Hello!
I had a not-great class the other day. The warmup was fine – it felt luscious to roll up and down my spine after two days of staring into Zoom boxes at my desk – but once it was time to dance? I just could not. I wobbled through turns, charged left when I was supposed to go right, and nearly kicked another dancer in the chest. I caught a glimpse of an unhinged muppet in the mirror, saw the redness of my face and the ugly angle of my leg, and for a flash felt so stupid and so old and fat and pathetic. Why was I doing this to myself? I’m delusional to even be here.
In the essay of mine Oldster magazine published a few weeks ago, I averred that in dance class at 57 I felt no shame. Obviously that was a bit of a front. A sort of brutal self-criticism is hardwired in many dancers, especially those coming from a ballet background, and I’m for sure not immune. It’s hard to break the conditioning that tells you to go higher, faster; be lighter, stronger. But over time I’ve learned strategies – hacks, if you will – to quiet the unforgiving voice that starts shouting in my head. I remind myself that at least I showed up; that class, in fact, is the place where failure is welcome, because only through being terrible at something will you ever get better, if that is the goal. The other night I also tried to remind myself to extend to myself the same generosity I often unthinkingly give to others. When I see someone struggling to turn I don’t judge them – if anything I think “good for them for trying,” though honestly, I’m just as often not watching at all. Why is it so hard to turn that same gentleness inward?
Brett, a reader of the Oldster piece, commented, “I’ve contemplated a return to class but haven’t done so because I fear facing my ballet perfectionism in my 55-year-old body. How did you put aside the judgement that ballet pounded into us?”
At the time I responded that in large part it’s probably just a function of emotional maturity. Frustration is normal, but rather than letting it plunge you into the reactive panic of a teenager, being able to name it, look at it, and set it aside is a useful skill. (And yes, I’ve done my DBT workbook, thanks.)
I think I’ve also been lucky that in the intervening 30 years between dance classes I’ve been involved in various other art-making endeavors (mainly theater) in which good process rather than technical perfection is the goal. Rather than evaluating the success of such endeavors by how closely they hew to some overarching vision, we might ask, “Was it fun?” “Did it move people?” “Did I allow for happy accidents?” And without going too far down the cancer hole I would reiterate that getting sick really puts this shit in perspective. Health and mobility are temporary conditions for all of us and, as I said to Brett, I do truly feel lucky to be alive and able to move with some grace and strength for now, and that's often enough.
Of course, finding the right class and teacher is also key. Do you want to take class with a crew of preprofessional teens and a shouty Russian barking about your extension? Or in community with dancers of many ages and sizes, with a supportive, adaptive teacher able to meet each student where they are? I mean you do you but I think the choice is clear.
Tuli Bera is one such supportive teacher – as well as a beautiful dancer with a background in Indian classical and folk dance, modern, improv, and aerial dance. I’ve written in the past about her “Ballet Unboxed” project, a series of workshops led by various Chicago dance educators designed to interrogate and heal participants’ relationship with and understanding of ballet, which she studied as a young dancer. She currently teaches beginning ballet at Aerial Dance Chicago, so I reached out to her to see if she had any thoughts on the thorny question of perfection. Unsurprisingly, she did. A heavily edited transcript follows. While we’re talking about ballet, I think a lot of what she has to say about beginner’s mind — not to mention forgoing mirrors — is relevant to anyone embarking on something new and scary and seeking to calm their inner critic. I hope you enjoy.
Martha: So Tuli, how DO you quiet your critical mind?
Tuli: I feel like I have different answers as a teacher and as a dancer <laughs>. And sometimes you know, I definitely contradict myself. Like, it's so hard to take your own advice!
Martha: No, for sure. So put on one of those hats and then we can switch to the other one.
Tuli: As a teacher I definitely set up the class acknowledging where I come from in terms of my relationship with ballet – which is very much what led to the Ballet Unboxed series. And one of the most important things, I think, is that the studio I teach in doesn't have mirrors, which I'm very grateful for. I think mirrors are the thing that perpetuates this idea of always trying to see whether or not you're doing it in a particular way.
There is this perception that ballet has to be perfect, and for me it's like perfection actually doesn't exist. As a teacher, it's more about: “How are you tapping into the feelings of positioning your body in a certain way?” Movement is something that your body does know how to do, but it’s often functional to a point where we take it for granted. And so when I teach, I almost expect the class to be a conversation, with not just our bodies, but with our words and what we're feeling. If you just stay in your head and look at how I am demonstrating a movement, it's very likely there's gonna be that voice in your head of like, “Oh, I'm not doing it right.” So I encourage students to be able to communicate what they’re feeling in their body, and to tune into what they are doing versus what they think they are doing wrong. And you have to trust me as a teacher to tell you, “Oh, I'm seeing this. What are you feeling when you do this? Okay. Remember that feeling now, try to do this.” I'm really interested in people being able to verbalize their feelings.
Martha: If someone is in a class and comes to you very frustrated and being really self-critical, do you have things in your pocket that you can pull out to say to them?
Tuli: For sure. I don't use the word “perfection.” I use “consistency.” I ask them, “Can you do this movement in a way that feels repeatable, that's efficient, that doesn't feel taxing on the body?” Is there pain? If there's pain that's probably not right for you. If I give you a direction to spread your toes out and push against the floor, that might be painful for someone because they don't usually spread their toes, so they're cramping. So, okay, don't spread your toes to the max. It’s all very individual. And for me, you can get to an idea of perfection based on what feels good for you.
And it's very individualistic. And that's the thing. I always felt in my ballet training that we were just like robots trying to become this one image, but that's just not the case. Like, that's impossible. But I believed it. And that's when you get into this idea of like, “Oh, I, I guess I'm just not a turner.”
