Missing the Movement…

I’ve never been to the Chicago ballet.

Me, dancing in Europe with my studio in 1994

I’ve always wanted to. But I don’t know anyone who loves it as much as I do, and it’s a lot of money and a lot to ask of someone who doesn’t love it.

Growing up, I danced, and I can honestly say that ballet was my least favorite when I was young. Tap and jazz were what I loved. Ballet felt too strict, too quiet, too slow for the kind of energy I had back then. But eventually the beauty and athleticism of it won me over. Somewhere along the way I started seeing it differently. The strength it takes to make something look effortless. The discipline behind every graceful movement. The storytelling without words.

There’s something almost magical about watching a ballet on stage.

Swan Lake at the Rialto

A couple years ago I took my daughter to see Swan Lake at the local theater. She was fascinated for about the first half hour before the novelty wore off, but I loved every minute of it. Watching the dancers glide across the stage brought back a thousand memories. I could almost feel the familiar rhythm in my own muscles - the counts, the patterns, the quiet focus of trying to get every movement right.

I miss it.

I loved dancing in all forms, whether in a studio, on stage, or even just with a partner somewhere. The music, the rhythm, the choreography, the challenge of memorizing steps until they became second nature. Even now, when music comes on the radio, I catch myself daydreaming dances in my head. Steps, turns, timing. It’s strange how that never really leaves you. The body remembers things the mind forgets.

I wasn’t the best dancer, but I loved it. And sometimes love matters more than talent.

Someday I’ll make it to the Chicago ballet. I’ll sit there in the dim light of the theater and watch every movement with the kind of appreciation only someone who has tried it can truly understand. I’ll admire the strength, the control, the way years of practice show up in a single effortless lift or turn. And it will be better than any movie I could have spent those two hours on.

But the truth is, I’ve realized something.

Maybe the real lesson isn’t just about someday.

Maybe it’s about not waiting for the perfect moment, or the perfect company, or the perfect reason to do the things that make your heart feel alive. Some passions don’t need an audience or a partner to be worth pursuing.

Sometimes loving something is reason enough to show up for it.

So maybe one day soon, I’ll buy the ticket anyway. I’ll walk into that theater by myself, find my seat, and let the orchestra swell as the curtain rises.

And somewhere between the music and the movement, I’ll remember that some parts of who we are never really leave the stage.