Before I began this project, I had a blog. It was called "Life Lessons Learned the Cassandra Way." Canny right? Well, I thought so.
Obviously, each entry served as a different lesson learned, and as per usual with me, none of it was learned in an effortless fashion. If ever there was a clear sunny path with a giant neon sign that sang out in soprano, "Cassandra, this is the direct and easy way to a glorious existence," I swear to you, I would still go left down the dark, gloomy, terrifying path that was experiencing some sort of weather catastrophe. It is just the way I work, and I am slowly learning that.
So, as per usual, today sufficed as another difficult lesson. I'm not sure that I can call it learned and I'm not sure that I have solved the riddle, but I can at least recognize the giant singing sign that says, "Hi! I am yet another display of the same problem you keep running into. Are you ready to figure this out yet? If not, I'll just keep popping up as often as possible. Cheers!"
The question is, do I maintain artistic integrity and turn down a job that is beneath me and will not help me grow, or do I humbly accept said position recognizing that it is paying far more than anything else I may hope to find at this point in time. What is more important: my hopes and dreams? My dwindling belief that I can seriously pursue dance and a stage life? Or the harsh reality of this world - dance is not a "grown up" job. Not the way I've been doing it.
I still can't stomach that. So I have my answer. I just feel like a spoiled brat not being able to appreciate what limited opportunities I am being given.
But my question is...wouldn't it be worse to sell myself for less than my worth? My self-esteem is all but shattered. You can ask just about anyone. I don't like myself, and it's horrible admitting that, knowing the weight that carries, and knowing above all else its truth. However, that being said, if I think and feel to the depths of my being that I am better than this, that I can do more and that I deserve more, then it absolutely must be true.
Isn't it always better to struggle for what's right than to settle for what's easy?
I wish I knew the answer, without a doubt. But if you look at my life and the way I have always lived, it is beyond evident that I believe that to be true, with everything I am.
I just want my time. I want to know what it's like. I want to experience everything I can to the depth of what it is.
I have always needed that, and I have worked hard enough to deserve it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KBQ1KjMtw5Q&list=UU6fUZo1Uc4gmP36-0k9aYtQ&index=1&feature=plcp
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Sunday, November 4, 2012
The sum of nothing
"And I thought, you have to draw the line somewhere."
You absolutely do. Lines are drawn everywhere, everyday, and for you, they should have been drawn a long time ago. But you couldn't see it, and you couldn't do it. So I did. In a horrible, unexplainable, inexcusable fashion that I will never be able to take back. One that I can never erase. Damage that neither of us can forget. Damage that you can forgive, but you know I can't.
But please, oh please don't ignore it.
Call me out on what I am.
Something.
Nothing.
Don't dance around your stories when I ask why a friend could go back to someone so horrible, who had so clearly hurt him so awfully when he deserved only the best.
"Well...you know...she was just...young...and confused...and she probably just wanted something else. Even though...he's the nicest person in the world...he wasn't enough then."
Even three states apart, a phone call away, I could hear your pauses and what you actually wanted to say.
"Well, Cassandra, she is just like you, you know? A bitch. A total and complete asshole. She was just like you. Under the pretense of being young. Acting like she was lost and confused. Completely and totally using what was right in front of her when convenient and then completely and totally ignoring him and you probably just wanted something else. Even though I'm the nicest person in the world, and he's the nicest person in the world, everything I gave you and the fact that I'm the only one who has loved you from the beginning, I wasn't enough then...so I guess he wasn't enough then."
My boots are incredibly heavy, dear.
So much so that I fear tomorrow I may be incapable of lifting my legs.
But you wouldn't know what that means. Oskar would.
But you wouldn't know Oskar. I wish you did.
Oskar Schell. The most important 9-year old that I'll never meet in my life.
Granted, Joshua is the most important 9-year old in my life, and he always will be.
Something.
Or nothing.
Just scream at me already! Have at it. I know what I am and what I was. I need to know that you do too.
So put me in my place. Just let me have it.
I bruise easily. Just like Oskar. But maybe we can move backwards. If you scream, I swear these bruises will go away.
