Grit and Grace

What struck me most was that ballet, from the outside, can look effortless, ethereal even.  But once I got close enough to see behind the curtain, I realized the magic was built on a foundation of relentless work.  Hours of daily repetition.  Bodies pushed to their limits.  Feet blistered, taped, and still dancing.  Feedback that was not sugar-coated, but sometimes sliced to the bone.  Dancers living on coffee and dreams. Yet they showed up, every day, with grace.

And when the stage lights eventually dimmed for some of them, that same intensity didn’t fade, it simply found a new outlet. I watched my friends become doctors, entrepreneurs, executives, and therapists (mental and physical varieties). They brought the same artistry, focus, and stubborn determination to their new stages, whether it was an operating room, a boardroom, or their own business venture.

As someone who had grown up playing sports, building forts, and climbing trees, I didn’t expect to be moved so deeply by this world. I hadn’t been trained to appreciate the nuances of movement, the storytelling without words, the way music could be embodied so completely. But they pulled me in, showing me that dedication is a language that transcends the medium. Ballet was just their dialect.

Even now, decades later, I find myself thinking of them when I'm facing my uphill climbs building Vetta Sales Consulting, and taking on new challenges as an entrepreneur. The quiet persistence, the willingness to embrace discomfort for the sake of growth, the understanding that beauty is born from both grit and grace, they taught me all of that, without a single formal lesson.