Adalind at the Barre

Ballet class runs on Thursday evenings. I pick her up at 5:45 and we're usually there by 6:10. She walks in and something shifts. The same kid who, twenty minutes earlier, could not locate both shoes in the same room of our house, walks up to the barre and stands with her feet in first position and waits for class to start. Completely self-possessed.

I watch through the window when I can. She's six, so the class is about fundamentals — barre work, basic positions, learning how to listen with your body. What I notice is the expression on her face. It's not performing. It's not checking to see if anyone is watching. It's just her and the music and whatever's happening in her head.

I find this interesting partly because it's different from how she moves through most of life, which involves a lot of detours, tangents, and getting distracted by things that are genuinely interesting but not the thing we were supposed to be doing. At the barre, none of that. Just the thing.

I don't know where this will go. Maybe ballet stays, maybe it doesn't. She's been asking about aerial silks lately, which tells you something about where her mind is. But I'll keep watching through the window either way.