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?

Merry Christmas Music

Maybe it's the good Catholic girl in me, who loves Midnight Mass with its softly glowing tapers and rapturous hymns.  Maybe it's the dancer in me, whose spirit responds to song like an autumn leaf responds to a breeze.  Maybe it's the singer, who needs music to live.  Whatever it is, music is an integral part of my Christmas.  So my Christmas present to you my few, dear, wonderful readers, is below:  some of my favorite Christmas songs.  For whatever reason, many of my very favorite carols and hymns are actually set on Christmas Eve.  Enjoy this blessed night my friends!

"Fall on your knees - oh hear, the angels voices!"

"Oh Holy Night," as performed by Celtic Woman

"All is calm - all is bright. . . "

"Silent Night," as performed by Sinead O'Connor

"Listen to what I say: pray for peace people everywhere. . ."

"Do You Hear What I Hear?" by Bing Crosby

"I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum, Thats fit to give a King."

"Little Drummer Boy," as performed by The Harry Simeone Chorale

A Bump On The Path

Sometimes. .  . sometimes it is hard not to be bitter.  Or a sad.  Or even a bit frustrated.  Today is one of those days.  I generally try to avoid self-pity, but today every part of me just wants to give in to the urge to kick something over and cry.  To sulk in a corner and demand "When is it my turn?  Why me? "  It has been a long and frustrating semester.  Forget that - it has been a long and frustrating three years.  I feel as though I want a very few things.

To feel safe.  At this point, I don't really care if I actually am safe.  I'd just like to feel that way.

To go without injury.

To take my classes, work at my jobs, and go to rehearsals.

In conjunction with that, to get the GPA I deserve, the pay I've earned, and the benefit of stage time.

To make enough money not to starve, freeze, or be unable to contribute to the collection basket at church.

To perform.  I am, after all, a performing arts major at a performing arts school.  And yet there are seemingly endless obstacles, rejections, or issues.

I would like to go to sleep at night without fear, and wake in the morning without pain.  I'm tired of fearing the shadows, the corners, the back alleys.  I wish to walk home after a late rehearsal or study session and not need a friend to walk with me, tense and alert for danger from both strangers and those who are supposed to be my family.

I feel dissatisfied with myself, with my performance chances.  I know there are elements of theatre and dance that despite being 21 (old for a performer) I'm still new at.  That I won't get it every time. . . but I would like to get it some of the time.  You win some, you loose some.  May I win some, please?

I know what I need to do.  I need to thank God for these obstacles, each and everyone, because they are there to make me stronger.  I need to focus on bettering myself and not worrying about the outside world.  I need to ask my faculty for more advice, guidance, more pointed criticisms and focused goals so I can excel better.  And finally, I think tonight I need to go to my room and cry for awhile.  Just until I fall asleep.  Just until tomorrow.

Than I will be back to myself. . .  at least, I will be back onto the path we're all on.  The path to finding ourselves.  This sadness, anxiety, loneliness.  This doubt.  It is all just a step off the path, a rock to rest on, weep on, and move on from.

I'll lay my burdens here tonight Lord, just for awhile.  I promise to be stronger when I awake.

Today I Am

. . . anxious.

Excited.

Nervous.

Antsy.

I'm checking my email obsessively, because the casts lists for our spring shows come out.  We're doing Hairspray and Boys Next Door.  I had a really strong audition and I know I work well with the director for Hairspray, so I'm hopeful.  On the other hand, it was a huge audition and lots of people did well.  Plus Craig likes to do unusual, even strange things with his cast lists (and his shows are always bomb because of it) so I'm kind of on pins and needles.

I'm also waiting for a second email, or possibly a phone call.  I may have landed a job dancing over break and am waiting to hear from the choreographer.  Trying to be nice and having very talented friends may just have paid off for me!  Yay for word-of-mouth-jobs.


