Balancing to the Music

---

This balance between repetition and variation (new information) is what turns sound into music. …A great musician is a master of balance, of equilibrium; he/she knows when to add something new, when to create tension, and when to give us the predictable and let us feel at home.
 ~ajrdileva, "Music Balance (Repetition vs Variation Culture)"

---

A mini highlight in my week was discovering a new song for my balance playlist. Yes, of course I have a playlist just for songs I balance to. Plugging in my headphones, stepping off the ground, and fitting my movements and my soul into the rhythm of the music and the sway of my slackline is incredibly satisfying.

I’m pretty picky about what I listen to when I’m balancing (hence the playlist). Given that I generally walk slowly, and focus on subtle, controlled movements, it's understandable that people assume I listen to mellow instrumentals. That is not the case however; almost everything on my playlist has vocals (lyrics I connect with), and an upbeat tempo. The songs on the list span several genres: musical soundtracks, pop/rock, country, and Christian contemporary.

Confession: I’m a nerd. After discovering my new song (I will get to that…eventually) and deciding to write this post, I wondered what made songs "right" for balancing.  I couldn't articulate anything concrete beyond vocals and a decent tempo, so I decided to see if Pandora could help me out. I created a station based off of my playlist songs, and when Pandora chose something I liked, I’d check the “Why was this track selected?”

Pandora was baffled by my mix. The genres identified were: hip-hop, electronica, blues, rock, disco, folk, country, and gospel, as well as cross-overs between the genres. The musical qualities were contradictory: syncopated or unsyncopated, repetitive or varying, acoustic  or synthesized, major key or minor key, melodic or harmonic, etc. Pandora started adding "…and many other features identified by the music genome project."

Well, it was worth a shot. Without a precise analysis or explanation of my musical preferences, I’m just going to assume that I've settled on some incredibly appropriate balance of sometimes contradictory musical qualities. That is, after all, what great music is all about according to ajrdileva who so kindly provided the header quote for this post.

In addition to the rank and file songs on my playlist there are also the "premier" songs: songs that have the appropriate (if ambiguous) balance of musical qualities, have lyrics I connect with, and are thematically appropriate to the activity. Idina Menzel’s "Defying Gravity" from Wicked was the first to make the premier list. Next was "Firework" by Katy Perry (partly in honor of the scene from Madagascar III where I first heard the song).

This week’s song to make the premier list is "Don’t Look Down" from the TV show Austin & Ally (which I've never actually watched). If you don’t know the song, below are an abbreviated version of the lyrics and a link to the song online—you’ll have no trouble seeing (or hearing) why it made the premier list:

"Don't Look Down"
Sung by Laura Marano and Ross Lynch

I’m walking on a thin line
And my hands are tied
Got nowhere to hide
I’m standing at a crossroads
Don’t know where to go
Feeling so exposed  

Yeah I'm caught In between
Where I'm going and where I've been
But no,
There's no turning back  

It’s like I’m balanced on the edge,
It’s like I’m hanging by a thread,
But I’m still gonna push ahead
So I tell myself
Yeah, I tell myself  

Don’t look down, down, down, down
Don’t look down, down, down, down
…

It's a good song.

After that rather lame conclusion sentence, I spent hours deciding what to write next, because, honestly, adding a third song to the premier list made another theme evident: I'm drawn to songs about inner greatness, impressive individuality...and (overcoming) self-doubt. The audacity to aspire to a grand spotlight seems somehow presumptuous, and realizing anew—and highlighting in writing yet again—how pervasive my self-doubts are makes me feel uncomfortably vulnerable.  I generally wait to post until I can wrap up in an inspiring way, but I discovered this song this week, and it might be months or years before my feelings of being "caught in between where I'm going and where I've been" are safely, and inspiringly, in the past.

So I decided to take a risk, be vulnerable, and not wrap up my post with a clear and tidy sense of victory. For this week I'll be glad that I discovered a new song and, in the process, learned about balance in music. Music has a way of speaking to how we feel, so I guess if I sway and bounce and step to a beat that reflects my hopes and my fears, that's no bad way to push ahead.  I'll learn to defy gravity, let loose the fireworks in my soul, and balance on the edge—in time.

