(Photo by Gene Shiavone)

When I was picking out a shirt to wear this morning, I knew exactly which drawer to go to. Normally I meander around my room, weighing the possibilities like I’m in “Clueless,” but for my first day back taking barre, my BIP/BON (breathe in the positive/breathe in the negative) shirt was calling my name; there was no other option. With my mantra emblazoned on my chest reminding me to focus on the positive, how could class go wrong? Choosing a shirt was the easy part, because if the moments waiting around before getting in the car for class were any indication, it was going to be an emotional process.The last time I set foot into a studio with the purpose of dancing was six months ago. At that point I was doing small jumps and beginning to feel like myself again. A return to ABT for the City Center season seemed not only plausible, but like it was actually going to materialize. August was brutal health wise and left me lower, both emotionally and physically, than ever before. I then made the conscious choice to hold off on pushing back into shape until I felt like I was ready.

There was only so long I could stay away from the studio all together without going crazy. Even though my health has only improved by baby steps, I knew I needed to return to the barre and get my body moving again, little by little. Whereas last time I jumped in and did full barre within a week, this time I have weathered the repercussions of that foolishness and am wiser because of it.

As I turned the corner into the basement of the dance building at the University of Montana this morning, I heard grande allegro music swelling through the hallway; it immediately felt like I had been mute for almost a year. I crooked my head into the doorway and saw the students traveling across the floor and I was hit with an arrow reminding me how much I miss dancing. It’s not as if I’ve stayed away from dance entirely over the past year (I’ve photographed and seen plenty) but day by day, it gets harder to stay away from the studio.

Before I knew it, the previous class was over and I stepped into the room dressed in a baggy shirt and pants to take my place at the barre by the door, where I could excuse myself without a commotion.

Plie, stretch. Tendu, close. These are words, movements, and emotions that my body had been starved of for quite some time. The students around me proceeded to lift their legs to the ceiling while I kept mine moving half as quickly, and barely off the ground.

Regardless of how far I still have to go, it feels like a huge accomplishment to be sitting here typing about my first class. I’ll be moving at a slow pace for a while, but the key to that statement is that I’ll be moving.

For more on my day to day life, check out Ranting Details!