Everyone Has A Story

My birthday is coming. And I look back over the last year and I see how far I've come and pray that I still have more time ahead to do more.

After being spiritually disconnected, mentally drained and emotionally checked out for more years than I care to count, last year was a coming to the alter type of year. Step up, kneel down, drop your burden here. And I did. I dropped the weight of my world...all my broken dreams and unfulfilled promises fell like scattered ashes and blew away like smoke. I felt empty and alone all the time. And I knew I stood at a major crossroad. I either keep going blindly or I choose my path.

I chose my path. I stepped into my life with a decision to be happy. There wasn't a master plan or detailed listing of what that entailed. My happy didn't have a To Do List attached. My happy is more complicated than that. My happy involves creation and connection. It's funny when you make that kind of decision, all kinds of things happen. Moments of clarity. Moments of insanity. Obstacles. Challenges. People that want to take your joy because they want it for themselves. But when happiness is part of your soul, it can never be stolen.

So as I look back over this past year, I count my blessings. I count my happiness. I count the moments of peace, love and laughter. I learn my lessons and make my mistakes with humility. I remember where I've been, because those that don't remember their past are doomed to repeat them.

I remember LA with Audrey, Mexico with Anne Marie, San Diego with Erin, Rosemont with Adriana,  Christine, Joe and Boris, downtown Chicago with Val, Lisbon with Marcelo, Claudia and Ricardo, Marrakech with Adriana, Patrick, Mike, Christine and Youssef, the beginning of Butterfly Slippers, the invitation to be a Board member of Joel Hall Dance Company, and New York with Tiffany and Rudi. I remember spending time with my nephews that are growing so fast while I stay so young :). I remember margaritas with Heather and Anne Marie. I remember having my heart broken. I remember the hard part of moving on.

Tonight when I felt hesitant about going to Jazz class, I remembered how good I feel when I'm dancing. David warmed us up, worked us down and walked us out. As I prepared to leave, I watched the class inside the fishbowl. Will Gill was instructing the group on the finer points of the movements, but not only that, relaying the importance of the starts and stops, go's and flows of the piece.

"Everyone has a story. You can't put lipstick on a soul." Will said. No, Will, you can't. It is what it is. It will be what it will be. And this is just part of my story. God willing there will be more.

Intermediate Jazz and Ballet Fierce Or Why I need to start drinking again

I was undecided about even posting this...but what the hell, right?

So I went to Mr. Hall's Intermediate Jazz 2 class on Saturday. I wasn't so afraid of being tossed out as I was about being left in the dust. I also have a slightly freakish aversion to being in the fish bowl studio. Call it outside of my comfort zone.

Thanks to the Princess, who put me out there on my facebook page....daring me to come to Intermediate Jazz 2...I walked up to the plate with my bat and struck out.....big time.

While talking to the Princess and generally avoiding looking other first company, second company and student company gazes in the eye, I opted to control my breathing and try to act normalish when I just KNOW I'm outta my league. Mr. Hall walks into class claiming to have made snow angels on the way over. Despite the room full of laughter, my stomach tightens and my breathing increases.....and then we sit on the floor and start the longest ab and leg stretching I've ever experienced in my life.

Now I've tried pilates before....this was harder....no...seriously....this shit was HARDER. And then to add the fact the Mr. Hall was on the floor with us while I'm about in tears...and trembling like a leaf on a branch....and he is breezing through it. Crunches, side reaches, rolls up with legs down, up, in a v, one in the air....

Side Bar: I'm too fat for this.
Menty: Just outta shape...
Side Bar: Round is A SHAPE!!!
Menty: Yup...I got nothing.

After the crunches make me consider disappearing into the bathroom for an undetermined amount of time, we start the leg stretches....at one point Mr. Hall tells us to roll over the leg that is closest to our ear onto our backs.....

Side Bar: And what would he like me to do? My leg isn't anywhere NEAR MY EAR!!
Menty: We are going over our butt....
Side Bar: Like there was EVER ANY OTHER OPTION...

After another 40 minutes of this, we make it to our feet and thank goodness, we do isolated undulations and hips because I pretty much though I would fall out.

Since I was already sweaty and mostly devastated, I stayed for ballet. Something I know a little more about....I was with Mr. Hall until we did the 'Fives'.....Now since we've already determined I'm an ADVANCED COUNTER....I still found myself stymied by doing this rhythm with a frappe....as was the rest of the class except maybe the person that demo'ed it and.....well.....Mr. Hall.

After surviving both classes, I pretty much refused to go anywhere near Jazz 2 ever again.....
And then I went to Ballet 1/2 on Monday and Mr. Hall hugged me and told me he was so happy to see me in class and was proud of how well I stuck it out....

Insert deep sigh....I may have to go back to Jazz 2....but I'm going to Beginning Jazz first....because I hurt for 4 DAYS after Jazz 2.

