see Beauty peeking out at me.  Joy.  Grace. There they are, those little girls surrounding me!  They caress my face as they glide by.  I feel sincerity in their affection.  I get a glimpse, in that mirror,  of life at Six:  Life is Beautiful!  We may be dancing along, tongues out, butts out, doing our best.  We are working hard!   I hope, above all, that we are having fun.  Laughing!    With each other.  With ourselves.