Niagara on a Tightrope

---

Daredevils, lunatics, call them what you will; there’s one thing that unites those folks who attempted the tightrope-walking or barrel-riding stunts…an irrepressible urge to stand out from the crowd. Niagara Falls was their stage, and they intended to fill the show with rapturous applause, even if it meant bringing the curtain down for the final time.
~ Karl Fabricius

---

Niagara Falls is an iconic landmark and natural wonder, one that I've wanted to see for a while. This past weekend I had the chance to visit for the first time. While the falls are a draw in and of themselves, there was also a bubble of joy in my heart that I carried quietly through the weekend because of Niagara'a significance in the history of wire walking and also its association with the storybook Mirette on the High Wire—the book that started it all.

Henry Bellini with Niagara in the background

People are generally more familiar with the Niagara barrel stunts of the 20th century than the wire walkers of the 19th, but in their time the wire daredevil performances were every bit as popular—possibly more so because they were legal (advertisable and marketable) spectacles. Niagara was a popular summer resort for the wealthy; whole families with servants in tow would “summer” at the luxury hotels lining Niagara gorge. For the wire performances, the bridge and grandstands were full of men in top hats, women with parasols, and little girls clinging to the skirts of their nurses; bands on both sides of the rivers added accompaniment, and once safely across, the performer might be driven in a carriage with four horses up to one of the hotels for refreshment before making the return trip.

Maria Spelterini, the only female Niagara wirewalker,
pictured here with peach baskets on her feet

At least eight wire walkers performed crossings of the Niagara gorge between 1859 and 1896. Never content with simply crossing safely the 1,000+ foot span nearly 200 feet over rocks and torrents, these performers added headstands, somersaults, sprinted across in 2 minutes, cooked themselves breakfast, did laundry in an old fashioned wash tub, climbed down to the Maid of the Mist and then back up, pushed wheelbarrows, walked blindfolded, and wore baskets instead of shoes.

Incredibly, in the history of the Niagara wire-walkers, there was only ever one fatality and it was an after-hours fatality at that: crossing in the dark, drunk, wearing street shoes, with no known spectators made Stephen Peer’s demise almost anti-climactic. By the time Niagara officials banned unauthorized stunting in 1884 and began refusing authorization in 1896, the crowds coming to view the wire-walkers were dwindling. The wire-walkers with their daring and drive had perhaps done their job too well: the crowds pretty well assumed a successful crossing and no longer watched with bated breath (or aggressively bet on the outcome).

Two years ago, after a 116 year hiatus, the Falls were once again graced by the presence of a wire-walker. Nik Wallenda, heir of a five-generation wire walking legacy, received approval—after several years of petitions and negotiations—to string his wire across the Niagara. It was a momentous comeback, especially because, for the first time ever, a wire-walker would be walking over the Horseshoe Falls rather than “merely” across the gorge just downstream from the falls. It would also be one of the longest walks in the region: 1,800 feet, topping previous records by 300 feet.

 

The dark of night made for a stunning contrast with the illuminated mist and falling water of his crossing. I'm certain the crowds lining the gorge were every bit as breathless as those that had come to see Blondin.


When I first read the children’s storybook Mirette on the High Wire and fell in love with wire walking, I didn't have any actual experience with wire walking and frankly believed that the reputed accomplishments of the fictional mentor wire-walker Bellini were just that—fictional tall-tale feats attributed to a purely fictional character. Well, doesn't crossing Niagara AND stopping in the middle to cook an omelet sound a bit far fetched?

Illustration from Mirette on the Highwire

You can imagine how delighted I was when I discovered that the exploits of the fictional Bellini were based on the actual accomplishments of Jean Francois Gravalet, known as "Blondin," one of the greats in wire-walking history and the first to cross the Niagara gorge.  Then just recently as I prepared for my trip (by researching lesser-known Niagara wire walkers specifically), I was elated to discover that there actually had been a Niagara wire-walker who went by the name of Bellini. My childhood fantasy was actually history—or at least solidly based in history.

