The Different Adult Ballet Way: More Than "a Hobby", Longer Than "Professional"
Stretching in an art gallery for a change of scenery :) Photo by Rolly Astrom
Audio version:
There is a core conflict for many people starting ballet, and it can eat away at motivation, lead to burnout and anxiety. It can suck all the joy out of an adult ballet journey. It can make you feel isolated, stupid, and hopeless.
It touches on the fundamental question of how we choose the things we do in our lives; how we allocate time, money, and energy to them; and how we defend our choices in a world that just wants us to work all day (and take care of our families, and spend money on so many things that don’t make us happier).
Specific to us adult dancers, it is concerned with “what to do with your ballet”. What place to give it in your life. How serious to take it. How much time/money/energy dedicate to classes and training. Whether to perform on stage. Whether to look for professional opportunities.
I hit that conflict about two years into starting ballet.
* * *
I was at a point where I had ramped my ballet classes and some extra conditioning work to several times per week. Then, for different reasons, I suddenly had to quit my employed full-time job. So here I was, with more time on my hands, and able to train ballet pretty much daily.
Now, that wasn’t necessarily something new to me. I had been in sports all my life, several of them on a competitive level, and I was used to daily training. Before that job that I quit, I had mostly worked in the sports industry where I needed to uphold a certain level of fitness to be able to do my job as a strength&conditioning coach. But moving a lot has always been more than just a job necessity - I always felt as my best self when I trained in some sort of physical activity every day.
However, when I entered that phase of daily ballet training, something was different, and it threw me into an emotional rollercoaster of guilt, self-doubt, and second-guessing.
Why would I suddenly feel bad about daily training?
The core of it was related to my age and the life phase I was in. I was about to hit my 40s and it was simply unusual for someone my age to be that ambitious about sports and training. None of my peers trained daily in anything. “Normal people” all had full-time jobs or took care of household and family (the women usually both), and the “normal” thing in terms of exercise was to go for a run, or to the gym, or do yoga a couple times per week. Even those that had been in athletics all their lives had phased out their training once life had gotten serious (usually when getting their first job, having kids etc). And even those that were particularly health- and self-care oriented and generally active didn’t train more than three times per week.
Physical exercise was just “a hobby”.
Meaning: The “normal” way of doing things as an adult was to put the “important” things first and to give them the most time: Making money, building a career, taking care of close people, and social commitments that proved that you were not a weird hermit. And yes, in order to off-set the stress and health risks that came from all that, you were “allowed” to have hobbies in the little time that was left. Those hobbies would also be the first things to get canceled if something from the more important adult areas came up (mainly having to work more and not being able to make it to class in time).
On the other hand, training a lot and consistently was reserved for the “professionals”.
Professional dancers were not only allowed, but expected to train every day. It was their job, and they had to do it whether they felt like it or not. They clearly had to give up other things in life in order to become excellent at what they did. They would in fact have to cancel everything else if a dance gig demanded more time of them. In a way, they also had to put making money and building a career first - only that their career was to dance.
So my conflict stemmed from wanting to train like a professional, while having all the responsibilities of a “normal” adult life and feeling the pressure that the normal adult responsibilities *should* be prioritized.
I felt misunderstood by my peers, who just couldn’t relate to putting movement first, especially in something that you “should” start as a child and that didn’t make you any money. And even though I identified much more with the professional way of training - I also didn’t feel I was part of the “professional dancers club”, as I didn’t have the perspective of becoming one at my age. And I wasn’t sure I really wanted to! Considering how many professional dancers were struggling financially, how much other life areas they had to sacrifice, including their own body - it didn’t exactly feel super appealing to make it my only bet, regardless of my age and late start. I still wanted other things in my life, a consistent income, and a choice over how much to push my body!
So, in essence: If I trained every day, how could I make enough money and take care of other commitments (like, uhm, raising a child with a disability)? If I didn’t train every day, how could I deal with the pain of losing what made me most happy and at home in my body?
I had enough experience with training people from all walks of life as well as professional athletes to know that you couldn’t do it all without burning out at some point. You can’t work on income-generating gigs all day, train all evenings and weekends, possibly take care of kids, and hope that nothing breaks. The most crucial point for movement learning and building your body to a higher performance is RECOVERY. A day spent in the office or listening to your teenager kid’s concerns is not recovery. Sleep is recovery. Good eating is recovery. Mental down-time is recovery. Active releases and breath work is recovery. Getting body work and doing corrective exercises is recovery. Spending quality time with loved ones is recovery.
