The Dance of Neuroplasticity
- Randi Chervitz
- Jun 16
- 4 min read
It’s a rainy Saturday and I just got home from ballet class. Oh, my aching muscles! Truly, it
felt so good.
It’s a little rough, sometimes, dragging myself out of bed to a 9am ballet class, but it’s always worth the effort. Time at the barre feeds my body and my soul, and who doesn’t love dance wear? (Balletcore, anyone?)
Above, examples of balletcore, a fashion trend inspired by ballet, blending elegance, pastel hues, and dancewear elements into everyday wearable style. Photos from Who What Wear, Jan 19, 2024.
My mom took me to my first dance class when I was four or five. Along with other tiny dancers, all of us in pink tights and black leotards, I was free to plie’, tap, tumble, and tire myself out while she caught a moment of peace.
One might think I return to dance to relive the simple joys of those first classes. And one would be partially correct. But after more than fifty years at the barre, today I learned something that changed how I’ve been dancing for most of my life. It has changed- dare I say, improved? - my dancing forever.
In ballet, there’s a concept called turnout, which refers to the body position of standing so the feet point out to the sides rather than pointing straight forward. Turnout starts at the hip, where the thigh bone rotates in the hip joint. In experienced dancers, the plane of the leg remains uniform all the way down, from hip joint through femur, knee, and down through the ankles and feet. The bones face out to the same degree; the knee hinges as it was designed to do.
All of which is to illustrate that body alignment is primary to dance. It’s the thing that supports the strength and beauty of the movements, as well as protects the body from serious injury. As young dancers, it’s very easy to let the knees collapse inward while keeping the feet in the turned-out position. In this situation, the knees are asked to move in two directions at the same time: both like a hinge and somewhat sideways, a direction for which it was not designed.
As an adult returning to dance, I focus intensely on proper alignment. Warming up at the barre, I concentrate attention on the backs of my thighs, using them to “pull” the whole of each leg into a uniform plane to achieve the proper position. I use the same focus en releve’, when rising up on my toes into some of the uplifted positions of the sport. You can imagine my surprise when my teacher, Lauren, offered a tiny correction that would change everything!
I had just risen into sous-sus, a position where you’re standing on your toes with your feet
and legs pulled tightly together. From the front, it looks almost like you’re standing on one foot with two heels- the shape of a heart. It’s a simple move that pushes your strength and challenges your balance.
“Come forward onto the front of your toe,” Lauren said as I struggled to stay elegantly upright. “Bring your weight forward.”
At first, I thought I hadn’t heard her right. Forward? This was counter to my understanding of proper alignment. Shouldn’t I always be pulling outward, focusing on maintaining my turnout?
I admire Lauren’s easy balance. When giving us directions, she stands at the front of the room without a barre, moving her limbs freely with total control. Her quiet strength, a hallmark of ballet, makes me trust her.
Okay… I thought to myself. I’ll give it a try.
Slowly, I felt my way down into my feet. I brought my attention into the first toe on each foot. I flexed something, or many things, inside each foot, tipping them infinitesimally forward. My ankles repositioned themselves. A new sense of balance rippled upward through my body. Suddenly, I felt completely upright and vertical. I balanced- dare I say it? Weightlessly. The tiniest shift made everything happen.
“That’s it!” said Lauren with excitement.
Oh, my goodness! I thought to myself. I’m doing it! After a long, delicious moment of feeling like a "real" dancer, I dropped back to the floor with a small bend in my knees.
Breathless, I nodded to Lauren, offering respect along with my gratitude. She nodded in return.
This wasn’t the first time Lauren’s teaching brought me into my body in a way that surprised me. Another time, also while en releve’, I concentrated on lifting up as if “a string was pulling from the top” of my head. I pulled my shoulders down, lifted and opened my chest, committing all parts of myself to the task. Still, I struggled to find my balance.
“Knit your ribs together,” said Lauren, drawing her fingertips together to illustrate the pulling-in she described.
Inside my position, I moved my concentration to my ribs, “knitting in” as she instructed. Once again, the tiny movement pulled everything into alignment. In a heartbeat, my balance snapped into place. I added this instruction to my internal repertoire, where it continues to improve my dance.
For the rest of class, I kept my attention in my feet and ankles. Although the steps I performed were familiar, I performed them anew. I stumbled a bit as I tested my new footing. My brain would need practice to adjust, aligning its messages with the new information Lauren introduced to my body.
The brain’s ability to incorporate new ideas, called neuroplasticity, is only one of the powerful benefits of dance. (As I mentioned earlier, dancewear is awfully compelling, too.) Others are its obvious physical benefits and the camaraderie of the other dancers, especially as adults, where the competitive aspects of performing onstage are no longer primary.
Dance supports my creativity when I get back to the studio, promoting neuroplasticity, a sense of wonder, and ongoing joy. Today, I remind you to keep showing up and doing what you love. Your brain will thank you for it.
-xo
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