Talent Isn’t Enough When You’re a Fat Ballerina
“What does it mean when your body is your art? Can a thicker brush not make just as beautiful strokes?”
I could’ve been a professional ballet dancer. At least, this is the lie I tell myself; how I am able to face my reflection in the mirror every day without collapsing into a puddle of regret.
What do you call it when you dedicate all of your time and energy to preparing for something but don’t ever become that something? What’s the name for not being strong enough to risk failure so you quit while you’re ahead and live the rest of your life comforting yourself with the notion that you might have “made it” if only you’d really tried? Isn’t that it’s own special, uniquely devastating form of failure?
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I felt a down spell in my persistent belief in possibility—a sense that something within me once felt unremitting, but had since been stretched to its limit.