I need to go back to drinking....thanks MDB and Princess for 'ritas on Saturday!

"You are an Advanced Counter" Or Why You Should Go to Hip Hop

I walk into Joel Hall on Monday night in time for my Ballet Beat down with MDB at my usual time. 

All the students that are not in class are pressed to the glass window of the fish bowl to see what new creation is in process for the company. 

As I watch some of my favorites, MDB, Lil Red, Dreads and other dance wonders perform physical origami, I shake my head and wipe my nose print off the glass.

I step back to the sign in desk and sign in. I turn to Not David 4.0 and explain that I have mislabeled him. He is, in fact, 'a' David - but not 'the' David....so he is now David 2.0. He laughs (probably thinking WHO is this crazy lady?) and says "Well when David and I both work behind the desk we call ourselves Double D." 

Side Bar: Is he looking at my breast?

Menty: Did he just call me fat?!?!

Class is full and we start our barre combinations right way. MDB, of course, must fuss. Class is not class if MDB isn't poking body parts, pushing limbs, holding legs, correcting posture, pointers and positions. I am afraid I will come in and she will have a crop in her hand. 

Our combinations have gotten more complicated....our Starbucks menu of cuisine has expanded. And instead of that nervous pit of stomach feeling, I have a newfound confidence that if I screw this up....I will be ok. I can only do my best......so when we have frappes with an added eleve or rond de jambes with alternating fondues....I don't freak out. I just settle in and do it. 

And then my friend, Leize of Rahkshanda asked me to do Hip Hop which is after Ballet I/II. I'm tried and sweaty, but I pulled on my gym shoes and stayed. Now I'm BIG on counting - not because I can't find the rhythm but because I like to know what's happening WHEN. I do fine with musicality, but not if I don't know the song. 

So Mr. Afro is teaching us and I'm counting. And he won't give us the counts....and I ask for the counts so the things that I'm screwing up because I DON"T KNOW the counts....would be helpful. He says it doesn't matter.....

Side Bar: He didn't just say that...

Menty: That's what I heard....

Side Bar: He didn't mean it....

Menty: Ummm....no, I think he did.....

I count in my head anyway....and he is encouraging us as we move further along in this combination without counts, guidance and confidence....oh sure, we're moving....we are just fucking it up.....and then he picks faster music....so we are fucking it up DOUBLE TIME!!! 

I asked again for counts....Mr. Afro says "You are an advanced counter." 

Side Bar: What'd he just call me?

Menty: I think he means retarded...

Side Bar: I think everyone can count to 8....

Menty: Apparently not...we're advanced...

Mr. Afro says we look professional...and we are all hitting the marks....

Side Bar: We are all fucking up at the same parts so we ALL LOOK FUCKED UP

Menty: That is my interpretation as well...

Side Bar: Please blow more smoke....we are all ears....and advanced counters...

Class ends with Mr. Afro telling me to just let all that counting stuff go and it will be easier if I come back to class. I stop short of asking him if he's talked to MDB about how sale techniques :)

Faith: Belief that is not based on proof

Faith is a belief that is not based on proof per the dictionary online. 

I don't really have a lot of faith. I have a lot of fear. I find that the more I flex my courage muscle, the more I speak up anyway, the more I just put it out in the universe, the things that I feared most don't come forth. I throw them into the light, ready to run for cover and find that there is nothing there. The police don't beat me with the ugly stick, or hit me over the head for missing that step, no one points and laughs (out loud anyway), no one throws me out of the room, no one questions my right to be there and no one gives me a 'you look like a stupid idiot' ticket....though I do get those looks sometimes...but whatever...sticks, stones...kiss...my...ass...

But for whatever reason, MDB has faith in me. That, or she really likes laughing at me.....which isn't so bad because I like laughing at myself too. Sometimes, it's even on purpose! 

MDB has mentioned on several occasions that she would like me to audition for Joel Hall Second Company. There was an audition this past weekend. I have seen the dancers in Joel Hall First Company.....they are the real deal holy field. Even the dancers in the second company.....

Let me mention now that I have not been to a dance class in almost 5 weeks and had not danced for more than 20 consecutive minutes while in San Diego for work. 

I didn't go. I didn't think that I could do it. And then I go to teach tonight and find out someone else that came for the free day had enough gumption to audition without any training. And I think to myself "Oh ye of little faith....you auditioned for the Lyric Opera for Salome in 2006. You didn't think you would last the first round and you were one of the three finalist. You didn't think you could stand up to your boss at work and you did and it's better now. You didn't think you would buy a condo and you did. You didn't think you could go to ballet class and you did. You didn't think you'd ever do a triple pirouette, figure out the difference between a glissade, assemblage and sissone and you did (Thanks Nancy and Youtube). You didn't think you could write and you write a blog and articles for a magazine. You didn't think you could lose weight and you did. How many times will you lie to yourself because you are afraid of the voices in your head or the opinions of others? How many times will you allow yourself to be sidelined from your happiness because you are too afraid to try? What else would you do....if you just had a little more faith?" 