And I'm going over my ipod and sifting through my itunes, trying to compile good music for the various dance classes at various levels that I'm teaching over break, starting tomorrow.  I feel like a kindergartner all over again every time I go to teach.  Will they like me?  Will they play nice?  Will anyone show up?  Will the parents think I'm too young to know what I'm doing?  Will I have the right music?

I'm deeply feeling my career choice today. . . cast lists and music, waiting and praying.  On one hand I think "the stress related to this career is going to give me a heart attack young and send me to an early grave."  On the other hand, part of me is relishing this.  Right now I'm still in the student-cocoon, safely shielded by family, faculty, and like-minded friends. . . but this is still a taste of the real world.  Sitting in my yoga pants, cutting my music and waiting to find out if I got the gig.  I'm a lucky, lucky, lucky little girl.

So I guess thats what I am today.  A performer.  A working artist.

Just. . . Yes.

“I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze that it should be stifled by dry rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.”


-Jack London.




Doesn't it sing right to your heart?

The Assault.

Oh, Lord.  What a grim and intimidating title.  But I don't know what else to call it. . . maybe "The Incident of the Undergrad in the Night?"  "Rough Encounters of An Illegal Kind?"  I mean, really!

Before I go to far into the story, let me just assure you I am reasonably ok.  The assailant did not manage to achieve his goal (which myself and the police agree was rape), and physically I am more or less ok.  There have been some complications, but nothing I can't handle.  That beings said, here goes nothing. . .

It was several weeks into the semester, the middle of September.  We were about two weeks away from opening night for our big fall musical - Chicago (it was absolutely brilliant, by the way.  sold out run!) and I was serving as an ASM, as well as Props Designer and Props Manager.  That means I did all the work around finding, purchasing, building, or otherwise procuring props, and then once in rehearsals and shows I made sure they were stored and catalogued properly, and oversaw the actors being given their props etc.  "ASM" stands for Assistant Stage Manager, which means I wear a fancy headset, all black clothes, and make sure everything backstage runs smoothly - actors hit their cues, props hit their marks, everything is safe and quiet backstage, snafu's are avoided, and I run communication between backstage, front of house, and the booth.  It was a Thursday night and rehearsal got out at about 10:30, per usual - which means the actors and director got to go home.  Me and the rest of the management staff had to stay behind a little and clean up, lock up, etc. which usually only takes about ten or fifteen minutes.  That night it took a little longer, since our set designer (and my professor and director in the next show) was around.  Jim needed to talk to me about how the heck we were going to safely store all the props: we decided to build some shelves right into the walls.  It was about 11:00 by the time we were done.  As we left the mainstage he said "Where you headed?"  and I said "Back to my room."  He asked me where that was and I said "The condos - don't worry, my roommate knows I'm supposed to be home.  She's waiting for me."  Because Jim got that look on his face - he thinks he's everyone's dad, you know?  And I was ok, the condos are school property, just a block or so off campus.  It wasn't even that late.  He offered me a ride and I laughed - I never get a ride.  I walk everywhere, always, especially when it's a warm night and it's a short distance. . .

Obviously, I know now I should have gotten in the van and let Jim drive me home.  Sure it was a warm night and it was before midnight and all that jazz, but I was still alone.

So I walked back - me, my giant messenger/gym bag, and my big black three ring binder that contains my whole life in it's weather old confines.  My college is situated in the heart of smalltown new england - the strip of restaurants and shops between the Main Stage and my apartment is comprised of old brick buildings with shuttered windows, a bridge over the train tracks, and a post office.  I was almost to the bridge, most of the way home - I could see the lights in other condos from where I was walking - when I noticed someone walking towards me.  Like I said, it was only 11:00 on a Thursday night, so I didn't think much of it.  As he got a little closer I could see he was a large male - I didn't feel nervous or anything, until he kept getting closer.  He clearly had no intention of getting out of the way/sharing the sidewalk, and at this point I could tell he was drunk (again, college town.  we can't be the only one with "Thirsty Thursdays," can we?) and I started to feel uneasy.

