There is no place like home.

Sometimes I wonder if practicing medicine will ever feel as comfortable as stepping into a ballet class. I'm on a bit of a lull right now with school so I've been taking ballet classes about 3 times a week for the past few weeks. Today I made it through the entire class which is a big accomplishment considering I haven't done much of any ballet since the summer before medical school (2015). Everything is coming back though and I'm slowly getting stronger and rediscovering my center of balance and my artistry. It never ceases to amaze me how at home I feel in the studio, no matter how much time has passed since my last class. I can be taking with a room full of complete strangers or with a new teacher and there is still an unmatched level of freedom and comfort. No matter how weak I may be physically, I can trust in my technique to carry me through. With time my strength returns and I am able to lose myself in the pure joy of finding a balance between the artistry and precision. Hold a balance just a hair longer, lengthen the movement just a bit longer, sharpen the beat, add a head or port de bras...it's like salt water taffy and I can never have enough. But I suppose there was a time that I wasn't so comfortable and ballet was new and unusual. I started dancing at 14.5 years of age, very late for a girl. I will never forget doing an audition for a summer camp after I'd only been dancing for a month. I believe it was a Boston Ballet summer intensive audition in Pittsburgh. I remember being completely lost for most of the center, particularly the petit allegro. I watched a very advanced dancer in the group before me and was in absolute awe of how comfortable and capable she seemed. I probably went home and cried that night, as I do many times when I have a particularly hard experience in medical school, but I pushed through those early years in ballet and now I have this incredible gift. In med school I often feel like I'm on the left leg and everyone else is on the right. There are moments where things come together for a brief period but then in an instant I'm back to feeling uncoordinated and awkward. I work hard each day with the hope that one day I can feel that same way about medicine as I do ballet. I want to be able to feel challenged but also have trust that my technique and knowledge base will support me. I want to push boundaries further and in order to elevate the care that I can give patients. I want to strike a balance between in the art and science of practicing medicine. I want to change a phase or an intonation in just the right way so that the patient before me somehow feels more understood or cared for. These are the hopes that keep me pushing forward.