The Unforgivable Curses

How much do you curse and why?  

I can’t curse. Ok, fine I can but I feel incredibly uncomfortable when I do, and I sound like I’m saying something blasphemous when I do. There’s always that hesitation before I say a curse word, because when I was younger I never really heard these words being used. When I was younger I thought that by the time that I was in highschool, cursing wouldn’t be as foreign. I mean all the older kids cursed so I assumed that it was something that would come naturally as I got older. But I guess I never got into the habit. So the only time that I heard someone curse was when they were extremely mad or frustrated, and that related cursing to anger in my brain.

I can probably count on one hand how many times I’ve actually cursed. The total of two times happened during pretty intense moments of panic. One time, during a ballet performance, I made a massive mistake in a variation that was known for its synchronization. At the moment I realized I’d jumped into the “tambe” two counts too early I was devastated, upset and ashamed of myself. I’d spent 4 months perfecting this, and I’d just messed it up in a split second for everyone. Now just so you know, speaking on stage in a ballet performance is pretty common (if you were standing on stage with the dancers, you would hear random whispers of conversation and commands). So as I was leaping into the air two counts early, the s-word slipped out of my mouth. In the moment it felt totally appropriate. But now I still think of that moment and cringe, and I think that my reaction was justified. Cursing was like the Unforgivable Curses in Harry Potter, I thought that when you curse you had to mean it. And I don’t think that I’ve gotten upset enough times to use these words that much.

I used to get mad all the time. I would race upstairs to our TV room, and hide myself in the closet, peeking through the crack of the two doors. I was also the cry baby of the family. I think this made me embarrassed about showing emotion in public, because of people that used to make fun of me for crying. So now when I’m at school or ballet I don’t really show how I’m actually feeling. And my anger has been replaced by a general not caring.

On the other hand, at home I get in plenty of arguments with my parents and my brother. I don’t think I’ve ever really shown that I was upset with someone. My version of anger is just acting a bit colder, but I can’t hold that grudge for very long. At one point I realized that I’d gotten so good at hiding my feelings that when someone was rude to me, my brain would defend them and say, “they probably had a bad day.” This doesn’t mean that people don’t annoy me, but I can’t really be mad enough to curse.

Obviously I learned that cursing didn’t require anger. Once in awhile I spend time with people that curse just because they’re used to it and want to, and also with the Internet now, I’ve grown more and more used to hearing people swear. But at least in the near future, I don’t think that I’ll be spitting out curse words one after another. Although that’s just because I don’t ever have the need. I still resort to the once in awhile “shoot” and “crap” but even those have slowly dropped out of my vocabulary.

Kids Scare Me

“Don’t worry, it’s only Ballet 1.”

That was what the ballet mistress at my ballet studio told me when I asked her what I needed to know about assisting her children’s division class for the next semester. Any other person would hear that and relax, but I on the other hand got extremely nervous. If it was “only Ballet 1” then I would probably be expected to pick up everything quickly, but I was certain that I'd probably make enough mistakes for the ballet mistress to take back what she said.

If I had it my way, I’d probably hire a personal consultant that would answer all of the weird and stupid questions that most people wouldn’t even think of asking, without judging me. That way I’d know that I was completely prepared for whatever was thrown at me. Sadly, that isn’t possible, so I have to make do with casually asking some of my more experienced friends and hoping that they don’t realize how out of my depth I feel.

This feeling is actually sort of refreshing because I usually don’t leave my comfort zone when I’m at school. I stick to my introverted ways; I only spend time with people that I’m comfortable with, and I don’t try to initiate conversation with people if I don’t feel like it.

But this is completely different when I’m at my ballet studio. Even though Ballet 1 only teaches kids ages 6-10, I still get extremely stressed. I definitely wouldn’t say I’m an expert at all the nuances in ballet, but I’ve read all the technique books and watched all the videos to learn exactly what was right and what was wrong. So I usually don’t question the corrections that I give to the kids, but I always feel like I’m faking it. My brain keeps telling me, “fake it till you make it, fake it till you become it” (courtesy of a TED Talk about body language).

When I assist I’m supposed to help the kids out if they don’t know what they’re doing, and also to correct their placement. But most of the time I’m scared that I’m not helping enough or I’m making things worse. Am I supposed to stand at the corner and tell the kids when they should start shassé-ing across the floor or are they old enough to go by themselves? How loud do I talk? How friendly should I be with the kids?

When I was younger, I was extremely quiet and diligent, so I never realized that the children’s division was so much fun. I used to think that ballet class was supposed to be absolutely silent. That was just the thing about ballet; you weren’t supposed to talk. So now that I’m assisting, it’s weird to see how much fun the kids have in class.

It’s even harder considering how much little kids scare me. What do I even talk to them about? I know it should easy to talk to little kids, because they aren’t the least bit self-conscious and will talk with you about anything, but it still takes some courage on my part.

Now it’s been 9 months into assisting, and I feel sort of better. Sort of. I’d say that half of the time I know exactly what I should be doing. When I should be demonstrating, when I should be correcting, and when I should be helping the kids with figuring stuff out. But as soon as the teacher thanks the class, and the kids charge towards us to give the teacher and me hugs,  their little arms that barely reaching my waist tightly squeezing me makes it all worth it.