I need you to yell. I need you to hate me. I need you to stop protecting me. I need you to be human, instead of perfect.
You have no idea. I wish you could be in my head for five seconds. Just five. Any more and you might run screaming.
I want you to look me in the face when you do it.
And then I want that big bear hug I've always held my breath for. Don't you dare apologize. Just lift me off the ground for a second. Just make me feel my size.
And I want to go home, to the beach, to their beach, to our beach. I want it to be there. I want that lifeguard stand where I tried my hardest not to look at you, for fear of the inevitable. I knew it would be over then. In the best way possible. But I knew I had to hurt you first. And I couldn't stand that.
But I want that lifeguard stand to stand.
I want it back from wherever it was stolen to.
Nothing.
I want you to remember everything. I want you to have all the pieces. I can put the puzzle together and see our story for exactly what it is, what it has always been and what it will be. I want you to be in on it. Because it is so beautiful. Because I am so bruised. Because you need to know everything.
Because I can't hand you a key to make you search for a lock so that you will talk to everyone who has a piece of our story. It spans my entire life. You need to meet everyone.
I want my mini-golf games. I want my kids to go everywhere I went. For the first time in my life, I want to go home in a way I can't describe.
And for the first time in my life, I cannot get home.
I want to scream at a mirror. I want to hold you.
And everyone is worried about me, worried about my life.
What about the lives that are over? What about that which will never exist again? What about the lives that are in danger?
Stop worrying about me and just scream at me already! I can take it. I'm strong. I need to hear it.
But I bruise easy.
And it might be something.
But it's probably nothing.
http://m.youtube.com/?client=mv-google&reload=3&rdm=mcth144ds&rdm=mcy2866zo#/watch?v=kkHUW-cqVW4
You absolutely do. Lines are drawn everywhere, everyday, and for you, they should have been drawn a long time ago. But you couldn't see it, and you couldn't do it. So I did. In a horrible, unexplainable, inexcusable fashion that I will never be able to take back. One that I can never erase. Damage that neither of us can forget. Damage that you can forgive, but you know I can't.
But please, oh please don't ignore it.
Call me out on what I am.
Something.
Nothing.
Don't dance around your stories when I ask why a friend could go back to someone so horrible, who had so clearly hurt him so awfully when he deserved only the best.
"Well...you know...she was just...young...and confused...and she probably just wanted something else. Even though...he's the nicest person in the world...he wasn't enough then."
Even three states apart, a phone call away, I could hear your pauses and what you actually wanted to say.
"Well, Cassandra, she is just like you, you know? A bitch. A total and complete asshole. She was just like you. Under the pretense of being young. Acting like she was lost and confused. Completely and totally using what was right in front of her when convenient and then completely and totally ignoring him and you probably just wanted something else. Even though I'm the nicest person in the world, and he's the nicest person in the world, everything I gave you and the fact that I'm the only one who has loved you from the beginning, I wasn't enough then...so I guess he wasn't enough then."
My boots are incredibly heavy, dear.
So much so that I fear tomorrow I may be incapable of lifting my legs.
But you wouldn't know what that means. Oskar would.
But you wouldn't know Oskar. I wish you did.
Oskar Schell. The most important 9-year old that I'll never meet in my life.
Granted, Joshua is the most important 9-year old in my life, and he always will be.
Something.
Or nothing.
Just scream at me already! Have at it. I know what I am and what I was. I need to know that you do too.
So put me in my place. Just let me have it.
I bruise easily. Just like Oskar. But maybe we can move backwards. If you scream, I swear these bruises will go away.
I need you to yell. I need you to hate me. I need you to stop protecting me. I need you to be human, instead of perfect.
You have no idea. I wish you could be in my head for five seconds. Just five. Any more and you might run screaming.
I want you to look me in the face when you do it.
And then I want that big bear hug I've always held my breath for. Don't you dare apologize. Just lift me off the ground for a second. Just make me feel my size.
And I want to go home, to the beach, to their beach, to our beach. I want it to be there. I want that lifeguard stand where I tried my hardest not to look at you, for fear of the inevitable. I knew it would be over then. In the best way possible. But I knew I had to hurt you first. And I couldn't stand that.