With its storybook associations and rich non-fictional heritage of wire walking, Niagara was a wonderful place to visit. I passed a plaque marking the site of the old suspension bridge next to which many of the old-time wire walkers stretched their cables. I stood on Terrapin Point on Goat Island where Nik Wallenda began his walk. While viewing the grand spectacle of the falls, my eyes would often wander to scan the gorge, imagining a wire stretched taut across. Looking at the dizzying drops and rushing water and imagining what it might be like walking in the midst of the nothingness above made my stomach churn in miniature imitation of the water below.

An important stop for me on the trip was the monument to Nik Wallenda’s crossing, complete with a section of the actual wire he used. After only a glimpse of the monument's unveiling in an online news article, I immediately wondered if the boulder was climbable, if the wire mounting was appropriately weight bearing, and if I’d get arrested for desecrating a monument—because of course I wanted to walk where Nik Wallenda walked.

A picture of Wallenda balancing on top of his monument found a bit later in my internet surfing was the clincher, resolving at least two of my three concerns, and so on a sunny Monday morning I tried it out myself with the sunlit mists of the falls behind me as I stood on a wire that had crossed through those very mists supporting a lone man across the chasm.

To stand where great men have stood and remember their accomplishments is a rewarding experience for the ambitious. Having seen the falls, I better understood why wire-walkers were drawn to this location; I also understood the desire to stand out on this beautiful natural stage. I wanted my turn balancing with grand curtains of falling water as my backdrop, and I'm always craving a balance challenge. Highwires may be banned, but handrails are plentiful, so this second ambition was also fairly easy to fulfill…I just had to choose a rail not on the edge of the gorge.

A gorgeous sunset, a beautiful backdrop, and a balance challenge, it was a perfect moment.

The Next Generation

---

In Greece…the art of rope-walking was held in the highest regard as part of the education of the young.
~ Hermine Demoraine

---

The benefits of equilibristics (balance) training are almost too numerous to list: improved spatial perception, proprioception, and vestibular function; added brain mass and neuropathways; better muscle isolation, joint stabilization, and neuromuscular coordination to name a few. Given the beneficiality of equilbristic training, of course as a conscientious member of society and an amateur funambulist, I’m trying follow the example of the Greeks and do my part to provide a well-rounded education to the young.

Ok, really the biomechanics and neuroscience jargon—while valid—was a chance to see how many big scientific-y words I could fit into a single run-on sentence. Balancing really is beneficial, and I am pretty passionate about giving kids opportunities to learn and experience rope walking. I’m doing my level best to help develop the next generation of funambulists and equilibrists. Mostly though I wanted an excuse to share some of the adorable photos I’ve taken of kids balancing.

The joy and excitement on their faces is infections. Some have a look of ageless concentration on their faces and take their first ventures very seriously, others giggle uncontrollably as they (or the line under their feet) wobbles uncontrollably, others need a more secure helping hand, but, given a little security, soon enough are grinning ear to ear.

One little girl, after she’d tried out my waterline, shyly confided to me that she had dreams of wirewalking. I heartily approved and shared that I had just the same dream—and was pursuing it. I hope that somewhere along the way I convey to these children who aren’t afraid of dreaming big that those dreams are worth pursuing—that they can pursue them. And if I help them dream of rope walking specifically…I certainly won’t complain.

So here’s to the next generation, the next generation of equilibrists, the next generation of dreamers.

Go Down to the Wire

---

If there’s ever an issue when I’m walking across the Grand Canyon or anywhere, I would go down to the wire immediately, and that wire’s a safe haven.
~Nik Wallenda

---

A friend of mine brought her younger sibling waterlining this past Saturday. Even though it was her first time, our newest inductee to slacklining had an incredibly good instinct for catching the line to break her fall. It got me thinking about highwire & highline artists and athletes’ strategies for staying safe (and alive).

In an interview before walking the Grand Canyon, highwire artist Nik Wallenda talked about how he has trained since childhood to “go down to the wire” in case of emergency. Sure enough when the winds got rough and the wire began a building oscillation, Nik Wallenda did just that:

During that skywalk, things never got so rough that he had to go all the way down and wrap his arms and legs around the wire—but he has also trained for that.

