In 1973 when I was 11 years old, my mother took me to the Palais Theatre in St Kilda to see the Leningrad Kirov Ballet perform. I sat in the front row of the balcony, leaning over to see the people underneath; fidgeting impatiently while I waited for the ballet to begin. There are two things that are embedded in my memories of that day–the beauty of the dancers and the way that the music felt like it became part of me. And so began a lifetime love affair with the ballet.
I was very fortunate that, despite our circumstances, Mum was able to take me to the ballet quite a few times over the ensuing years so I was privileged to see some of the world’s premier dancers — Mikhail Baryshnikov, Rudolf Nureyev, Sir Robert Helpmann, Leanne Benjamin, and Stanton Welch to name but a few.
While ballet isn’t for everyone, from the first time I heard the violin strains of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake and watched the poignant movements of the betrayed loves in La Sylphide I acquired a childhood passion that has stayed with me into adulthood. As an adult I chose to become a subscriber of the Australian Ballet, attending all of their scheduled performances from around 1981. With the same sense of excitement that I felt as an 11 year old, I purchased a season ticket each year for the next decade and feasted on dance and music like King Henry at a banquet table.
After moving away from Melbourne and expanding our family of three to a family of eight, for many years attending ballet performances became a luxury I was able to only indulge in occasionally. I made the decision to change that the year I turned the ripe old age of fifty. My family and friends nurtured my heart, my work and study strengthened by mind. I craved the music and dance to once again nourish my soul.
We each have a place in us that needs to be filled with things that bring us joy. As the circumstances of our lives change, so will our ability to indulge ourselves. We just need to remember that we are worthy of having joy in our lives and reach out to grasp it.
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