When I was about eight years-old, an important man came into my life. His name was Viktor, and he was the new ballet teacher at my neighborhood dance studio.
Born and bred in the Ukraine, Viktor was a hard-ass. He worked my little ballerina-self to the bone. He whipped my dance skills into incredible shape, fixing my bad habits and helping me form new ones that strengthened me as a dancer. Viktor was a huge reason I was a (mostly) kickass ballerina.
But I can’t emphasize enough how much I hated him sometimes. I didn’t like (and don’t like now) such intense criticism, even though learning from it is so important, blah blah blah. I also have an aversion to hard work, which is pretty crucial for both the ballet and entrepreneurial worlds. I vaguely recall a screaming match in the middle of the studio, my dance classmates inching away from me as I told Viktor to fuck off. Colorful language for a teenager, but not altogether unexpected, right?