Slackliners also train safety responses, though from what I’ve seen, often instead of a crouch, quite a few of them will drop down to sitting position—a butt bounce with the line between the legs known as “The Korean” because Korean tightropers—“Jultagi” artists—do a similar move. Whether in a crouch or in a drop, being closer to the wire makes the balancers more stable by lowering their center of gravity so they aren't tottering so high above their narrow balance point. Being closer to the wire or line also makes it more likely that the balancer will be able to grab hold of it if they fall.

The ideal response is to go down to the wire proactively/preemptively, to be in control to crouch or drop, to go down before too much off balance. But control is something to strive for, not to count on; we can’t always anticipate what might go wrong, what sudden gust or inexplicable stumble might come. And so a second safety response is needed as well. Highwire artists and highliners train to fall toward the line (rather than away from it into thin air) and to catch the line as they fall—to grab hold, and hold on until help can arrive. In extreme cases, they’ll even try to hit the wire with as much of their body as possible--to fall across it to have the best possible chance of hanging on. I believe that Tino Wallenda, Nik Wallenda’s uncle, has several times broken and bruised ribs falling onto the wire—but better that than falling to the ground.

I'm really only just beginning to develop these skills and responses. The first safety response, of preemtively going down to the rope, whether in the wirewalker’s crouch or with the slackliner’s drop, isn't something that is instinctual for me at this point; it’s something I still need to work on. I think I do better with that second safety response though—catching the line. Waterlining this summer has given me ample opportunity to practice.

Waterlining for me is training ground for high balancing. While waterlining lacks the quick and dry recovery of a regular low-to-the-ground slackline, the water provides a safe, if wet, landing while adding the challenge of moving water underneath as an unstable focal point and the motivation to try to stay safely dry. Just as importantly, while falling or jumping clear of the line and taking a plunge is perfectly acceptable, waterlining can also be an opportunity to train the safety responses that can't be practiced low to the ground but without the cumbersome safety equipment needed for high balancing.

I have to admit, keeping at least my head and shoulders out of the frigid water and towing myself quickly back to shore were probably the primary motivators for learning to catch while waterlining. One of my friends said that that I often somehow managed to tip and grab for the line before my feet actually left it. What I don't know is if I catch hold strongly enough to support the full weight of a fall high up. More training and practice is definitely something in my future, but at least I've made a start.

I find an analogy in everything; I can’t resist. So this is what I’ve been thinking about this week: just as the highwire walker has a base of support—his wire—holding him up, we all have bases of support—support systems—in our lives.  These are our family and friends, the people we turn to when we need help and comfort.  These threads of genuine human connection are what our lives and human society are woven from. And when life gets rough, an effective survival strategy is sticking close to those support systems just as a wirewalker crouches closer to his wire.

Sometimes life’s upsets come upon us unexpectedly and bowl us over, just like an unexpected gust of wind or stumble. Then it isn’t enough just to move closer to our supports, instead perhaps we need to reach for the love and support we’ll need to hold onto till we regain our balance.

The day after waterlining, as I was drafting this post, I had the chance for a good long talk with a friend, a good friend who was willing to listen to some of my deepest worries, fears, and frustrations with compassion and without judgment; a friend who was also willing to share some of the tilts and tips in her own life. I have been very blessed to have friends like that, friends who are willing to lend a hand helping me keep my balance—metaphorically and also literally.

Life seems to be giving me opportunities to set aside my invincible independence and focus instead on the people close to me.  While I’m learning to reach out proactively before my world rocks me too off balance, it seems like often enough lately I’ve stumbled and, metaphorically, fallen hard onto the support of family and friends. It has, admittedly, bruised my ego a bit, but it's kept me from ever being broken on rock bottom.  I’m so grateful to the friends and family that have been there to prop me up.

So that is my lesson for the week: learning to make my instinctual response to the upsets of life the same as Nik Wallenda’s: go down to the wire.

Walking on Water

---

I don’t know what I was looking for, but I found it on the other side.
~Julia Hagen

---

Summer is, unfortunately, winding down now, so I’m savoring what is left. I’ve had a fairly low key summer all in all; aside from work and some sporadic job hunting, balance has been a big focus. This summer I was determined to conquer a waterline. Waterlines are just cool: it’s just a slackline over water—which means if you fall you get wet, which is pretty much perfect to a summer slacker like me.