But I want that lifeguard stand to stand.
I want it back from wherever it was stolen to.
Nothing.
I want you to remember everything. I want you to have all the pieces. I can put the puzzle together and see our story for exactly what it is, what it has always been and what it will be. I want you to be in on it. Because it is so beautiful. Because I am so bruised. Because you need to know everything.
Because I can't hand you a key to make you search for a lock so that you will talk to everyone who has a piece of our story. It spans my entire life. You need to meet everyone.
I want my mini-golf games. I want my kids to go everywhere I went. For the first time in my life, I want to go home in a way I can't describe.
And for the first time in my life, I cannot get home.
I want to scream at a mirror. I want to hold you.
And everyone is worried about me, worried about my life.
What about the lives that are over? What about that which will never exist again? What about the lives that are in danger?
Stop worrying about me and just scream at me already! I can take it. I'm strong. I need to hear it.
But I bruise easy.
And it might be something.
But it's probably nothing.
http://m.youtube.com/?client=mv-google&reload=3&rdm=mcth144ds&rdm=mcy2866zo#/watch?v=kkHUW-cqVW4
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Starting Over
"Please, oh please, take care of your body, heart and soul."
A message written to me at the beginning of a gift - a dance journal given to me by a very special group of friends. A journal they offered for me to start my next journey with. It's taken 5 months, and a lot of detours, but I'm here. I'm starting that journey. And it starts with taking care of MY body, MY heart and MY soul.
This one isn't improv...this one is flat out, traditionally choreographed. This one is still me speaking - saying the things I'll never have the chance to say, figuring out the things I don't know how else to figure out...but it isn't improv.
So, since it's a little different, I think I've decided that this time around, I'll share my journal. You can't see the format, which is a huge part, but I'm okay with that part staying with me.
"Epilogue - a short addition or concluding section at the end of a literary work, often dealing with the future of its characters.
Prologue - an introduction or preface.
Unkempt - not properly maintained; disorderly or untidy. Unpolished; rude.
Unkept - not fulfilled.
Is this the before, or the after?
A door closed, an important one.
Do I tell that story? Do I show the aftermath?
Or do I work on opening the next?
Come on skinny love, just last the year.
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall.
patient, fine, balanced, kind
I'll be holding all the tickets
and you'll be owning all the fines.
Come on skinny love, what happened here?
patient, fine, balanced, kind
And now ALL your love is wasted
and who the HELL was I?
Who will love you?
Who will fight?
Who's gonna fall far behind?
aberrant, adj.
Measure the hope of that moment, that feeling. Everything else will be measured against it.
arrears, n.
"It was a mistake," you said. But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was mine, for trusting you.
ethereal, adj.
It lasted the length of an old song, and then we stopped, kissed, and my heart stayed there, just like that.
flux, n.
The natural state. Our moods change. Our lives change. Our feelings for each other change. Our bearings change. The song changes. The air changes. The temperature of the shower changes.
Accept this. We must accept this.
I, n.
Me without anyone else.
ineffable, adj.
No matter how many words there are, there will never be enough.
love, n.
I'M NOT GOING TO EVEN TRY.
raze, v.
It sounded like you were lifting me, but it all fell.
recant, v.
I want to take back the piece of me that lies in you, to see if I truly miss it. I want to take back at least half the "I love you's," because it feels safer that way.
stanchion, n.
I don't want to be the strong one, but I don't want to be the weak one, either.
ubiquitous, adj.
When it's going well, the fact of it is everywhere. It's there in the song that shuffles into your ears. It's there in the book you're reading. It's there on the shelves of the store as you reach for a towel and forget about the towel. It's there as you open the door. As you stare off on the subway, it's what you're looking at. You wear it inside of your hat. It lines your pockets. It's the temperature.
The hitch of course, is that when it's going badly, it's in all the same places.
yearning, n. and adj.
