Fashion

I AM A…

08/29/2019

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Throughout our lives, we’re asked this question time and time again. When we’re little, our answers tend to be born out of our wildest imaginations. A baseball player, an astronaut, or a princess, we might have replied. (Or, in my case, a ballerina.)

When we got a bit older, we were asked again. And as we naturally grew and gained a better understanding of the world around us, our answers became more rooted in reality. A teacher, a fireman, a doctor, we might have answered. (Or in my case, still a ballerina.)

Ballet, for me, is magic: a childhood dream that I hold locked away in the deepest part of my heart and soul. It’s not something I discuss much, especially as an adult, and unless you’ve known me for years, you’d have no reason to suspect its existence (unless you bop me standing on my toes in my kitchen). But it’s always there. It’s unwavering; a secret delight I can day-dream about on a rainy day.

I took my first dance class at age 3. By age 6, I’d enrolled in the Von Heidecke School of Ballet; a seeder for the respected Chicago Festival Ballet Company. By age 7, my parents had installed mirror doors on my closet so I could practice at home. By age 8, I had donned my first pair of point shoes. By age 10, I was dancing 4-5 days a week, going straight from school to ballet class. I took yoga, and workshops, and stretch class, and every single type of training I could enroll in. At age 11, I performed in my first Nutcracker production- my mother waiting in the wings to help me with costume changes. By age 12, I was spending my summer vacations inside of a dance studio. And at age 14, I irreversibly blew out my knee.

Ruin. It’s a brutal, brutal thing. It rears its ugly head just when you think all of your pieces are falling into place. Anyone who dreams of dancing professionally knows they only have a few short years to make that dream a reality. It’s even less when you have a history of injury. And it hurts. It really hurts.

In the years that followed, I did what I could- physical therapy, cortisone shots, more classes, but my body was never the same. And at age 19, I let the dream slipp away.

I recently watched a TEDx Talk by Journalist Laura Daquino (more on that HERE). In it, Laura shared a story of a group of five-year olds asked to define who they were by finishing the sentence “I am a…”

More than half of the children questioned finished the sentence with a job. Two defined themselves as an animal. One defined themselves as an object (which is beautifully weird, and I am HERE for it!) And only a few of them answered that they were themselves.

Here’s where I landed. The lesson in all of this rambling, if you will.

Every single idea and dream that enters our subconscious is a sum of the greater total of who we are. It doesn’t matter if you “made it” or not.

You ARE it.

If you once dreamed of being an artist, than you’re an artist. If you dreamed of being an explorer, than you’re an explorer. If you wake up everyday thinking about ballet, than god damnit you’re a ballerina. It doesn’t matter if you’ve failed, or quit, or were too scared to try in the first place.

That dream is just one of the fibers making up the fabric of who you are. And if you look hard enough, I can guarantee your dream is still there- unwavering, like a secret delight you can think about on a rainy day.

“I am a…” It’s a powerful statement. The next time someone asks you, pause a minute before answering.

You’re more things than you think.