There’s a great pre-bolted place on a river near where I live. The sides of the river are cemented where a bridge used to be, the banks are grassy, there are trees for shade, and a bridge just downstream makes for easy setup and a convenient alternative to the slackline for travel from side to side. The water is frigid, but the bolting for anchors, deep enough water, and a short enough span for my current gear make it the most ideal location I’ve found yet.

When the weather is hot, I’ve sent out blanket invitations to friends to join me for a waterlining session. Quite a few friends have joined me who had never slacklined over solid earth before, let alone over water. We alternated between falling into the river and sitting out on the grassy bank to get warm again. When walking on top didn’t work out, hanging underneath and pulling across was a popular alternative.

The waterline is located at a popular park and swimming hole, so spectators are many and new “friends” too—anyone who wants to try is welcome. Given the people lining the bridge and lining up for a turn, you’d never guess from the pictures that I generally only have 2 – 4 of my own friends in tow. I like sharing my passion, so I don’t mind the crowds. And hey, really, am I going to object to hearing random strangers say how cool I am?

I’ve loved the waterlining sessions. It’s the best of summer: outdoor fun in the sun, balance playtime, good friends, and lots of laughter—and the flailing, bailing, and splashing gives us plenty to laugh about.

In terms of just having fun, the waterline is always a success, but I’ve been motivated to have some balance success too. Last year I was unable to conquer this waterline. I had two years of slacklining under my belt…and all of that skill seemed to go out the window once there was water involved. Even the motivation of staying out of the cold water couldn’t keep me on the line. I generally took a dunking after just a step or maybe two. Once, just once, I made it almost half way.

When I went back for the first time this year, I thought for sure I was ready. I had practiced balance pipe all through the winter, had practiced on longer lines at lesser tension through the summer, even setting up my slackline across the same span as the river…but once again I fell as quickly as I stood. During that first session this year, after many falls I became a little bit steadier and, eventually, made it almost half way again. I was relieved that at least I wasn't doing worse than the previous year, but it was hardly the degree of progress I'd expected.

Some things just take time, then happen all in an instant. I set up my waterline twice more in the past week. And the great news: I conquered!

Last Friday I’d arranged to waterline with a friend…but she was unable to at the last minute. I’d been looking forward to it all week so I decided to go anyway even though waterlining alone is a bit sketchy. There were enough people around, and I was careful to stay where the water was a safe depth. I fell in a lot, but after an hour, I started to make more progress down the line. And then out of the blue it happened: I made it all the way across!

As I stepped off the slackline back onto solid ground, my victory was met by the spontaneous cheering of twenty Boys and Girls Club members who were on a field trip. Those cheers broke the controlled calm and focus I’d submerged myself into, brought elation bubbling to the surface as I threw my arms up, acknowledging the applause. I crossed the bridge back to the other side…and crossed the waterline again without falling. One of the little girls kept track of my crossings for me: one then two, three then four, and still more. As soon as I’d done it once, I could do it again.

I went back again the next day with a few friends and walked pretty steadily right from the start—steadily enough that I challenged myself by adding simple tricks like kneeling, sitting, laying, remounting, and turning. Sometimes I still fell after just a few steps, but really not all that often. Something just clicked, and what I could do over solid ground, I could do over water. Libby Sauter, a professional slackliner I’d met at the All Girls Slackline Festival in May, described having that same sort of moment highlining—the moment when it seemed no different than walking near the ground. I’m looking forward to that "click" moment like you wouldn't believe.

The victory of crossing the river was a big one for me. It was a very real and concrete victory during a time when mostly I have made slow and steady learning progress—the kind of progress that is often hard to measure. That moment of victory reminded me of something I heard Julia Hagen say just after she’d successfully crossed ("sended" in climber's lingo) her first highline: 'I don’t know what I was looking for, but I found it on the other side.'

That’s how I feel: I’m seeking balance, I’m not even always sure why, but in moments like this one—when I stepped onto solid ground having crossed over a river on a stretchy, shaky 1-inch wide piece of webbing—I just know that I've found a piece of what I've been looking for. I’ve been riding a high for days—a delicious sense of confidence and accomplishment.