At the core of this desire is the belief that everything can be perfect"
That's the journal so far, the written part anyway. There's also this life journal telling my story. I'm running, and I'm doing it for me. At first, I was worried it was because I was running from everything in this city - the harsh dance comments, the feeling of hopelessness, the difficulty in finding something substantial, him. And then I was worried that I was doing it as a last act of desperation - if I move, he'll follow. If I try, he'll want me back. And then, on my trips, I realized that no one else could cause me to get on a 2 hour bus after sobbing myself to sleep, getting only an hour of "sleep," and go to an audition with the wrong pants, slightly disheveled, and still do well and have fun. Nothing could make me do that, besides me. Nothing could make me want that city so bad, besides me. I don't know why, or how, but I know that I am done here. And I'm moving on. I don't know when exactly, and the details are a disaster, but I'm actively figuring it out every day...for me.
"See you in never land."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k11Tw7J1wWo&feature=youtube_gdata_player
A message written to me at the beginning of a gift - a dance journal given to me by a very special group of friends. A journal they offered for me to start my next journey with. It's taken 5 months, and a lot of detours, but I'm here. I'm starting that journey. And it starts with taking care of MY body, MY heart and MY soul.
This one isn't improv...this one is flat out, traditionally choreographed. This one is still me speaking - saying the things I'll never have the chance to say, figuring out the things I don't know how else to figure out...but it isn't improv.
So, since it's a little different, I think I've decided that this time around, I'll share my journal. You can't see the format, which is a huge part, but I'm okay with that part staying with me.
"Epilogue - a short addition or concluding section at the end of a literary work, often dealing with the future of its characters.
Prologue - an introduction or preface.
Unkempt - not properly maintained; disorderly or untidy. Unpolished; rude.
Unkept - not fulfilled.
Is this the before, or the after?
A door closed, an important one.
Do I tell that story? Do I show the aftermath?
Or do I work on opening the next?
Come on skinny love, just last the year.
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall.
patient, fine, balanced, kind
I'll be holding all the tickets
and you'll be owning all the fines.
Come on skinny love, what happened here?
patient, fine, balanced, kind
And now ALL your love is wasted
and who the HELL was I?
Who will love you?
Who will fight?
Who's gonna fall far behind?
aberrant, adj.
Measure the hope of that moment, that feeling. Everything else will be measured against it.
arrears, n.
"It was a mistake," you said. But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was mine, for trusting you.
ethereal, adj.
It lasted the length of an old song, and then we stopped, kissed, and my heart stayed there, just like that.
flux, n.
The natural state. Our moods change. Our lives change. Our feelings for each other change. Our bearings change. The song changes. The air changes. The temperature of the shower changes.
Accept this. We must accept this.
I, n.
Me without anyone else.
ineffable, adj.
No matter how many words there are, there will never be enough.
love, n.
I'M NOT GOING TO EVEN TRY.
raze, v.
It sounded like you were lifting me, but it all fell.
recant, v.
I want to take back the piece of me that lies in you, to see if I truly miss it. I want to take back at least half the "I love you's," because it feels safer that way.
stanchion, n.
I don't want to be the strong one, but I don't want to be the weak one, either.
ubiquitous, adj.
When it's going well, the fact of it is everywhere. It's there in the song that shuffles into your ears. It's there in the book you're reading. It's there on the shelves of the store as you reach for a towel and forget about the towel. It's there as you open the door. As you stare off on the subway, it's what you're looking at. You wear it inside of your hat. It lines your pockets. It's the temperature.
The hitch of course, is that when it's going badly, it's in all the same places.
yearning, n. and adj.
At the core of this desire is the belief that everything can be perfect"
That's the journal so far, the written part anyway. There's also this life journal telling my story. I'm running, and I'm doing it for me. At first, I was worried it was because I was running from everything in this city - the harsh dance comments, the feeling of hopelessness, the difficulty in finding something substantial, him. And then I was worried that I was doing it as a last act of desperation - if I move, he'll follow. If I try, he'll want me back. And then, on my trips, I realized that no one else could cause me to get on a 2 hour bus after sobbing myself to sleep, getting only an hour of "sleep," and go to an audition with the wrong pants, slightly disheveled, and still do well and have fun. Nothing could make me do that, besides me. Nothing could make me want that city so bad, besides me. I don't know why, or how, but I know that I am done here. And I'm moving on. I don't know when exactly, and the details are a disaster, but I'm actively figuring it out every day...for me.
