Ballet demands that a dancer make the impossible look inevitable—a leap suspended in air, a pirouette that seems to defy physics, an expression that reaches the back row of the opera house. Behind that effortlessness lies a life of regimented sacrifice, fleeting triumphs, and careers that often end before middle age.
So what keeps dancers devoted to such an unforgiving craft? We spoke to six principals and soloists from some of the world's most prestigious companies about the physical toll, the emotional rewards, and the daily discipline required to survive—and thrive—in professional ballet.
Sofia Pavone, Principal Dancer, The Royal Ballet
"I remember watching Swan Lake as a child and being mesmerized by the dancers—the elegance, the control, the way they seemed to tell an entire story without speaking. But what you don't see from the audience is the years of repetition behind every gesture. For me, the turning point came when I performed Juliet for the first time. I realized that technique alone isn't enough. You have to make people believe you are feeling something in real time, even though you've rehearsed it a hundred times before."
Léonore Baulac, Étoile, Paris Opera Ballet
"Ballet is a language that transcends words, and that is what drew me to it. But I won't pretend the physical demands are romantic. I have had mornings where I could barely walk to class because my feet were in such pain. The real reward is not the applause—it's those rare moments in rehearsal when a sequence you have struggled with for weeks suddenly clicks. In La Bayadère, there is a series of turns called the 'Kingdom of the Shades' entrance that requires absolute control and breath control. When you finally nail it, the sense of accomplishment is indescribable."
Romeo Zimet, Soloist, The National Ballet of Canada
"I grew up in a household where dance was simply part of daily life—my parents met in a company, and my sisters both trained. What has kept me employed, though, is adaptability. I have worked with choreographers who want classical purity and others who want you to throw your entire body into the floor. Ballet is not a museum piece. It is constantly evolving, and if you resist that, you become irrelevant very quickly."
Chun Wai Chan, Principal Dancer, New York City Ballet
"I joined NYCB after training in a very different tradition in China, so the transition was jarring at first. Here, speed and musicality are everything. Peter Martins used to tell me I was dancing behind the music, and he was right—I had to learn to trust the orchestra and let it carry me. What I love most now is the repertoire. One week I am in a Balanchine neoclassical piece, the next in something brand-new by a young choreographer. It keeps you honest. You cannot coast on past success."
Skylar Brandt, Principal Dancer, American Ballet Theatre
"The thing nobody warned me about was the mental game. You can be in peak physical condition and still fall apart if your confidence wavers. I have dealt with stress fractures, tendonitis, the usual injuries, but the hardest challenge was probably coming back from a foot surgery in 2021. I was terrified my body wouldn't respond the way it used to. The support of my colleagues got me through it. We compete for roles, yes, but when someone is struggling, we are genuinely there for each other. That camaraderie is what makes the ballet world feel like family."
Sae Eun Park, Étoile, Paris Opera Ballet
"I was promoted to étoile in 2021, which was an honor I had never fully allowed myself to imagine. But with it came a new pressure: now every performance is scrutinized differently. I try to approach each role with curiosity rather than fear. Recently I have been exploring more contemporary work, which forces me to use muscles I did not know I had and to strip away the polished veneer that classical training instills. It is uncomfortable, but that discomfort is where growth happens. Onstage, when the music, the lighting, and the audience's attention all converge, there is no feeling like it. It is why we endure everything else."
These six dancers span three continents, multiple generations, and radically different company cultures. What unites them is not glamour or natural talent alone, but a willingness to subject themselves to relentless repetition, physical risk, and public judgment in pursuit of a few transcendent minutes under the lights.
Whether they are performing in grand opera houses or intimate studio theaters, they are living proof that ballet remains a universal language—one that can bring people together in ways that few other art forms still can.
