Recently, I was leaving a store and a book caught my eye. The title was, “I Was Told It Would Get Easier” by Abbi Waxman. I didn’t buy it, but it got me thinking.

Haven’t we all been told it would get easier? I know I was. And, frankly, I can’t say it has. Some things, perhaps, like knowing how to spot a ripe cantaloupe or take videos on my iphone, but not the big things; the important relationships; the hard questions; the struggles with myself and the world.

As I walked out of the store, a familiar activity came to mind: the ballet barre. The “ballet barre” is both a long piece of wood attached to the wall of a dance studio, and a series of exercises all ballet dancers do at the beginning of a ballet class while holding onto the wooden structure for support. And I mean ALL. Whether you’re a prima ballerina (the Michael Jordan of ballet) or a little girl just starting out (like in the photo) the barre is your starting point for every class.

Another thing about the barre is there is very little variation, again, no matter how good you are. A plié (the bending of the knees) is exactly the same movement for every one. The variation is in the quality of the movement. As you get stronger and know how it is supposed to be done, you improve. But it is still a plié . . . bend and straighten.

The level of difficulty actually has a lot to do with you. It’s actually better in the long run if you put a good amount of effort into the straightening part of it. The part where you could just pop up, easy-peesy. But, if you do, you are cheating yourself as you will not develop the strength it takes to do a jump (the funnest thing in ballet).

In fact, every one of the classical movements that all dancers do at the barre have that element to them. They can be done sloppily, and feel quite easy (but you don’t improve), or they can be done with intention, grit, and artistry and they set you up to succeed in the next, often terrifying, part of class – the center.

In the center, there is no kindly barre to hang onto if you lose your balance (and you will). So, if you’ve been using the barre too much for support, you soon learn you haven’t been doing yourself any favors.

Strength develops as you deliberately try to do a bit more every day; not by clinging to the comforting safety of the barre.

As in ballet, so in life. We can all think of our own examples. The inspiring thing about a dance metaphor is that the final outcome of dance is so glorious. To be able to leap and turn and balance is worth all the sweat and soreness and discouragement.

So in life, as we take each day and make the most of each moment (each plié) pushing just enough to grow stronger so that we can do the hard stuff, we find that the hard stuff is the super cool stuff. That we can actually help others in meaningful ways, or understand something that has always been dark and murky.

Life is the greatest of art forms. And a life lived well is an extraordinary thing. I bet if I asked all the people whose lives have been well lived, none of them would say that it was easy. I imagine most of them would say that they learned the most from when it was hard. That the freedom came, like in dance, after thousands of “barres” or challenges had been lovingly and conscientiously approached and overcome.

It makes me want to approach each morning with the hope, not that this day will be easy, but that whatever hard thing comes along I’ll be warmed up for it, prepared, ready for the grand jeté, the fabulous jump; and then, as the day comes to a close, finish with a deep, grateful reverence. A bow, as I used to tell my dance students, to the power that enables you to be here, dancing.

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