The hardest thing about this seemingly unresolvable conflict: I felt stupid and guilty for having it in the first place. How could I even consider something as “extra” as ballet as a daily part of my life? How could I be so selfish to even think with seriousness about putting my movement needs over all the responsible adult life things? How ridiculous was it to think that something good could come out of all that daily training at my age? Would I look back at my younger self twenty years from now and regret letting ballet take up so much space, instead of building something “real”? Would I blame myself for not making more money, buy a house, have more children?
It honestly felt like an existential fear of taking the wrong turn at the fork of the road.
* * *
While the discomfort of being stuck between two lives continued (and does so to this day!), I started seeing a light. A “Third Way” at that dreaded existential fork.
The first shift out of the conflict happened when I confidently and wholeheartedly allowed myself to admit that I just couldn’t give up daily ballet training. My body was so loud and clear at letting me feel that there was no way around it - that I needed it for my well-being as much as I needed air, water, and food. Any time I tried to live like a “normal adult” - i.e. have a socially-admired job, working in an office most of the time, setting the goal of buying certain adult things like cars or houses - I eventually started feeling miserable. Like I was cheating on myself. I would feel removed from my body, and it would snap: “How could you do that to me??”. It felt plain wrong, like I was living someone else’s life. And it eventually would make me sick.
The second shift happened when I started feeling the benefits of daily ballet work more clearly. I actually started getting better at ballet, suprprise :-) I felt amazing in my body and loved it more than ever. My body changed - A LOT compared to my previous athletic endeavours. The mental game of my training improved. I felt more confident in class, my inner awareness of movement and mindset increased. It almost felt like I was morphing into a dancer, despite all my doubts that I could ever become one. I don’t mean it in a bragging way. I still look like crap most of the time. But it’s always relative - for someone who had no prior background in dance and had trouble coordinating arms and legs in aerobic classes - those were major strides hehe.
The third and final shift was when I stopped tying “daily training” to “professional dance”. I acknowledged that I could approach my work and training with a professional mindset and professional ambition - but that didn’t require me to live the life of a professional dancer. It was actually better: I could have all the joy from following that serious calling and training a lot, but I had a choice over how I did it and what else I wanted to focus on. Professional doesn’t mean that you need to get a company contract or freelance gigs or train and rehearse all day - it simply meant that you showed up with an unwavering commitment every day; with a mindset that went beyond the need to be entertained (as in a hobby).
In fact, the way I felt about my daily work went beyond goals, physical appearance, health, performances, fun, or feeling good/bad about it. I wasn’t doing it to get better, or look better, or be healthier or get other people’s validation (ok sometimes :-D). I didn’t need to work towards stage performances in order to feel motivated. Whether I would achieve a 180deg extension or not didn’t matter. All these things were nice and pleasant, but they were not the reason why I showed up in the studio or trained at home every day.
The true reason that made me show up was to do the work and be with my body. To feel, experience, and ask my body curious questions. To see where I was at each day. To gain new insights. To connect with my natural inner intelligence, to learn to trust my body and respect whereever it was each day. To dedicate myself to improving the quality of my movement regardless of how that would make me look. Occasionally rejoice when something seemed to progress.
This was neither a hobby, nor professional dance. It was a PRACTICE.
* * *
In today’s world, the idea of engaging in a daily practice has become a bit lost. The most popular practices are around yoga and meditation and breathwork - but those who view their daily work as a practice are often the ones that work in those fields (teachers and bodywork/movement work practitioners). The idea that you would do something each day for the sole purpose of self-discovery, when it’s not your job - well, in our secular life style there seems not to be any space for it. That’s why so many of us are caught up in that hobby vs professional thing. But a practice gives you a way out.
So the question is, how can a practice work and what does it mean for your life?
Because obviously it’s not as easy as slapping a “practice” label on anything involving ballet.
For me, it took an uncomfortable realization that a traditional adult life with, say, 8 hours of work every day and family responsibilites around it JUST DOESN’T WORK.
It has never worked, and it will never work. All it does is create overwhelm, exhaustion, burnout, depression, and abandoned dreams. In fact it’s a quite modern invention, and we’re all paying the price for it.
I think the beauty of a practice is that it does not just require 10 minutes of your time to do some sort of quick miracle workout. It’s not a “six week program to get the splits”.
It asks you to commit enough time so that you can dive deep. And with that, it asks you to completely reconsider and overhaul how much time you spend on things in your life and on an even more basic level, WHAT you do with your life.