"See you in never land."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k11Tw7J1wWo&feature=youtube_gdata_player
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Astray
My horoscope is telling me not to let love lead me astray today. Love is so vague though. I am very much in love with very many things. And I'm not even sure I can find a single person who can accurately define love in such a way that anyone else on the planet will agree with them verbatim.
Love. Right.
My whole life I have loved dance. Adored. Admired. Sacrificed. Dance, if you know me even a little bit, is my everything.
But it got unhealthy. It took me away. Astray, if you will. And I knew it. And I didn't fight. Okay, I fought a little, but I let it consume me. That's what I'm supposed to do.
And then, I was shown that I could have a normal life. I deserve everything I've ever wanted. But that takes me away from dance.
There's got to be some middle ground, right? No one can feasibly be in the studio 24/7 and still support themselves with a roof over their heads.
Maybe that's just it. Maybe being in the studio all those hours is more important than the roof. Hell, if I can't afford a house, I can't afford food. Bet I'd lose the weight then.
But what about other people? Can I be so self-centered as to lose myself again? What about the friends and family who all but wrote me off? What about the ones who actually did because I was too focused to call them back? What about the small chance that I'll find someone who wants to spend time with me? Don't I have a right to want to give time back?
And good God, what about me? Have you seen me? Covered in bruises and scratches and scars. Battle wounds, yes. Do I wear them proudly? You bet. Proof of dedication? Absolutely. But, will I ever look normal again or will my skin be lost in a sea of scabs?
I can't eat without feeling guilty. Not a thing. No matter how healthy. I immediately feel bloated. I try hard to hide it. No one else needs to deal with that. I obsess over the amount of physical activity I get in a day. I relish in the moments I can spend with him, but I spend the following hours trying to make up for lost time and calories.
That can't be normal. How far is this going to go?
When did I stop being enough as I was?
I'm beginning to realize that as a person, I am. As a person, I am so happy right here, right now.
But, as a dancer, I'm not.
I'm scared I'll never be.
What then?
Love. Right.
My whole life I have loved dance. Adored. Admired. Sacrificed. Dance, if you know me even a little bit, is my everything.
But it got unhealthy. It took me away. Astray, if you will. And I knew it. And I didn't fight. Okay, I fought a little, but I let it consume me. That's what I'm supposed to do.
And then, I was shown that I could have a normal life. I deserve everything I've ever wanted. But that takes me away from dance.
There's got to be some middle ground, right? No one can feasibly be in the studio 24/7 and still support themselves with a roof over their heads.
Maybe that's just it. Maybe being in the studio all those hours is more important than the roof. Hell, if I can't afford a house, I can't afford food. Bet I'd lose the weight then.
But what about other people? Can I be so self-centered as to lose myself again? What about the friends and family who all but wrote me off? What about the ones who actually did because I was too focused to call them back? What about the small chance that I'll find someone who wants to spend time with me? Don't I have a right to want to give time back?
And good God, what about me? Have you seen me? Covered in bruises and scratches and scars. Battle wounds, yes. Do I wear them proudly? You bet. Proof of dedication? Absolutely. But, will I ever look normal again or will my skin be lost in a sea of scabs?
I can't eat without feeling guilty. Not a thing. No matter how healthy. I immediately feel bloated. I try hard to hide it. No one else needs to deal with that. I obsess over the amount of physical activity I get in a day. I relish in the moments I can spend with him, but I spend the following hours trying to make up for lost time and calories.
That can't be normal. How far is this going to go?
When did I stop being enough as I was?
I'm beginning to realize that as a person, I am. As a person, I am so happy right here, right now.
But, as a dancer, I'm not.
I'm scared I'll never be.
What then?
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
The afterlife of coal
I'm supposed to be doing research for the company, but I can't focus. This is the first research I've had to do since graduating, and while I sincerely am interested, it's such a foreign process somehow. I'm also not interested in the way that I usually am - eager to learn about something I don't really know. I know this stuff, basically, and am just finding myself increasingly frustrated by the lack of attention that has been given to something that truly is important and should be viewed as such by those who run it.