Maybe MDB has more than faith. Maybe she sees something in me in class that I don't see while trying to figure out my footwork, arms, and facing. Maybe while I am looking at ethereal she is looking at my potential. 

When I walked into Joel Hall on Monday evening for Ballet I-II, I said hello to at least 10 different people that knew me (at least as "that black chick that takes ballet class") and several said that they missed me yesterday at the auditions. It made me smile. I was missed. People noticed that I wasn't where they thought I should be. 

Here's to a little more faith :) and a little less fear

In Appreciation and Remembrance

We are funny things – human beings. We can’t sustain any emotion for extended periods of times.

That person we couldn’t LIVE WITHOUT is getting on our LAST DAMN nerve. That home that would make our family closer, divides us creating separate living experiences, sometimes creating strangers out of loved ones. That new car with ‘bun warmers’ and auto start for the cold winter nights is city worn and driven down. That promotion that promised more money has quickly been absorbed into new ‘expenses’. That dress and those shoes that make you look 10 pounds lighter, legs longer and ankles slimmer doesn’t make the cut anymore and ends up in the thrift store drop off bag. And losing that last 10 pounds didn’t make you funnier, sexier, or get you into those stupid ass skinny jeans.

But what we do remember, what we do retain, are experiences.

We remember the first time we rode a plane. We remember that first person that made our heart race. We remember that first heartbreak. We remember when we learned that you can't make people love you in return. We remember the time we bungee jump, ride a roller coaster, sky dive, ski, or travel to a different country. We remember that one time someone made you so angry. We remember that really great vacation. We remember the crazy parts of college. We remember that silly Halloween costume. We remember being the outsider. We remember sitting by a hospital bed or waiting room. We remember getting that phone call that changes everything….the first one, second one, third, etc. We remember the first time we lose someone we really love.  We remember finding out that life isn't all about you. We remember that small kindness that made your day. And everyone has a story that starts with “Remember that one time...” insert when you flashed a police officer while driving on Lake Shore Drive because your belly dance top untied, danced on a table completely sober and fell off, smacked that one guy for saying something inappropriate, forgot to put on underwear, caught your drunk friend from undressing in public, completed a double dog dare, went on your first solo vacation, or kissed the most beautiful guy/girl/person you’ve ever seen up close, in person and they kissed you back.

I couldn’t tell you all the stuff I bought this year. It all falls under clothes, food, beverage, shoes, etc.

But I do remember going to Barcelona and Madrid for the first time and using the little bit of Spanish I retained from 6 years of education. I remember going on medical leave because I was seriously afraid that I was losing my mind. I have never been that afraid before. I remember wondering how my life had gotten away from me. I remember the moment I decided to reclaim it (August 12, 2012 sitting on my living room floor hand making a journal). I remember the anxiety of going to my first ballet class. I remember the first time I didn’t feel anxiety going to ballet class. I remember being tricked into Modern 2 dance class by MDB. I remember that long ass flight to Bangkok...and coming back. I remember spending a lovely week in Los Angeles with my friend, Audrey and meeting a gorgeous Colombian and Ecuadorian man. I remember doing two triple pirouettes in class. I remember the look on my boss' face when I told her every reason I don't really trust her and how I view her treatment of me. I remember letting go of Hipnotic. I remember sitting on the curb and listening to Bruce Springsteen outside of Wrigleyville – not for the music, but for the people watching. I remember my friend having her first baby and knitting her a baby blanket – tell her it is ‘baby barf’ color so no one will know that all the spots didn’t get washed out. I remember Hurricane Sandy and the photos of floating SUVs. And I will remember the Newtown tragedy.

When we see tragedy, it’s that much more horrible not just because it happened to them – but because it could happen to any of US. It literally could have happened Anywhere, USA.

This year has been a gift because some people did not make it to this year. Some people will not bring in the next one. Some people will not be here after this evening.

Life isn’t about stuff. It’s about the little things that move our hearts, souls and bodies to sing, and dance – the ability to touch, feel, and love and be loved in return. It's not about that car that's spends more time parked on the street and not in your bedroom. It's not about that new purse, shoes, belt combination that will 'set' that outfit - because in four months or less - it won't be the 'outfit. It's not about eating that last cookie (but I'm not opposed to it being about that last cookie!). It's not about that last ten pounds. It's not about that 4 bedroom house and 3.5 baths (unless you have lots of kids - then please whatever you need to do so they don't kill each other). It's not about the 'work' sitting on your desk unless it is saving lives, making a difference in someone else's life or curing the incurable.

