When #Gina Leow shared her story about a costume mishap during a childhood dance recital at a recent “Stories That Shaped Us” live storytelling event, it touched my heart and inspired me. During her story, she described how her teacher admonished her at the end of her performance and crushed her spirit (for a bit). Gina shared that she stepped away from dance for decades as a result and only returned to the ballet barre as an adult.
She went on to explain that this later teacher appreciated her rediscovered abilities so much that she wanted to videotape her for marketing and demonstrations. As fate would have it, Gina’s ballet shoe strap became undone during the recording, and she had to adjust mid-filming. However, unlike her earlier experience, this teacher was understanding and didn’t cut the mishap out. Instead, she felt it offered a relatable view of ballet—mistakes are part of the learning process.
Like every good storyteller knows, a heartfelt, true story can inspire listeners to reflect on their own experiences and lessons learned. Gina’s story prompted me to revisit my “Learned It in Queens” memories and reflect on my own lessons.
Ballet played an important role in my life as well. I began taking dance lessons at about three years old at The Long Island Institute of Music on Parsons Boulevard in Hillcrest, #Queens, New York. The school was founded by an accomplished musical couple—the Hornowskis. The wife was an accomplished organist who performed at Radio City Music Hall and other concert halls, while the husband was a musician and musical director.
Together, they opened a school in a neighborhood that was a bit gritty but affordable. They gathered accomplished musicians, dance teachers, and artists from Queens College, Juilliard, and abroad to provide high-quality, accessible instruction to working- and middle-class children.
Walking into the school’s reception area—with its wall-sized picture of the New York skyline—changed my life.
First, the directors allowed me to enroll despite my age, deferring their minimum requirement because my 38-pound mini self appeared well-behaved. Even more remarkable, in hindsight, was that I would be studying under a Russian former ballerina—someone who had trained and performed in Russia and Europe and who upheld strict standards in her class. Beneath her no-nonsense exterior was a heart of gold, but earning her approval took effort.
Mrs. Vinson (her Americanized name) stood at the front of the mirrored room lined with ballet barres, commanding her class. She was always dressed in a black leotard and wrap skirt, often wielding her ballet stick in time with the music. When she wasn’t tapping it, she used it to nudge her students’ feet into the correct positions.
And there I was—a knock-kneed, slightly hearing-challenged, somewhat nearsighted child in a pink leotard and soon-to-be-smudged white tights—learning ballet positions and shaping my posture into entirely new forms… always standing straight, of course. (Fyi – I am the third from the right in the picture!)
Although I was the youngest in the class by far, I was determined to learn and keep up. I can thank my older brother for that mindset—I always wanted to do what he was doing. That drive served me well.
- Pirouettes — I outspun everyone and kept my balance.
- Jetés — I used my arms and legs to lift myself as high as I could.
- Prisyadka (or prisiadki) — a fun traditional male dance requiring rapid squats and kicks? You got it—I was the last girl standing.
What did this experience teach me?
- Show up and stretch yourself. Life can change when we push beyond our comfort zones and test our capabilities.
- Teachers matter. Mentors and sponsors shape how we grow. These teachers saw my limitations but didn’t define me by them.
- Practice matters. I practiced every day in my basement. My father even installed a pipe on the wall as my makeshift barre. And in dance, effort shows—the body doesn’t lie.
- Learn from feedback. This school issued report cards noting technique, attitude, and behavior. Long before formal performance management systems, I studied those folded cards to understand how to improve.
- Identity matters. That room—filled with music and slightly musty air—opened a world for me. In that space, I was somebody. I had possibilities.
Questions to reflect on:
- What experience changed how you saw yourself?
- How can you use it?
- Who can you share it with?
Here are the recordings that inspired this blog post.