To me the big conclusion was: I can’t have all-day work days every day. I can not build a career that would require me to sit in an office in front of a screen all day, or in meeting rooms, or stand around water coolers. But also - I can’t work for myself, or build my own business in a way that would consume all waking hours. And no, getting up two hours earlier and cutting my sleep won’t cut it either.
On a very practical level, it meant that the money I needed to live my life would have to come from fewer work hours. And I would need to be in charge of how many work hours - I couldn’t let outer circumstances dictate that choice.
This felt big. Because usually, in adult life, we build everything around our job and family. The idea that you could build something around an activity you love felt almost too crazy.
* * *
In case you’re wondering, no I haven’t figured it all out yet. I currently train ballet about two hours per day on five days per week, and I usually do a long hike with my son in his wheelchair on one day per week. The remaining day is for recovery, reflection, and being very lazy. My whole setup of where my income is coming from is by far not working yet. For instance, the support that I need and want to give to my son every day significantly limits the time that I can put into my business. At the same time, the need to travel with him and be in another country for an extended time every year (for reasons related to his health and for family reasons) requires me to be able to work remotely.
I am sharing this to show that making the commitment to a practice doesn’t mean everything will suddenly magically fall into place.
I think especially in the beginning, when you decide to transition to a life with a practice, you really do have to fight for it and it may seem like a battle that you can’t win.
It doesn’t matter - you start, and you gently keep going. Maybe it does start with 10min per day. And there is no limit to how far you can go - if you want to do ballet all day and work for an hour, then why not. Maybe you can make it work, maybe not. But whatever attempts to re-organize your life come from your commitment to your ballet practice, it will do something!
Because in the end, it’s not the amount of time you spend on your ballet practice every day. To me personally there is only ONE main characteristic.
Every practice session will bring insight.
(Contrast that with just doing a workout in order to get it done so you can feel better afterwards. Or because someone told you it’s healthy for you.)
Sometimes that insight might be technical. Sometimes you discover a new inside part of your body. Sometimes you get to know yourself better: When you practice on a bad day and nothing works, your insight may be that you’re able to keep going even if you hate yourself that day.
So it doesn’t mean that you have to train and sweat for two hours every day, nor that you even have to take class each day of the week. It’s more about: What do you need to do every day in order to advance your ballet growth in whatever way? On some days that might be a class. On other days a meditation. Or rest. Or cross-training. Or gentle conditioning work. Or a good stretch. There is no set length - the determining factor is how much do you need in order to be the person you want to be that day?
Here are some other characteristics of having a ballet practice to me:
It doesn’t need validation from others. You do it, even when nobody sees you, or when you don’t post about it.
There is a certain process in it, no matter if it’s formalized or not. For instance, re-discovering how to turn out from scratch is part of my ballet practice.
A ballet class can be part of a practice when approached with the intention of self-discovery vs just getting through the exercises and trying to look as good as possible.
You trust the process and that your body will guide you.
It serves no other purpose than itself.
It’s lifelong learning, you don’t have to ever retire from it.
There are no limits to quality, depth, and progress - you have permission to work as much and as hard as you want and seek out the best teachers for you. You can invest as much time, energy, and money as you like.
It keeps you ready if any opportunities beyond a practice arise. Somenbody suddenly offering you a paid gig? The side-effect of a practice is that you’re always in shape for it.
It’s holistic and there is a spiritual realm. A higher body intelligence, a gut instinct, an unexplicable faith that everything is fine with how you are. You take everything you experience in your practice - the joy, the hate, the limitations, the despair, the frustrations, the questions, the elation - and bring it in front of that higher something. And then see what happens.
* * *
A ballet practice does not require you to sacrifice everything else in your life and only live for ballet. It actually respects that you have other important things in your life.
But it requires us to reconsider our priorities. We often have so many things in our life that are actually not that important to us. That we do only because (we think) they are expected from us, or make us look better in front of others, or are nice to have. A ballet practice, because it takes time and energy (and money), can help us cut through the clutter of our life’s commitments and discern what we really want vs. what we can live without. That simplification process can be a huge upgrade for our life - suddenly we feel that we can do with much less while the quality of our life actually increases.
Of course nobody is required to have a ballet practice in order to feel good about their ballet, you can advance perfectly well with taking classes and doing how ever much or little you feel like. But if you struggle with finding a place for your ambitions, re-framing your work as a practice may bring the peace and permission that you need.
What’s your experience of a practice? Any other aspects that come to mind?