And while I can’t do splits (yet), nail a regular triple pirouette, speak Spanish or French with fluency or fly; you best believe I will remember when I can.

Life is not about the destination, it's about the journey in between.

Fuck it

I fell really hard on the pavement two weeks ago. My right palm slammed into the cement along with my right knee. I skinned my right elbow and knee and destroyed a pair of my favorite fingerless gloves. In my rush to save myself from extended embarrassment, I jumped up, dusted myself off, shook off the embarrassment and walked it off. 

My inner thoughts on rapid repeat - you're ok, I looked stupid, I went down like a ton of bricks, did I bounce? Was that guy laughing? What the hell is wrong with me? I can't even get up a flight of stairs! 

Instead of being kind to myself and allowing myself time to really collect myself, I rushed off like the little white rabbit. Time is wasting - things to do! I'm Late, I'm Late, I'm Late. In my rush to be 'fine', I even go to ballet class. This is where I find out not only am I not fine, I really hurt myself. I couldn't grip the barre with my right hand and I couldn't do a deep knee bend on my right knee. I 'muscle' through it because I'm not wimp. But smart enough not to push myself too hard. 

My right palm is still bruised. My right knee is not 100% and I'm at least smart enough not to push it. 

And because I'm completely self aware, I start to look at other areas of my life, where I've fallen down badly, hurt myself and jumped up trying to prove that I'm ok. I'm not the only person that does this. We all do it....and we all do it differently. 

Recently, I've decided to stop being the leaf in the wind, blowing whichever way life takes me. I've decided to take the path less travelled and be the me I've always wanted but was too afraid of trying because I might embarrass myself, I might fall down and look stupid, someone might laugh, or I might think 'what the hell is wrong with me'. 

It's been an interesting start. I'm working on writing a book. I'm learning French. I'm getting my certification to teach English as a Second Language. I'm opening an etsy store with my handmade journals. I've finally found the things in my life that make me BREATHE. Not just unconsciously inhale and exhale air, but the things that have been whispering in my ear, my heart, my soul throughout the course of my life. 

But of course, I wonder, worry, doubt if this is me running about like the white rabbit - NO TIME TO WASTE - I'm late, I'M Late, I'M LATE!! 

And I stop, get really still and very quiet, breathe in, breathe out and think - Fuck it. I might as well do what I want with this life. I'm not getting another. :)

Rinse. Wash. Repeat.

I have this little problem. I don’t really understand or accept boundaries or limitations.

It’s more of a big problem. I’m like the Little Engine that could meets I think I can, I think I can meets denial – NOT the river in Egypt. It’s the reason why I’ve been in the same thankless job for 9 years and why I went to ballet class after banging my knee and elbow on cement. I have an issue understanding and accepting boundaries.

I bit it on Monday. I stepped on my oversized palazzo pants and FLEW a few yards through the air, sliding on my hands and banging my elbow and knee. My clothes survived just fine. My beloved black and white gloves and pride were in tatters. But I jumped up, dusted myself off, made a joke to the bystanders and went about my business. I got back to my desk and realized that I had also skinned my elbow and knee. Like the little independent soldier I was taught to be, I cleaned, slapped some ointment on it and put a band-aid on – back to work.

As I head into Joel Hall Dance Studios, I am note that my knee is slightly stiff and it’s uncomfortable to bend. But I figure this is nothing that won’t work itself out during class. I make it to my first grandé plié and realize this is NOT ok. Never one to give up, I accept that I won’t have full range of motion, suck up the discomfort and ‘power’ through the combinations skipping the parts that I couldn’t manage.

Now some of us would think – yay! You didn’t give up. Some of us would think – why’d you even bother? But I did say I had an issue understanding boundaries.

I did sideline myself during floor exercises because spinning and jumping on a banged up knee is just not smart. But I have this thing with giving up and letting go.

It’s one of my life patterns. I have a problem giving things/people/clothes, etc up and letting them go.

I think of myself as a dancer. When I hurt myself in ballet almost two years ago, I was told to sit down somewhere for 6 weeks before going back. My knee was the side of a cantaloupe. I couldn’t go up and down my condo building stairs. I had to ice, compress and elevate my knee and I still went back after 4 weeks because it wasn’t swollen anymore. There is something profoundly wrong with that – it is called stupidity.

I’m in the process of un-stupefying myself. It’s hard. I don’t like it. It’s called a pattern for a reason. But I hurt myself. I try to ‘soldier’ through it. I pat myself on the back for working through pain and inevitably hurt myself again.  It’s not a good pattern and more importantly, it hasn’t gotten me anywhere I’d like to go.

So instead of working through the pain, I’m going to acknowledge it, accept it, and do what I can without pain until I don’t hurt anymore. Rinse. Wash. Repeat.