Shoulders Back

"Katie. Remember. You are a student of the Judith McCarty School of Dancing." That is the last thing Leigh said to me before I walked down the aisle on my wedding day. And she knew those few words, spoken firmly in happiness, would convey all I needed to feel. Remember who you are. Remember what that beautiful, lovely, classy lady we called "Miss Judy" taught us in those years of ballet classes. And radiate that essence--that confidence and grace and beauty--as you walk to your future. And above all, for heaven's sake--keep your shoulders back and don't fall.

I was a ballet student for a time, but Miss Judy taught us to always be a student of class and dignity and loveliness and grace. I hold my shoulders back because I cannot imagine, even today, Miss Judy seeing me slumped over. My sisters and I gained invaluable lessons--yes, about ballet and posture and shuffle steps and forward rolls--but the lessons imparted to us came from dedicated, loyal ladies. They taught us how to celebrate and love and listen and never, never stop trying.

"You are a student of the Judith McCarty School of Dancing." It comes to me at the strangest, though most appropriate moments, when I later realize I most needed it. It's almost like a prayer; it is certainly a passionate reminder. This week I have heard it more often than usual. I heard it in the airport, when I was sure Ellie, Steve and I would never make it out of O'Hare in one piece. Ellie's blanket had kissed the floors of countless airport bathrooms and become friends with rental cars, Grandma's carpet and Embassy Suites free breakfast buffet. I let her clutch to it like she was going to meet its soul. Because it kept her from crying. That's the only reason. A doctor's appointment did not go as expected Wednesday, and somewhere, in the place of me that remembers the music and the smell of rosin and the way Miss Judy's feet sounded on the wooden floors, I found composure and strength. I was disappointed, confused and insulted, but I could honestly hear Leigh's confident voice. And I pushed those shoulders down and back. I held my manners and my tummy in, and I didn't cry until I relaxed on the steering wheel.

When life hands you lemons, we learned to pirouette through them. When we weren't given certain gifts--those of beauty or talent or spirit or natural confidence--we learned to put on a little lipstick, wear more glitter and tap to dizzying speeds (but never give the front row, as Miss Judy would say, more than they paid for :)). We learned, in other words, to find serenity in circumstance and potential in pain. And never at the cost of class. We were taught, above all else sacred and dear, to be a lady.

"Grace under pressure--definition of 'guts.'" E. Hemingway