When he reached out and grabbed ahold of my shirt, between my shoulder and my breast, I felt more than uneasy.  I told him to let go of me, or asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, or started swearing, or something - I don't remember what exactly I said, just that I opened my mouth and words came out.  He didn't let go - instead, he half-lifted me up and slammed me into the brick wall next to us.  As he started slamming me into the wall, I punched him in the face.  Hard.  He was bleeding, and I remember thinking he's drunk thank God he's drunk because if he had been sober, he wouldn't have stumbled a little slamming me and I would probably have been knocked out cold.  The next thing I knew he had ripped my shirt open, all the way down to my navel - I was wearing an oversize tunic-y button down shirt thing-y over my leotard.  I managed to push him away from me enough to have room to kick him.  So I did.  Hard.  In his ribs.  I heard something crack - it sounded like a wooden baseball bat breaking in half.  He crumpled over and I was suddenly hyper aware of the sound of my own breathing in the night.  Without looking at him or screaming or looking for help or reaching for my phone, I started walking away.

Yes, walking.  Briskly, but I didn't run.  I remember thinking Don't run.  Don't panic.  Don't run don't run don't run he'll hear you!  Because I knew he was currently drunk and in a lot of pain, thinking more about his ribs (which I'm pretty sure I broke you sonofabitch) than about me, but if I started to run he'd be sure to hear me.  The sidewalks are brick and my boots would have made a clicking and there was no one else on the street.  I didn't want his attention back on me - I didn't want him to panic and be scared of the police and come after me.  I remember a jumble of thoughts as I walked briskly, women's safety classes and police lectures when I was a kid.  Always go to somewhere brightly lit.  A gas station, a store.  Somewhere you can be seen and they can too.  In my head light = safety Get to where there are people.  Don't stay alone .  I could see the turn for my building up ahead, it really was only a few yards away.  There were people outside smoking if I could just get to them I'd . . .  be in the light and safe. . .


I guess I ran into my friend Jamie - I know her from doing other shows together, she's an awesome student stage manager.  Apparently she asked me how Chicago was going and I gaver her a short, frazzled answer before bolting up the stairs to my room.  Where my roommate was waiting for me, just liked I'd told Jim she would be.  I never did button back up my shirt.

I'm Ba-ack

The hyphenated a's were supposed to tell you this blogpost title is to be read in a sing song voice.  Did it work?  No?  Ok then.  Would you be so kind as to go back and read it again, this time in proper musical spirit?  Thanks very much.

Am I avoiding talking about the fact that it has been two months (ohmyfreakinggosh) almost to the day since I wrote you.  Shameful.  Totally shameful - especially when what I wrote two months ago was an apology for not having written in a few weeks.

So, where have I been?  What have I been up to?  A lot, actually.  Yes, even more than usual.  It is high time however I explain myself to any of you lovely followers who I'm lucky enough to still have.

I have been devoted utterly to my academics this semester - my course load has been pretty close to overwhelming.  I have also, as is my habit, involved myself with everyfreakingshow on campus this semester.  I've completed three out of four back to back shows so far (yay!) all of which were varying degrees of very successful.  I've been relishing living in my own apartment of sorts, with the most amazing roommate God ever blessed a crazy college girl with.

And I've been working very hard at healing.  Recovering in body and mind.  Oh, and you know, there was the whole assault thing.

Yeah, I still haven't found a good way to just slip that into conversation.   You can't really casually throw it out there - it's kind of a conversation killer.  But a big dramatic pause just makes everything seem much more serious than it is.  Not that it isn't serious, but still.  Not. .  . not that serious.  I mean, I am ok.

So yes, I've been very busy.  And I intend to write a few quick posts this afternoon/evening filling you in, before I return to the overwhelming mountain of homework my faculty so generously gave me so I didn't get too bored this Thanksgiving break. . . .

Like I said - I'm ba-ack. . .