The Music & The Mirror

For those of you who don't know, the title of the post comes from a beautiful song of the same name from the musical A Chorus Line.  In this number the lead character declares "God I'm a dancer - a dancer dances!" and explains how the only things in life she ever needs are "the music, and the mirror, and the chance to dance for you."

In that moment, I feel for Cassie.  I understand exactly what she means - because I feel the same need, the same urge to move that has my feet tapping and my heart racing and my very bones aching if I sit still too long.  If I go overlong without singing enough notes, I can feel my throat tighten and I get grouchy, listless, bored.  Without a character to painstakingly create and build and loose myself in, I become so antsy I irritate even myself.  I was nervous at the thought of a summer spent this way - with no "home dance studio" anymore, no money for voice lessons, and not much access to theatre where I live, it didn't seem likely I'd be performing or creating very much.

But my fears were proved wrong by a wonderful chance to perform!  I'm part of a community theatre's production of "Aida."  It's a beautiful show and a talented cast and a well respected theatre, so that alone is a great opportunity.  I'm part of the Trio of Dancers in our production, who like the Trio in the Broadway production narrate and enhance the story through dances to instrumental music through out the score. The Trio often take the lead during the ensemble dances, and portray various ensemble roles.  Additionally we're part of the Prologue and Epilogue sequences, set in a modern day museum with all of the key characters intermingling and forming connections.  During the Prologue, the audience doesn't realize the crowd is composed of the lead characters - but when the Epilogue comes, they've met everyone and are aware of their roles/connections/etc.  It's one of my favorite bits of stage magic and I'm quite excited to be a part of it!

And perhaps even more excitingly, I have been given a wonderful opportunity to perform a solo in this production!  The way our director has decided to stage one of the dance sequences, it will be danced by a soloist in an exotic costume, en pointe.  I almost cried I was so excited when he informed us at the Read Through that soloist would  be me!  Me, my pointe shoes, and a live band alone on the stage. . . what more could I want? Because stereotypical as it is to say, performing is my life. The practice studios and rehearsal halls are my home, with their cool barres and familiar smells of rosin, tea with lemon, tiger balm, and honey, the ancient creaking of floors a thousand feet have danced on, the solemn black music stands waiting to be burdened with librettos.  The dark curtained wings are my horizon, a strange mix of heavy red velvets and blinding yellow lights - and beyond them lies my entire world.  The stage.  Without songs to sing and steps to dance and characters to breathe life into, I am certain I'd have gone mad.  Now, I am going home instead.

Exciting. Scary. Overwhelming. Wonderful.

Hello dear friends!

I have an announcement to make, and some news to share: I hope upon reading it you will be understanding of my lapses in blogposts, or how rarely I've emailed you, or perhaps that long gap between phone calls.  As long as I can remember, I have been Busy.

Yes, with a capital B.  Working several jobs (even as a young teen, helping to keep the family business afloat) and studying dance and this and that and so on and so forth.  Coming to college hasn't been any different: I work somewhere between 2 and 4 jobs depending on the season, and take 8-11 classes at a time, and perform in shows and the shows I don't perform in, I work to gain tech experience.  Then there is my never ending parade of injuries (possibly made worse by my rampant business and utter disregard for my body's need of sleep).

And now. . . now I am in a position to see it all pay off.  Last week I went into a mandatory group advising session, where my advisor oversees all of her students as we select our course load for the upcoming semester.  I was excited to be heading in to select my classes for senior year - and my head was full of all the usual thoughts.  Where had the last three years gone?  Was I already about to be a senior?  How much would I have to work extra to start saving up for moving/loans/etc?  Would all the classes I wanted to take fit in my schedule?  What about the ones I had to take because they're required your senior year and you simply must do it?  And maybe most importantly would I finally have a semester without daily 8am classes?

As I started flipping through the course booklets and filling in my academic classes around my dance levels, I noticed how easy it was. . . how much time and room.  Filling in my theatre classes and the schedule started to look more crowded.  Thats when my advisor cheerfully asked if I still intended to graduate early?  As in, December?

Well ladies and gentlemen, that had never been my plan.  I've spent every course registration frantically jamming as many classes into my schedule as I possibly could so that I could graduate as my school's first double major in Dance and Theatre.  I didn't know - and neither did the faculty or the department heads - if it could be done at all, let alone in only four years.  And here I was in the middle of a group advising session with a little box in front of me to check off.  A single smudge of graphite across carbon paper would be enough - all it takes to confirm. Yes, it could be done.  Yes, I'd done it.  And a semester early, too.  Three college degrees in 3 1/2 years.  I'd have to take a massive number of credits, of course, and pay the credit overages.  And I'd need special clearance from the Dean of the Dance Department and the head of the Theatre Department and the President of Academic Affairs and probably Moses himself was going to have to come down and sign my damn transcript.  But it could be done.