So, I figured I'd write. Maybe if I get it all out of my system I'll be able to focus.
I performed a solo for Jess last night. It's been a long time since I've felt so connected to a dance, and not in my typical way. It doesn't really transport me anywhere, or make me feel beautiful, or make me sincerely angry, or help me process anything...it just feels like home. I don't know how to explain it, but I belong in that solo.
The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.
I found that quote yesterday and I can't let go of it. It's what the piece is for me. When we first started, Jess told me that it was about broken things and how they can still be beautiful, and of course immediately, I was in. Something like that, you figure I would get super emotional. I figured I would. But I don't, not when I'm dancing it. It just is. Matter of fact. This doesn't quite go the way I want it to, but it is this, and this is going to have to be enough. In fact, I am going to make this better than enough. I am going to make this beautiful.
I felt a little uncomfortable with it last night. Something just didn't go quite the way I wanted or expected it to, and I was nearly knocked out of the dance. But I clung to what I could and did it. I just didn't think it had gone as well as it had in rehearsals, and I was slightly disappointed. But then Jess came backstage to help me get that dress off, which talk about a process, and she was all smiles.
I am so proud of you. I've never seen you dance like that. You did it. You made the leap, from student to professional.
I'm still having trouble comprehending that, what it means, but I'm ecstatic.
But I've noticed it, very recently, I'm dancing differently. I'm dancing more like I used to. I'm putting myself back into it without fear. And I'm stronger and my technique is better so it's not as much of a struggle as it once was. I really noticed the difference on Saturday when Jen and Olive taught Kun-Yang's class. I was just joyous and moving and owning it. It was fantastic. Once I found that, I've been determined to hang onto it. For the most part, I think I have, despite what corrections I've received that make no sense and contradict everything. Whatever. I'm happy again and I'm dancing and that's going to be good enough.
I think I realized something important about a relationship that is so crucial to my life at this moment...it isn't healthy. Most of the reasoning behind that probably falls directly on my shoulders, but blame aside, that's not okay. I need to step back and figure out what needs to happen to turn it around, so I don't get lost or hurt. Still working on what that means...but for now, it means dancing my way and taking only what I can. No more. No less.
I'd be remiss not to mention it, although for some reason, I feel no need to, despite the importance in my life that he has suddenly embodied. The changes in my dancing life correlate directly to him. I feel lighter, thinner, and yes, I mean that in a very literal and physical sense. I know that's crazy, but I really do believe he has something to do with it. I feel my size again and I'm dancing for me again and that's huge.
But I'm not sure how to admit it. He caught me thinking the other night (and unfortunately he already knows how to pinpoint the important thoughts in my face and ask me about them) and I told him I couldn't tell him. I physically couldn't get the words out. They got stuck in my throat. I could feel the lump and weight of the words sitting there, happy to remain inside me, fighting his coaxing them out.
He called me perfect.
He's taking me to an audition in NYC because he's frustrated that I can't go to the classes I want to, or see the shows I want to, or be the dancer I want.
He just got to know me and he is willing to throw everything to the wind as long as I can have my dream, my way.
And the craziest part of this whole story is that I don't question him. Not for a second. He's real. He's there. And I'm not afraid. I try really hard to make myself afraid all the time, but I'm just not.
If anyone can find a way to help the words out, he can. And I don't even fear that. I'm just interested to see how he'll do it and how long it will take.
I'm letting go. Finally. Of everything. I'm not afraid. I'm not side-stepping my life.
This is it
So, I figured I'd write. Maybe if I get it all out of my system I'll be able to focus.
I performed a solo for Jess last night. It's been a long time since I've felt so connected to a dance, and not in my typical way. It doesn't really transport me anywhere, or make me feel beautiful, or make me sincerely angry, or help me process anything...it just feels like home. I don't know how to explain it, but I belong in that solo.
The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.
I found that quote yesterday and I can't let go of it. It's what the piece is for me. When we first started, Jess told me that it was about broken things and how they can still be beautiful, and of course immediately, I was in. Something like that, you figure I would get super emotional. I figured I would. But I don't, not when I'm dancing it. It just is. Matter of fact. This doesn't quite go the way I want it to, but it is this, and this is going to have to be enough. In fact, I am going to make this better than enough. I am going to make this beautiful.
