I still think of Miss Sandy’s voice giving a long, slow, beauuuuutiful at the release of a held position. How comforting it was to hear this kind of affirmation over your body sliding back into place, at exhale, even if you had the position wrong the whole time. To celebrate a return of natural give. It would fall over us like a quiet tide, a room of small girls taking deep breaths, hunched over the barre now letting their bodies succumb. And she gave us permission, in a kind voice and in grace. I’d smile big tucking back into fifth position, shoulders back, ballet fingers just so, the same way I smile now, allowing my limbs to hang soft after long strain, and telling them they’re beautiful in letting go. When the world and ballet are congruent in rigidity and constraint, I think of beautiful draped over an exhaled sigh, that long, slow exaltation over a long-withstanding release. That a return of things is beauty, as well as strength and survival.