tears of joy

I returned to Jose Mateo's Ballet School earlier this evening to start adult ballet classes once again.

God I missed ballet class.

My class was intimate, with only ten ballerinas including myself. I actually prefer classes to be a smaller size - my ideal number would be between eight and fifteen to a class. Although this particular class had few people, the incredible amount of talent and passion leaping and pirouetting around the studio was undeniable.

After the mere two hours had ended, I cried all the way from the studio on Harvard Ave to the Starbucks opposite the Redline entrance. I must have looked like a freak - sweaty beyond belief, stray hairs hanging around my face, messy ballet bun falling out, and ballet tights carefully rolled up my ankles and tucked under American Apparel running shorts, paired with an oversized black sweater. Not to mention the fact that I was on the phone the entire time, [with my mother] hysterically balling my eyes out. 

And I don't give a care in the world for how I looked - because I was happy. I am happy. The end.

Nothing compares to the joy I experience while and after I dance. Absolutely nothing.

before class this evening:

xx