As wonderful as stepping back onto solid ground is, one of my favorite times on this waterline is in the middle. As I walk out away from the bank along the downward curve, the line dips low, then touches the water. The cold water just covers the tops of my feet as my slackline swishes and splashes as it sways. And for a little while I’m walking on water. It’s magical there in the middle—in many ways as magical as arriving at the far shore.

Here’s to all the summer slackers who have joined me in the middle and cheered my arrival on the other side.

Talisman

---

Because we all need reminders of who we are, what we love, and of our commitment to living our dreams...

---

A year ago Wednesday while searching the web, I came across a pendant necklace of a wirewalker made by Everyday Artifact and immediately purchased it. It was simple, petite, and classy, just the kind of thing I love. With such a petite pendant—only 7/8ths of an inch across—what struck me was how the figure of the wirewalker took up only a fraction of the actual space. So much empty space gives perspective for that tiny, solitary figure: his wire is long, no ground is in sight, and he is very much alone and surrounded by space.

Most people find that sort of image a tad frightening: to be so high up, so alone, with so little margin for error. Tightrope walkers however describe that space as serene, peaceful, free. That beautiful solitude of wirewalking is what I hope to experience one day. I want the freedom of dancing in the sky.

I’ve worn that necklace at least every other day for the last year as a promise and a reminder to pursue my dream of highwire walking and my passion for balance. Looking back to where I was a year ago is interesting: I made that promise to myself even when I was still months away from starting this blog and from sharing my hopes and dreams and goals openly. Even though I bought it because I wanted to become a highwire walker myself, I didn’t quite believe that it was possible. Sometimes I still don’t quite see how it will be possible, but the desire doesn’t go away, and the necklace reminds me; it helps me keep believing and striving to fulfill that promise to myself.

Perhaps calling the necklace a talisman¹ isn’t quite accurate; I don’t actually believe it has any magical powers—although the simple act of remembering certainly can be powerful. An anchor² is perhaps a more accurate term: a reminder of this essential part of who I am and where I find joy, and even more a reminder of the promise I made to myself: the promise to let myself dream and to pursue that big, scary, almost impossible dream, to conquer great heights and vast spaces.

---

¹ an object…that is thought to have magic powers and to bring good luck (Google definitions)
² a thing that provides strength and support, holds an object firmly (Google definitions)

Ballet Balance

---

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance...
~Lee Ann Womack

---

My desire to try ballet started at Circus Warehouse this March, it became a concrete goal for this summer in June, and a reality this past month. This week was the final of the 5-week summer semester course I took through a local ballet school.

Ballet is all about balance, especially about balancing in movement and at the limits of our body’s ability (known as dynamic and offset balance), so it’s an ideal cross-training activity. The focus on self-discipline and precision in ballet definitely appeals to me. Ballet is also about coordination, poise, grace, and artistry, which wouldn’t be bad things to have if ever I want to perform. As a klutz and a highly inhibited one at that, dance definitely hasn’t been my thing—at all—but I was willing to give it a try.

Trying ballet has, overall, been a truly positive experience, so I feel a bit guilty to confess that my first lesson was, frankly, fairly traumatic. (Obviously I have a pretty good life to be able to say that.) In general I try very hard, no matter how I feel, to appear and convey what is positive and upbeat. So it is positively wrenching to write candidly about that first lesson. However, I recently committed to being more honest and open in my blog, to sharing with you the bumps in my road as well as the triumphs, and to sharing my heart as well as my thoughts. So here goes:

Taking this ballet class may very well be the furthest beyond my comfort zone I’ve ever been. I knew that it was going to be a foreign environment and probably difficult, but it was one thing to tell myself that I’d probably be the most awkward and beginning-est of beginners in a room full of graceful people…it was another to live that reality for 90 long minutes. I learned a lot of lessons the hard way in those first 90 minutes.

I was indeed the only person in the class without any dance and/or ballet experience. I also hadn’t dressed the part: the shoes and the class seemed enough of an expense without adding dancewear. I arrived too late to ask how my newly purchased ballet shoes worked, so I wore socks rather than risk blisters and sloppy shoes (I thought the little bow at the front was purely decorative). Both of those factors added to the misery of watching myself in the mirror as I fumbled and stumbled through even the relatively basic sequences, out of synch with the rest of the class. This was definitely not one of the high points in my life in terms of coming prepared.

