The Sound of Shhhhp

There’s a new sound in my teaching universe that has become my new happy sound at work. It’s not a song. It’s literally just a sound.

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By late fall I realized that big changes were coming. I wrote all about that in New Beginnings: A Dance Studio Transformed. My first week in the new space was incredible, introducing our kids to the new paradigm for dance and rehearsal.

A few weeks into ballet, our first dance unit, I started noticing a specific sound that made me smile. I spent those first weeks introducing all the basics, which built into an adagio (slow, connected movement) combination that we danced together.

As the kids got more comfortable and familiar with the movements, the sound started to emerge. A quiet, Shhhhhp. I heard it whenever we’d slide our socks from tendu second position (pointing our foot out to the side) to first position (standing with our heels together). Every time, I’d hear the sound…Shhhhhp. It was quiet, like a sweet whisper in my ear. And every time it happened, it made me smile.

Once I was more aware of it, I’d start to anticipate that sweet whisper whenever we’d do our warm-up exercises. I felt compelled to take a moment afterwards and share my happy place feelings with the kids. I do that often, because I want them to understand the positive impact our time together has in this space. In our district, with all of the distractions and historically low resources, it is rare to have this kind of creative space in our schools.

Our studio is a performing artist’s dream. Literally. It’s spacious, warm and inviting. Every time I enter the space, it takes my breath away. Every time someone new comes to the studio, they are dumbfounded. There’s almost a cognitive dissonance because we aren’t used to having really beautiful things. We’re conditioned to making more with less. Yet, here we are. In something truly beautiful, we are shifting to make something more with more. It’s quite a revelation.

One day, I asked one of my classes if, in this space, they really felt like a dancer. Immediately, they nodded their heads with wide eyes. These are, for the most part, kids who have never set foot in a dance studio, never taken a dance class before. There’s no context for them to really understand how special this space is. I asked my students who took my class in recent years if they liked this studio space better than the last and the answer was a resounding YES.

Honestly, I could already see that. Students were showing how they felt in the way they participated. To me, there was a significant difference in their approach to class. More of them were taking the class procedures seriously, even if they had never taken dance before. They were doing the hard work, grappling with the challenge of a movement form that was foreign to them. When we started with the first barre exercises, they focused on their arm placement and foot positions. They copied, to the best of their abilities, the shapes I was making with my body. They took the detailed corrections and tried to remember them for the next time. They embodied the fluid quality of ballet.

Slowly, but surely, I was witnessing progress. Once in a while, I could step away from demonstrating and watch them take over. Then I’d return to join them to share the blessed moments of Shhhhp.

As for the kids who maybe would have found a corner to hide in, there’s really nowhere to do that. With two full walls of mirrors in a bright space, there’s not much of a choice but to be on the dance floor, at least trying something. There’s more space for them to spread out and see themselves working (or not so much working) in the mirror. While I can’t please everyone, I am so proud to provide them an environment that fosters the feeling of “I am a dancer” in their hearts.

So, the countdown to retirement continues. 22 months from now, I’ll be preparing to hand this beautiful space to someone else. In the meantime, I keep my ears and heart open to many more moments of Shhhhp. With gratitude.