Martha: So as a dancer, how do you control your perfectionist impulses?
Tuli: We're working on that! <laughs> I mean, I definitely have those moments. Even today when I was in the studio, I was trying to do a very small phrase of a variation that I did when I was, like, 14. And there's just this constant inner dialogue of trying to catch myself before I spiral into wishing it would feel the way it did when I was 14. I have to do almost like a mental exercise of like, okay, what is your body like now compared to when it was 14? Like, we're not trying to chase those feelings. It's impossible to have that.
Martha: Right. And recognizing that even though there's this physical muscle memory of something that you did when you were much younger, you're actually a much more, hopefully, emotionally developed person now. And just doing a tendu doesn't mean you're regressing to your 14-year-old self with all of their self hatred and baggage. And so trying to just kind of remind myself of that, like, yeah, I'm older, but that's also really helpful in some ways.
Tuli: You have to kind of talk yourself up a little bit. Like, I am proud of where I am! Yeah. I'm not doing like ballet in the way that I used to, but I can imagine that my 14-year-old self would look at me and be like, wow. So that's how you're approaching ballet now.
Martha: It would blow their mind!
Tuli: It would blow their mind. But this approach is so much more human. And I feel like remembering what it felt like when I was 14 is just a tool, it's not something to aspire to.
Martha: If someone were about to start taking dance classes again, and you, with the benefit of your experience as a teacher and as a dancer, were going to give them advice for how to go into it with the best mindset, what would you say?
Tuli: I would say, if this is your first dance class, treat it as such. Go in with curiosity; you can't do anything wrong. Like, “wrong” doesn't exist. Sure, there are safe practices, and the teacher will be there to help with that, but hopefully you can take responsibility for what that means for you. If you don't have that kind of body awareness, you're not gonna try something that could potentially harm you. So go in with curiosity. If you love it, commit to it for eight weeks.
If they are returning after a long time away, I know that it could potentially be a very challenging thing to do. But think about how you can rediscover the form for yourself. Like, yes, you're gonna have all this, baggage. But how can you come in and if someone's describing a plié, how can you ask yourself, “What IS a plié?” If you go in saying “I know what a plié is and I know what a tendu is, I know what a rond de jambe is,” and you latch on to what you like knew from decades ago, then you're not really going into the space trying to learn. You're like trying to reconfirm something that you felt 40, 30, 20 years ago.
Martha: And most likely you're going to be frustrated by it. Because you have a different body now.
Tuli: Yep. You have a different body, you're not going through puberty. You're not a teenager. You can be in great shape, but you still have a different body. So go in with a true beginner lens and rediscover what that movement feels like on you. Like, “Oh, wow, I'm bending my knees. Okay, now I'm stretching them!” It is kind of childlike, like you’re experiencing something for the first time. And I think just focusing on the feeling of it, in the moment, and giving yourself almost this meditative approach of like, “Okay – am I breathing? Oh great, I'm breathing. Check.” Take this somatic approach to the movement.
It's gonna be hard, but you can always try to catch yourself mm-hmm in that moment for that class, whether it's an hour, hour and a half. And then I would honestly say try journaling after, to remember what it felt like.
Martha: It's interesting that you said to enter this sort of childlike mind frame because it IS that in one sense, but in another sense, that ability to observe yourself with detachment is something that comes with time. So that you're not just reactive in the moment. That ability to say “okay, this is what my body's doing now. This is, this is what a plié feels like. I'm bending my knees and I’m breathing” – it's not childlike. It's a weird dualism that you're engaged in.
Tuli: Yeah. That's so true. I guess children don't really do that. They just kinda like, DO it. But, also, I imagine most people that want to return, they're not doing it to torture their bodies. <laughs>
Martha: No. They're doing it because it's pleasurable.
Tuli: Yeah. They want to tap into the joy of moving their body in this way. So I try to remind them that it’s FUN. It feels good. If it doesn’t feel good then that’s what you’ve got to figure out. And hopefully the teacher in the room is there to offer that kind of support, but even if they're not, if you have some kind of body awareness, you can usually figure it out.
In my class, everything I say is a suggestion. And I feel like that's very disarming for a ballet class. Because most of the time I've had students say, like, oh my God, I was so nervous to come into class, 'cause I've heard ballet classes are really strict. And I'm like, no. I don't take that approach. Once it leaves my mouth and it enters your brain you get to decide what you do with what I just said. Like, if you want to lay on the floor while we do relevés great. And if you're choosing to do the relevé, I'll offer you feedback. But yeah — ballet is a whole thing! I could talk about this forever.
Thank you Tuli!
A few other notes:
I thought this, by Amy Chu, was very beautiful. H/T Flaming Hydra.
Also, I don’t know if it’s accurate to say I enjoyed this Mary Gaitskill essay, about (loosely) teaching college students amidst a generational mental health crisis, which is two years old but is making the rounds again, but I thought it was very wise. At one point she says “I think people are becoming crazy because they are too estranged from their own bodies to feel them. Or to feel other people,” and it is exactly this that I am talking about when I keep banging on about “dance can save the world.” Dancing, moving, a foot massage, a hug — they’re the somatic equivalent of “touching grass.” Movement and body awareness improves mental health and brain health outcomes. If you don’t believe me, some rando on the internet, here’s a Harvard study.
Last: Something you can do instead of doom scrolling is take a first aid class. I did just that this week and spending three hours in a room at the rec center practicing chest compressions and wound management with five other earnest people was a balm. At least when the civil war starts I might be able to be of use.
Happy spring!
Oh the wonders of being an aged dancer. The brain doesn't always align with the body's capabilities, and the competitive (mostly with ourselves) nature of dance training is so hardwired. But what a glorious gift to still be able to dance at all, extensions and perfect pirouettes be damned!