A New Type of Grand Allegro

As I am sitting down to write this, I am quietly feeling relief at how far away my dance life feels - not because I didn’t love my life then, or appreciate all that my dancing career gave me; but because the transition out of ballet felt all-consuming for a while, and to feel freed from that fairly confusing point in my life brings me a newfound sense of joy. I feel proud and grateful knowing how far I have come since that period of my life.

This is not to say that the entire process of leaving ballet was miserable; in many great ways, that period stretched and grew me, and taught me more about myself and the world around me than I ever could have imagined.

As I sit here writing, I am infinitely grateful for having the foresight of knowing it was time to hang up the tutu and step out of my pointe shoes. If you’re reading this and you’re at any point in the daunting process of retiring from dance, please take it from me that it gets better, SO much better! Of course there may be moments when you miss grand allegro in the studio, or connecting with an audience who appreciates ballet, but you’ll be amazed at the opportunities that await you if you just give them a chance.

With this, I want to share a few lessons with you that I learned throughout my process of retiring from dance, in hopes that you find some comfort:

1. You’re not giving up on yourself, you are allowing yourself to take on new opportunities: In the ballet world, often companies and schools are fraught with the mindset of retiring = quitting in the most negative sense of the word. Even having a moment of consideration that you may want to pursue another career or interest outside of ballet can feel wrong - especially if you were like me and identified as a “dancer.” When I started sharing with people that I wanted to move on from dance, I always felt a twinge of guilt like I was some big idiot who was giving up everything I had worked so hard for; like everyone could see this mistake I was making, and that changing careers was a death sentence. However, when I opened up to the people who I am closest with - my family, my boyfriend, my former ballet teacher - I realized the positivity in those conversations. They were not cheering me on because of what I did professionally, in fact, they couldn’t have cared less. They were cheering me on because they loved me for me, and they only wished me happiness in this next chapter. When I began to really open up about changing my path (I realized I wanted to go to college and study Arts Administration), I felt myself open up to new opportunities and the way I spoke to myself began to shift. How exciting is it that I can apply to college? How incredible to think that my life can be so different this time next year? How fantastic will it be to not wake up so sore and in pain? How cool will it be to challenge myself in academic classes? How great will it be to engage with the world around me in a new way? I forced myself to be completely open to possibilities and by changing the way I spoke to myself (from negative self talk to positive affirmations and curiosity), I made the career transition not something that I dreaded but rather something I leapt into - a new type of grand allegro, if you will. I also learned that while I thought everyone thought I was making a mistake, I quickly realized that the only person who was truly paying attention to my career shift was ME. Sure, my family and friends wanted to make sure I was okay, but nobody was missing work to sit and think about the non-earth-shattering possibility of me quitting ballet. Once I reminded myself of that, the fear of disappointing people quickly melted away and I felt much more freedom in my decisions. 

2. Change can be intimidating. Sure, the motivating self-talk was great but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t have hard moments or periods where I doubted myself. In the Fall of 2021, I started at the Columbia University School of General Studies and that would begin the most transformative, enlightening, and difficult years of my life so far. I was taking classes full time (roughly 12-15 credits each semester) while working a full time job in Brooklyn (roughly 35 hours per week and living on-call), commuting four days a week to campus in Harlem before turning around to go back to work an eight-hour shift in Brooklyn, then write essays, study, and complete homework before bedtime. A week before school started in Fall 2021 was Convocation (a ceremony where you’re inducted as a student into the school); I remember a world-renowned professor discussing Homer’s The Odyssey, and pouring over every line, every syllable, discussing the intentionality of the rhythm, what the syntax meant, the significance of the work to the Columbia canon…what began as a journey I was excited for suddenly began to overwhelm me. I wondered how I would get through these next three years (I was a transfer student, having taken a year of classes online during the pandemic) in classes I had no context for. A week later, I found myself in that exact Literature Humanities class, discussing Homer’s The Odyssey. Following my week in the anxiety-filled echo-chamber I had worked myself into, I was shocked to find a class of people so supportive, interesting, intelligent, kind, and curious. This pattern would repeat for the following two semesters before I started to ease up. I would worry that I wasn’t smart enough for my classes or peers, that I would fail, that I would not be able to keep up; but I would always end up exactly where I needed to be and grateful for all that I had learned within that semester. It wasn’t always easy but by the end of each semester (and now that I have graduated, by the end of my undergraduate years), I can look back on each experience and know it propelled me to right where I needed to be.

3. Perfection isn’t expected. While these years in my life were hard and I did feel like I was in some sort of a rat-race with myself, I didn’t feel the same type of pressure I had felt when I was dancing. This pressure was exciting and intoxicating without feeling as brutal. There were moments of doubt and confusion and tears and sleep-deprivation, but perfection wasn’t required and it wasn’t expected. I felt like I had finally given myself permission to make mistakes, to ask questions, to speak out, to try something new even if I failed. A friend in my Economics class once said something I would repeat to myself over and over throughout my college years: “Now is the time to fail, now is the time to ask questions.” I am bad at math but took a hard Economics class to push myself. I took Astronomy (and was so bad at it but I learned plenty and stretched myself in the process!). I finished my Thesis and received department honors (completely surprising myself!!!). I took four semesters of French (was really bad at this too but survived!). I took pre-med Anatomy and Physiology (hardest class I ever took but I’m still standing!!). I took a class on Medieval 14th century contemplative literature and LOVED it! I felt like I had finally given myself the chance to be curious about the world around me and not feel so singularly focused on how many pirouettes I could do or if I was on my leg that day. With that, I also learned to bring my dance experiences into my academics. I brought my habits of focus, repetition, and attention to detail into the classroom and throughout my study techniques…so much of my dance life carried over into my time in school. But what I left behind was the negative self-talk and the singular focus of my life as a dancer. And within those four years, I no longer sought out perfectionism but instead I sought out how to be a better student, a better friend, a better daughter, and a better listener. I no longer feel defined by the title of “ballet dancer,” but instead I feel defined by finally giving myself permission to fail, to ask questions, to get excited about things other than ballet, to seek out new challenges, to absorb life’s lessons, to spend more time with family and friends, to push myself in directions I never imagined, to be curious, to get excited over the unexpected, to not expect perfection from myself but rather to enjoy every moment as it comes. 

It is hard to define such a formative experience of my life into three brief lessons. I know that the three above are not necessarily cohesive, nor do they identify with everyone’s career transition experience. However, it was great to reflect on such a wonderful and challenging period in my life, and I am always grateful for the opportunity to speak with others who are beginning or in the process of their own career transition.I currently serve as the Executive Director of Second Act, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization that mentors current professional and pre-professional dancers as they transition to college or secondary careers. Our program and community are both completely free, and each day I learn more and more from our inspiring network of mentors and mentees.

I always love the opportunity to connect with others, so please feel free to email me at carolyn.bakich@secondactnetwork.org if you would like to get involved with Second Act, or if you have any questions about my career transition journey.