When I was living a full-time dance life, nearly every waking moment was consumed with benchmarks. How close is my side-split turnout to a 180-degree line? How many pirouettes can I do to the right (spinning clockwise on my left foot with my right toe at my knee in passé) before looking balance? How many to the left (spinning counterclockwise on my right foot with my left toe in passé)? How high can I jump? How do my sore places and injuries feel? What will these twinging limitations let me do?
On a “on” day I was meeting or exceeding these benchmarks. I would go down to the floor to stretch with both legs extended to either side and achieve a 180-degree side split. There would be no angle, my behind would be in alignment with my legs. I would know that this means that this means my turnout-requiring positions would be smoother and easier. There would be no stress on my knees and ankles when my feet turned out without the compliance of my hips. Today there would be grace and flow.
On an “on” day I would start my spin to the right, my right knee hitting exactly the right position to rotate me with a strong-as-steel left axis. I would spot cleanly (turning my head quickly to the front on each turn to avoid dizziness). I would turn, once, twice, three times – STOP – and gently descend into a perfect landing. Normally I would be able to do this well only when turning either to the right or to the left. On an “on” day turns in both directions work as they should. I would try the same turn to the left side and the turn’s “on”-ness would be a new “aha!” moment of discovery that both-sides turns were working. There would be no wobbling in my standing foot, no pain in my standing or turning leg’s hip, no leaning of my torso in the mirror that would push the turn off its axis. Today there would be mark-hitting with precision and control.
On an “on” day I would do a preparation to go into a high jump, I would push off with my back foot, unfurl both legs into the air and I would soar. I would float like a paper airplane with optimal folds and thrust in just the right way for high buoyancy. I would revel in being high above the ground, perhaps to be caught and raised even higher by a dance partner and then sweep up or down into the next position. The feeling is one of breaking free from gravity. I felt like a bird or a superhero. Today there would be flight.
These experiences of the “on” day are participation in a kind of perfection that bring surges of elation and joy. There is the thrill of achievement – you are edging closer to the impossible aesthetic standards set by the ballet genre and winning over the pull of human imperfections. On these “on” days you feel a little closer to the divine. You are no longer a (mediocre) “normal” person – you are exceptional. You, through your toil and sweat and striving, are among the elite. For these moments of achievement, the little voice inside you that says “you don’t deserve to be a ballerina, you will never be good enough” is silenced. You are winning. You can achieve the kind of unassailable perfection that no one, not even yourself, can criticize.