Anna collapsed onto the bench in the changing room, exhausted after the dance class. She wiped the sweat from her forehead while the music they had just practiced to still played softly in the corner of the room. Around her, the others were laughing and chatting; some enthusiastically watched videos on their phones to review their movements. But she just stared at the tips of her shoes, frustration pounding in every fiber of her being.
“It’s just not working for me…” she muttered, fiddling with her shoelaces.
“What’s wrong now?” asked Lívia, her best friend, who had joined her in taking up dance lessons.
“The fact that I’m useless,” Anna snapped. “Look at them! Everyone’s so graceful and precise. And me? It’s like I was born two legs short. Plus, I can see the huge difference in the mirror between them and me.”
Lívia tilted her head playfully, as if she knew some ancient, secret wisdom that Anna hadn’t yet discovered.
“Hmm. That’s interesting. Two months ago, you said you were just a bit rusty. Now you’re ‘useless’? Things sure escalate quickly!”
Anna snorted but didn’t really laugh.
“I mean it. No matter how hard I try, I’ll never be good enough.”
Lívia was silent for a moment, then spoke softly.
“Listen, you do remember that back in January, you were still using crutches, right?”
Anna jerked back as if Lívia had just thrown a glass of ice water in her face.
“Why are you bringing that up?”
“Because you started the year with a broken leg. Remember? You cried about how you’d never walk properly again, let alone dance. Even the doctor told you not to dream of doing spins, right?”
“Yes, but…”
“But what?” Lívia asked quietly, her gaze sharp. “You’re sitting here after a one-and-a-half-hour dance class. Instead of complaining, you could be grateful that you’re even able to move.”
Anna lowered her gaze, staring at the floor for long seconds. She studied the grooves in the parquet, the wear on the dance shoes, the blue zipper on a sports bag—anything to avoid Lívia’s eyes.
“I don’t even know why I’m doing this to myself,” she finally whispered.
Lívia smiled.
“Because you watch others too much. And you don’t look at yourself enough… the version of you that exists right now.”
Anna slowly looked up. Something stirred inside her, something small, like a breeze in a closed room.
“I really did cry about not being able to walk,” she said softly.
“And now you’re dancing. Not perfectly, of course. But who dances perfectly?” Lívia asked, giving Anna a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Be proud that you’re here. Every single step you take is a victory.”
Anna glanced at her shoes, then slowly smiled. Funny how the same story could seem so different when viewed from another angle.
“Thank you,” she said finally.
“Come on, dance floor queen,” Lívia teased. “You’ve earned yourself a hot chocolate.”
Anna nodded, and as she stood, her knees creaked slightly. Yet somehow, her steps felt lighter this time.