The pace of the class was fast: we went straight to work on exercises designed more for intermediate beginners than for the completely clueless. Because it seemed to me that everyone else was managing the sequences just fine, I never spoke up when the teacher asked if anyone had questions. It seemed like neither one question nor forty would even begin to clarify the utter confusion my legs and arms and brain were in.

The social aspect of that first class was probably what made it especially trying. My misery communicated itself to my fellow classmates and, perhaps to give me what privacy they could or perhaps because watching my beginner efforts was just a little painful to the more experienced, they did their best not to watch. Granted, the idea that they avoided eye contact is perhaps just stress-induced paranoia, but it is probably something that I would be guilty of if our roles had been reversed. Frankly, I needed empathy and assistance as much as I needed privacy and pity.

In spite of not having enough basic instruction, having the wrong kind of clothing and footwear, plus awkward social dynamics, I made it through those 90 minutes—those painfully miserable 90 minutes. I’m not exaggerating when I call it traumatic: I cried. Not until afterward, not until I was alone, but once I could, I sobbed. And I loathe crying.

Ok, now it’s time to put a positive spin on this experience—the positive spin it truly deserves. After that first class it would have been fairly easy never to go back—but I hate being a quitter. I’m glad I didn’t. That first lesson was five weeks ago—and I like my ballet class now.

So what changed? Stacey was the first saving grace. Stacey was one of the beginners in the class—not a complete beginner like me, but the single ballet class she’d had in college was years and at least two children ago. She sensed my frustration and positioned herself next to me as we waited our turn for corner work—and willingly expressed that she was struggling and frustrated herself. Just knowing I wasn’t the only one helped a lot. There is also safety in numbers: after class the two of us went together to the teacher about our need for even more basic lessons.

The instructor was more than willing to accommodate the needs of the beginner students in the beginner class—once we’d expressed what we needed. The complexity of the steps and the pace of the lessons did slow considerably after that. I also learned to speak up. Yes, I was that student who almost always nodded yes, please do that again…and maybe twice more after that.

Another huge help was the presence of one of those experienced, beautiful people. Britnie, a ballerina in the civic ballet company affiliated with the school, was attending the beginner class just for an additional workout. After that first lesson she took us beginners under her wing, offered clarifications and demos while we practiced sequences, and positioned herself strategically so we could follow her through the corner work. The extra coaching was incredibly helpful. (It also meant that the whole class didn’t have to pause every time I needed a little extra help.)

With all that going for me, the next nine lessons went much better. At the risk of swinging from the extreme of self-abasing sob-stories to self-congratulatory aggrandizing, I’m going to announce that I made a lot of progress in five weeks. More than one of my fellow classmates said I made impressive progress. (Given my rather low starting point, that is a very, very good thing.) The last two weeks especially were rewarding. I’ll be utterly, atrociously awkward at ballet for a long time yet, but by the last lesson I could at least attempt to add the correct arm movements to the steps, could often execute something that resembled the appropriate combinations—basically, I was almost dancing!

A lingering dissatisfaction I have with my ballet efforts is the stifling and inhibiting sense of caution that I'm struggling with. I quite frequently tried merely to do the steps approximately correctly to stay in synch with the rest of my classmates rather than getting the fundamental techniques correct and really going for it. I’d like to learn to throw my heart over those imaginary hurdles so my feet follow with the instinctive boldness that only true commitment brings—to go all out.

I do think that ballet will help with rope walking. After spending so much time on incredibly narrow and often unstable surfaces, trying to balance on a flat, wide, and stable surface seems like a luxury—but then the need to contort my body into beautiful shapes while standing on tip-toe negates the advantage of having a whole floor to work with. Turns on slackline and balance pipe are my current nemesis, and I do think that the chaînés turn drills—learning not to get dizzy and spot for a focal point—are helping with that.

I’d like to keep ballet as a cross-training activity I think; all-in-all I’m quite pleased with this beginning to ballet balance. Oh, and in case anyone is interested in seeing a ballet-style tightwire performance, of course I have one in my collection of YouTube favorites: here.