I'll never forget the first time I laid eyes on you, ready to spend hours meticulously picking you out and trying each of your styles on. I had waited for this day for years. The day that I, an 11-year-old girl, would walk in to pick out the shoes that would change my future. As hope and excitement began to overflow from my pores of dense exhilaration, I opened the door and stepped in. Shaking with pure jubilation, I proudly announced that I was here for my first pointe shoe fitting. At that moment, I felt power beyond belief. The mere thought of trying on such an important shoe made me, an 11-year-old girl, feel important and welcomed. Just a shy, socially awkward child, who finally felt as though I could take on the world. I was brought my first pair. These beautifully crafted, pink satin, hard enough to break a hand, shoes. As my eyes expanded with excitement, I put the shoe on, knowing that I would soon be a new person. They said the words I'd waited 11 years to hear. "Step up on your pointe shoes." As I prepared to stand up, ready to feel three feet taller, I took a deep breath. Never again would I be a pointe shoe virgin. This was my time. I began to step up, feet curling forward, unstable and unsure, and eventually found myself taller than I'd ever been. But then there was a shift. Below the surface of incessant joy and exultation, I began to feel the pain. This was a type of pain I didn't even know existed. The type of pain that comes from putting all your weight onto two of the smallest parts of your body. As the excitement began to diminish, I began to question this newfound love. How could I love something that caused me so much pain? Little did I know, this would be the theme of my life years later. Trying to hide the pain behind my smile, I timidly stated that these shoes felt great. And thus, began my journey.
Eight years since the first fitting. Eight years since I was the unknowing child, too fearful to even speak up about the truth. Eight years since I've had that first feeling of stepping up onto pointe. I've always wanted to go back, to feel things more than once. Feelings that I know can only occur once in my life. But that never seemed fair to me. I mean, it's not fair that some of the best moments in your life are impossible to be repeated. What if I didn't enjoy something enough because I didn't realize it would all change after? As I recall the hundreds of pairs of pointe shoes I've gone through, I am bewildered and astonished at the miracle of reflection. A single shoe's ability to remind me of hours spent in rehearsal. Hours spent sitting at the theater, feet throbbing and unable to even walk, but somehow able to dance through a 2-hour ballet. Hours of dance competitions and waking up before the sun could even adjust to the new day, just to have a few minutes on stage. Something that seemed so foreign and different to me is now part of my every day routine. Shoes, that to some people are no more than a hindrance and annoyance, have changed me. I understand myself better; my capabilities, my weaknesses, my wants. I end each of my days with pointe. Looking at my shoes is a constant reminder of the battles I've fought through and the successes I've experienced. These shoes have put me through hell and back, yet somehow, I always manage to get them on again. Because even through immense disappointment and pain, there's always a joy that comes back. There's always the hope that this time, something will be different. My shoes carry my heart. My passion. My willingness to continue pushing on, even if others doubt my abilities. And on days when I feel particularly drained, as though one more push will be my demise, I close my eyes, and I think of a girl. I think of an overly exuberant, fascinatingly ignorant, 11-year-old girl, who knew nothing except the fact that these shoes would change her life forever.
