Success can be any size. It can be momentous occasion of being accepted to a top choice school or something small and simple like learning how to tie a shoe. One of my favorite personal successes is closer to tying a shoe. In fact, it involves my favorite pair of pink pointe shoes. Currently, they’re three sizes too small and worn out beyond a functional point. But they are still my favorite shoes and they are still hanging above my windowsill. Over eight years ago, I earned those shoes as a token of achievement.
In the fifth grade, I started ballet and being that I was an older beginner most of my classmates were half my size and half my age. I towered over most of the class and although I made some great pint-sized friends, I really wanted to catch up to my age group. To me, and nearly every other want-to-be ballerina, that meant one thing—pointe shoes. Satiny pink, square-toed shoes with pristine flat and smooth ribbons. Being able to don these shoes granted one a certain status in the ballet world. It meant you were strong, graceful, and advanced.
At the end of my first year, Ms. Roberta, the studio director, offered me the “pointe readiness test.” This consisted of performing a series of combinations and routines, in order to determine if one was strong enough to being pointe. The day of the exam arrived and I made certain to wear my newest tights, my favorite leotard, and my neatest bun. We began the test at the barre, where everyone was instructed to hold specific positions, such as releve and posse, while the teachers paced back and forth analyzing every aspect of our execution. When the barre portion of the exam ended, I removed my clammy palms from the cold metal barre and made my way to the center of the floor to begin the other combinations. Each group of girls went by leaping and turning, balancing and soaring. The final piece of music came to an end and so did the exam. We filed out of the studio, headed to the dressing room, and waited to be called in one by one for the results. I finally heard my name and sprang up from the floor. I quickly scurried back into the studio and greeted Ms. Roberta once again. With a wide grin, she simply said “You’re ready. Go get those shoes!” I bolted out of the room, meet my dad at the car, and shrieked the great news.
I had never so excited about shoe shopping. Moving up from flimsy ballet slippers to the satiny block toe shoes was quite an honor to me as a 6th grader. Working exceptionally hard for over a year allowed me to catch up with my age group (while wearing an awesome albeit painful pair shoes). After several hours in the dancewear store debating between Bloch and Capezio and Gaynor Minden, I had finally found the perfect pair. I returned home to neatly and delicately sew the ribbons on, ensuring that they would never unravel. The next Monday, we all loudly clumped into the studio still finding it awkward to walk in these new blocky and stiff shoes. I took my place at the barre and rose up onto my toes. I lifted my hands and glanced into the mirror, I still towered over some of my younger counterparts but this time with grace and strength.
My pointe shoes that actually fit and are not collecting dust on a window sill.
