Sometimes I have profound ideas that almost put two shaved legs in jeopardy of ever existing. The shower is my thinking place, if you couldn't get through the mess of wordiness in the previous sentence.
My thinking place, where I slowly get to have a few minutes to myself, to wash out the hairsprayed mess that my bun has become, to rinse off the layers of dried sweat and/or blood that has taken residence on my bruised, tired body. To think about what the day had held, to rid my mind of the repeating corrections, to organize and add to my never, ever-ending 'To-Do' list. To break up the concrete my career of choice has poured into my neck and shoulders.
My boyfriend wonders why I take so long to get ready for bed at night.
Today, while in the middle of all of that previously mentioned, I had an idea that made me want to jump out right then and begin to assemble it. I didn't, though. I shaved the other leg and rinsed the conditioner. Don't worry, I'm not writing this while dripping on the computer. My idea, the idea that seems far less-glamorous and simply straightforward now, was to write a book.
It needs to be done.
It needs to be done for these reasons:
- I cannot continue to bother my dear best friend, Nicole, with daily dance frustrations and open-ended, unanswerable questions. My fear of losing her is too great and, understandably, she would leave if I continue to dance and speak about it. (Editor's Note: That last part is not true. She'd never do such a thing because of how sweet she is. Reason number one on why you and everyone else in the universe should love this woman.)
- My brain needs a space to store the questions and musings it conceptualizes in the middle of barre work. No notebook's binding is strong enough to hold these headache-causing, worried, grammatically incorrect existential crises I muster up during waltz.
- The mirror exists. Dancers will know what this statement of truth entails. Sadly, the rest of you will understand soon enough.
- The little ones, the eight-year-olds, need to be taught to hold on to their innocent love of dance. The inexplicable, I-don't-care-what-I-look-like-I-just-want-to-move-around feeling. I should say that this love should not be UN-taught by teachers and professionals that have misguided priorities. This is not always their fault, but more about this later.
- Sadly, I don't see my love of writing ever being fully encompassed into my love of expressive movement. If these two interests were people, this book would be the marriage of two dorky, poorly-spoken, shy, argyle-wearing drama geeks. {If I get any crap about putting down theatre people, I will defend my love of it (and all of the beautiful elements it holds) to the grave. However, there will never be any strong, winning argument of how drama dorks should not be called anything but that. Move on.}
First of all, I like lists. This book will contain many of them. I find them easy to read, and, if I ever come into any talent and this book becomes a required text for a class, students everywhere will thank me when they realize the 100 pages they were assigned to read are really only 40 pages of writing with 60 pages worth of diagrams, lists and doodles. You're welcome, future lazy readers.
Secondly, (See? A list already--disguised as "writing") I respect any teacher that has ever had the guts to get up in front of a room full of scrutinizing, inherently-critical people-- dancers. Although I may not agree with your teaching "techniques," you've nonetheless taught me something, otherwise this blog/book would've been washed down the drain with my shampoo. Maybe this collection of thoughts will help you (I say this extremely tentatively) with future teaching. Maybe you were not aware that you not only taught me how to wear my bun, you taught me how to hold back tears in class. Maybe you'll correct more and critique less. Or, maybe you don't care that I felt like I was slapped with your words almost everyday-- that's fine, too. I'll get over it and the positive things you've brainwashed into our heads
does creates a sort of balance. A sort of sick, twisted balance...but I'm getting off topic.
Thirdly,
I will get off topic. The intent of this post was to be a description of my first pointe class of the semester...have I talked about pointe at all? Do you even know who
I am? No. Sorry, any visitors I somehow kept reading this long. I appreciate your efforts. With that said, I must organize a bit better before continuing on this path less-traveled I've made for myself. And my pointe shoes need to be jet-setted.
In conclusion:
Things this book will cover:
- Things dance teachers say and how they say them
- The mirror paradox
- What makes "a dancer"
- The "dance world"
- The social life (or lack thereof) of dancers
- The thoughts that throw me off balance while dancing
This list does not make my future book sound interesting. I don't even think I would read it, if the above was on the back cover.
Don't worry. It'll get better, just stick with me through my introductory phase.
*tap, tap* Is this thing on?
