BEDA Seize...Why I Do It

Yes, before you ask, that is me above.  I don't usually put dancing pictures of myself on here, so I figured I might as well, since that's all I'm gonna be talking about pretty much right now.

This summer, we had a...well...the only word I can use to describe her that's the least bit nice is interesting...jazz teacher.  Her attitude, inability to count straight 8s, and horrendous out-date-80s choreography led most of us to a loathing of her and a dread of her jazz class/pieces we had to perform.  Oh, and she made us do our hair like this for the show.  Anyway, the reason I'm bringing this up is because once during about week 4, she shared poems she had written with us about dance.  With cliche titles like "Why do I dance?" and "Let Your Wings Soar," you can imagine me trying my best to stifle my laughter.  You see, these were ridiculous explanations of why someone dances.  Ok, yeah...I understand that maybe at age 10, if someone asks you why you're a dancer, you'll probably give them the line, "Because I can express myself" or "It's freeing."  However, as dancers age, and I have found this in my many years of study with almost all of my ballet friends, that dancing isn't really "freeing" at all.  In fact, it's oftentimes quite the opposite.

In a sense, I am a slave to ballet.  Growing up, I often had to turn down invitations to do fun things with the standard line, "I can't...I have rehearsal," and sacrifice just seems to be the name of the game.  I've given up pretty much everything to still be dancing, and so have my parents.  Even my brother has taken the back burner on occasions.  The discipline involved in day in, day out classes, and dancers' love hate relationship with the mirror and perfection and their bodies create this kind of prison.

Sometimes, I really hate ballet.  Like, for instance, there are some days when I'm just so incredibly exhausted that even stretching before class seems like a chore.  And forget jumping high.  There are days when my body feels so heavy or fragile, I fear it might break.  And there are days when I feel so "off" and the teachers are harping and nothing is going right and I'm nearing breakdown.  That is not "freeing" at all.  That is torture.  But I can't quit.  I could never quit.  I think a lot of dancers dance not because it serves as an art of self-expression (though that may be possible in some improv classes on occasion) or freedom, but because they must.  There are no options.  I wreak havoc on my body every day, waking up in the morning with unimaginable stiffness and soreness and pain because I have to.  (I may also be a bit of a masochist, but we won't discuss that right now.)  And then there are moments...most of them happen on stage...where I experience an ecstasy so powerful and so overwhelming that I know I could never feel that anywhere else.  I've experienced plenty of heartbreak as a ballet dancer.  Hell, I don't even know if I'm going to be able to still be doing this for the rest of my life.  I don't know how long my body will hold out.  I don't know if the ballet world has a place for me still reserved in it.  But I do know that I don't see myself doing anything else.  I can't even imagine it.  I dance because it's not an option not to dance.  By the way, if you're wondering what brought this on, I found my dance quotations book on my bookshelf this morning and read the following:

"Ballet is full of mysteries.  Take the question of dancers' health.  Before company class starts every day at ten o'clock they straggle in, drawn and ashen-faced.  How it alarms me...Poor girls, how could they have even managed the stairs let alone survive an hour or two of class.  They line the studio with bags and bundles that disgorge a cargo of bandages and woollies, plasters and cotton wool.  It is less a dance studio and more a casualty ward as they pad and plaster bruised feet, tie scarves like tourniquets around their heads and waists, heave themselves into plastic trousers - gingerly lest they awaken past injuries.  As they hobble about I wonder how these invalids will ever bear the rigours of the barre.  Then, against all reason, a daily miracle takes place.  As the first notes of the piano are struck, far from wilting they begin to shimmer with well-being.  Their eyes open wider, their hair starts to shine, their skin glows and, as the time for centre work arrives the general radiance is dazzling.  The miracle is that they are drawing strength from the very act of dancing itself, living off it, and nourished by it.  As a long day of rehearsal passes the energy drawn from the dance seems to grow until the accumulated vitality is offered to their evening audience as an incomparable gift."  ~Donald Hamilton Fraser

Ballet is like medicine, I think.  It might not taste so good a lot of the time, but it always makes you feel better when you take it.  I guess a lot of people won't ever understand why I didn't choose to pursue something "normal" with my life.  But who gives a damn about those people?  I'm done listening to other people's criticisms.  Done questioning if this is what I'm supposed to be doing.  Because God would not have given me this incredible gift if I wasn't meant to use it.  I'm finally starting to be okay with  me...all parts of me.  If people can't accept the fact that I don't want to be a doctor or a lawyer or a businesswoman, then they can get over themselves.  I'm done trying and failing to explain myself.  I'm a dancer because it's the only thing I know how to be.  And that's quite alright with me.

I'm sorry if, in my attempt to not be cliche, I ended up sounding cliche, but I'm writing this rather quickly and trying not to overthink it. 

In other news, I finally finished The Hunger Games yesterday (I hadn't gotten to read for about five days as things were NUTS around the house), and, as I tweeted from the train yesterday, I am certifiably in love with Peeta Mellark.  Can't wait to start Catching Fire.  And Mockingjay comes out so soon!!  I'm off to do homework...I really need to finish a lesson today or my mom might kill me.  Have a splendid Monday, beauties.  Again, PLEASE (!) shoot any blog topic ideas you may have my way, as I'm running out of BEDA steam.  Oh, oh!  I forgot to wish Sarah and Graham Badger a most happy 1st anniversary in my entry last night (or I guess it really was early this morning), so Happy Happy Happy Anniversary, and may God grant you the most amazing blessings in your next year of marriage. 

Currently stuck in my head: "We Are Golden" by MIKA.  I LOOOOOVE him.  Also, that video is amazing because I, too, have run round my room in my underwear singing along to Euro Candy Pop.