And you know what?  I'm doing it.  I pressed the soft silvery tip of the pencil into the page with a hand I was surprised wasn't shaking.  I texted my mother and called Boyfriend and texted my big brother, and I honestly don't remember a word of what anyone said. What I do remember is walking out into the hallway and turning the corner, my huge messenger bag slung over my shoulder, a stunned smile painted over my lips, and almost smacking into my friend Jake.  I nearly burst into tears at that moment.

See, Jake is the first friend I made on this campus.  We met at 8am in our first college class, a miserably boring 100 level english class with a teacher we loathed (charming kids right?).  We're sort of an odd pair: ambitious, hardworking, good grades.  Make our advisor crazy because we take more classes than we're supposed to and bend the rules to suit academic visions only the two of us see.  We've done everything short of using an actual time turner to accomplish everything on our To Do Lists.  And this semester we had our final class together - another English class, with the same professor, in the same classroom.  The only difference this time is he was leaving early - graduating in December.  I was still going to be here . . . but not anymore.  I didn't even have to tell him what had happened.  He asked if I'd come from my Advising session and I nodded my head, willing my lead tongue to work, to not just stare like a mute - and then his face lit up in a grin and he opened his arms and I barreled head long into a bear hug that crushed my ribs and lifted my feet off the floor and finally pried a joyful laugh out of my stunned self.  We had done it.

We were leaving in December - heading into a world wider than my smalltown mind can conceive, more brilliant than I understand, harder, colder, crueler than I'll know what to do with.  But it's our world - the doers and the dreamers and the ones who push and stick just one toe over the edge to see if maybe there is something on the other side.

This Is Living the Dream

I woke up this morning like I always do.  I sat bolt upright when my alarm went off and mumbled what I assume were swear words at it.  I then face planted back onto my pillow, and took a deep breath.  Thus began what I like to call "The Snap/Crackle/Pop Morning Symphony."  I stretched my back, rolled my ankles (crrrraaaaacckk!  poppoppop), worked my legs under the covers (snap! snapsnap!  crrrrunch. thud) and flipped onto my back, stretching my arms over my head.  I dragged myself out from under the sheets, cracking my feet/toes/arches, snapping my shoulders, and otherwise releasing the various air bubbles and bundles of pressure that formed in my body as I slept.

I shivered and hurried to the kitchen to put the kettle on.  Said my prayers as I cooked breakfast, did my stretches, etc. etc. etc.  The same as any morning - but this morning was different.  This morning as I packed my oversized bag full of everything-I-could-possibly-need, I had a sudden realization.  In the quiet of the kitchen I finally understood - this is it.  This is living the dream.  On a smaller scale than I'd like to, of course - but even dreams come in babysteps.

I was about to head off to a day of Winter Camp with kids at the Learning Center where I teach.  We would play on the trampoline, run races, tumble, perfect handstands, do a mini-ballet class, listen to classical music, color, and dance all day.  Our only breaks were for snacks (banas, apple slices, cucumbers, and unsalted pretzels) and storys.  Then I would hop into the car, eat a quick flatbread from Subway and rush of to our final tech rehearsal. . .

For my first professional performance.

This morning I threw my sweater and notebook in my bag and relished that for a moment.  My first professional show.  I'd like to tell you it was for something big - a new work for a prominent company.  Or glamorous - world premier for a new ballet.  Or even that I had a big role.  The truth is, it was a very small part of a big show, and I am only on stage for a few, brief, glorious, seconds.  I don't even really dance: it's just being a comedic character, making the audience laugh.  But that audience?  It's a venue that holds 2,000 people.  And tonight, every seat was taken.  It's not high-paying - 50 dollars a show, and 10 comp tickets, plus meals provided.  But it is in fact paying which means I get to end 2011 not as the aspiring dancer I've been all my life, but as a professional dancer.

For a few, sweet days.

I can share the benefits of my "pointless," and "expensive," major and my "risky," and "impractical," career choice with friends and family in the form of free tickets to a sold-out show.

I get to live the dream: and what a dream it is.  The seconds I stepped onto the stage it was like lightening passed through my body.  I have never been more alive.  No moment has lasted longer than that split second, forever frozen in my mind, when pure adrenaline and love suspended time.  The only sound I can ever imagine comparing to the noise of 2,000 pairs of applauding hands is the first time I hear my future children's voices.

For the next two days I get to go from job one - playing with and helping shape children - to job two, helping make 2,000 people laugh.

How lucky am I?