. . . the way a dancer feels as she steps out, alone, on an empty stage. That moment of no return – familiar to me from two decades spent dancing – when years of struggle and physical endeavour combine at a deadline that cannot be deferred; that sense of the world waiting to see whether you really can do it, well-wishers leaning in, eyes alight with hope, naysayers resting on their heels, arms folded across chests and knowing glances exchanged.
Harnessing the learning from years of failure to a single goal and summoning every ounce of emotional courage to dance the first step; the faltering start and then the gradual cresting of the wave as you realise you can do it – you’re doing it – and hardly daring to believe it lest the spell is broken; and then the moment of silence that follows your final flourish, launching a crescendo of applause which, however loud, can never compete with the roaring emotions in your head as the doubts, the hopes and years of wanting spin like the reels on a slot machine before they finally come to rest, three golden bars lined up in a row. You’ve hit the jackpot. You did it.
"The Truth About Ballet" by Deborah Bull in The Telegraph. (Wednesday 26 January 2011). Full article.
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