I was serious about ballet for a long time, but my mom got me

“I was serious about ballet for a long time, but my mom got me into tap and jazz and modern and hip-hop, and I was one of those over-lessoned children.” — thus spoke Greta Gerwig, the modern storyteller whose art dances between humor and heartbreak, light and truth. In this reflection of her youth, she reveals more than a memory of lessons and movement. She speaks to the nature of growth, to the restless journey of learning, to the way that creativity is born not from perfection in one thing, but from the wild harmony of many. Beneath her gentle humor — “over-lessoned” — lies a deep wisdom: that to live fully is to be shaped by many influences, even to the point of exhaustion, and that mastery often emerges not from focus alone, but from the mosaic of diverse experiences.

The ancients, too, would have understood this. They taught that a soul must be well-rounded, like the circle that symbolizes eternity and balance. To the Greeks, the ideal person was one who cultivated both body and mind, music and philosophy, discipline and delight. The young Gerwig, trained in ballet’s order and then unleashed into the free rhythms of tap and jazz, was unknowingly living this ancient ideal. For every art, every skill, even every struggle, adds another layer to the self. A child taught many crafts may feel burdened, but later she learns that every lesson was a tool of transformation, sharpening the edges of her creativity. Thus, the “over-lessoned child” becomes the artist who can draw wisdom from every movement, every misstep.

In ballet, she learned form — the grace of control, the devotion to discipline. In tap, she learned rhythm — the conversation between body and earth. In modern dance, she learned rebellion — the courage to break the rules. And in hip-hop, she found freedom — the pulse of the streets, the joy of expression. Each form carried its own philosophy, and though at the time she may have felt scattered among them, together they became her language. Later, as a filmmaker, she would choreograph not bodies, but hearts — creating stories that move with the same layered rhythm she once danced. In her art, one can feel the ballet’s precision, the jazz’s improvisation, the hip-hop’s heartbeat — all born from the chaos of being “over-lessoned.”

Consider the story of Leonardo da Vinci, the eternal student. He was painter, sculptor, inventor, anatomist, musician — a man who could never confine himself to one discipline. In his time, some mocked him for his wandering focus, calling him distracted, unfocused — much like how the young Gerwig might have felt amid her many lessons. Yet it was precisely his abundance of learning that allowed him to see connections invisible to others. The same hand that studied the flight of birds painted the wings of angels. So too with Gerwig: what seemed a tangle of lessons in youth became, in adulthood, a symphony of expression — the many parts of her creative soul moving together in balance.

Her words also speak to the relationship between mother and child, that tender tension between guidance and individuality. The mother who “got her into” these lessons did not mean to overwhelm, but to enrich — to open every door so her daughter might find her own path. This, too, is a truth as old as time: the love that pushes can sometimes feel like burden, yet it carries within it the seed of wisdom. The ancients taught that even when parents shape us too forcefully, their intentions — rooted in hope — can later become blessings. Gerwig’s mother, like all mothers who dream for their children, did not simply teach her to move; she taught her to explore, to never stop learning, to live in motion.

Yet there is also a gentle warning in Gerwig’s humor — the condition of being “over-lessoned.” For knowledge without rest, ambition without reflection, can exhaust the spirit. The ancients warned against this, too: even the strongest bow will break if it is never unstrung. The lesson here is not to reject learning, but to find balance — to give the mind and soul space to breathe, to dance not for achievement, but for joy. Gerwig’s wisdom lies in her ability to look back on her overfilled childhood not with bitterness, but with gratitude and laughter — to see in the chaos the shaping of her art, and in the fatigue, the birth of resilience.

So, my child, take this teaching to heart: embrace the abundance of your experiences, even the ones that tire you. The world will teach you many things — some you seek, some that find you — and in time, you will see that they all belong to the same choreography of your becoming. Do not fear being “over-lessoned,” for from many lessons comes depth; from many steps, grace. But also remember to pause, to listen to the silence between the rhythms, for that is where wisdom settles. As Greta Gerwig reminds us, mastery is not the narrowing of the self, but the harmonizing of all that we have learned. Each discipline, each struggle, each joy — all are steps in the dance of your life, and if you move with awareness, you will find that even the most overwhelming lessons can become the most beautiful art.