I felt a little uncomfortable with it last night. Something just didn't go quite the way I wanted or expected it to, and I was nearly knocked out of the dance. But I clung to what I could and did it. I just didn't think it had gone as well as it had in rehearsals, and I was slightly disappointed. But then Jess came backstage to help me get that dress off, which talk about a process, and she was all smiles.
I am so proud of you. I've never seen you dance like that. You did it. You made the leap, from student to professional.
I'm still having trouble comprehending that, what it means, but I'm ecstatic.
But I've noticed it, very recently, I'm dancing differently. I'm dancing more like I used to. I'm putting myself back into it without fear. And I'm stronger and my technique is better so it's not as much of a struggle as it once was. I really noticed the difference on Saturday when Jen and Olive taught Kun-Yang's class. I was just joyous and moving and owning it. It was fantastic. Once I found that, I've been determined to hang onto it. For the most part, I think I have, despite what corrections I've received that make no sense and contradict everything. Whatever. I'm happy again and I'm dancing and that's going to be good enough.
I think I realized something important about a relationship that is so crucial to my life at this moment...it isn't healthy. Most of the reasoning behind that probably falls directly on my shoulders, but blame aside, that's not okay. I need to step back and figure out what needs to happen to turn it around, so I don't get lost or hurt. Still working on what that means...but for now, it means dancing my way and taking only what I can. No more. No less.
I'd be remiss not to mention it, although for some reason, I feel no need to, despite the importance in my life that he has suddenly embodied. The changes in my dancing life correlate directly to him. I feel lighter, thinner, and yes, I mean that in a very literal and physical sense. I know that's crazy, but I really do believe he has something to do with it. I feel my size again and I'm dancing for me again and that's huge.
But I'm not sure how to admit it. He caught me thinking the other night (and unfortunately he already knows how to pinpoint the important thoughts in my face and ask me about them) and I told him I couldn't tell him. I physically couldn't get the words out. They got stuck in my throat. I could feel the lump and weight of the words sitting there, happy to remain inside me, fighting his coaxing them out.
He called me perfect.
He's taking me to an audition in NYC because he's frustrated that I can't go to the classes I want to, or see the shows I want to, or be the dancer I want.
He just got to know me and he is willing to throw everything to the wind as long as I can have my dream, my way.
And the craziest part of this whole story is that I don't question him. Not for a second. He's real. He's there. And I'm not afraid. I try really hard to make myself afraid all the time, but I'm just not.
If anyone can find a way to help the words out, he can. And I don't even fear that. I'm just interested to see how he'll do it and how long it will take.
I'm letting go. Finally. Of everything. I'm not afraid. I'm not side-stepping my life.
This is it
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Ostrich Confessions
So I don't have the video, although it does exist, but I just improved and discovered some really important things.
Class, rehearsal and a second rehearsal today after a weekend of concerts...needless to say I'm a little exhausted. Joking, I said that to my old teacher/friend at the beginning of his rehearsal (the second one in my lineup for the day). He forgave my exhaustion and the fact that I didn't quite know what was going on and just laughed with me. I caught up quick enough, so it wasn't a big deal...thank goodness.
He ended early and the studio was open, so I figured I'd use the time to work on one of the solos that I need to have polished in the next week. But, he didn't leave. He asked me about my life and somewhere in our chat wondered if I wouldn't mind fooling around and coming up with some material with him.
What an honor. Of course not.
Okay. I'm going to follow you.
Now, if I had the video, I could show you how I shook my head at him and told him I was absolutely not leading anything with him. And he still won somehow. Momentarily.
We start dancing and I realize...I'm terrified. What if I screw up? I am so not good enough to be improving with him. Ugh, my leg is not going to go where he wants it to. Why are our faces so close? Is this okay? What is he thinking? What am I thinking? Jeez oh man, why did I say I'd do this?
And then I realized...Cassandra, stop being an idiot. Just dance. You really can do this. You really are good at it. You love this. Who cares what's going on? He knows you, he's seen you dance, and he still asked YOU to dance with him. Just let it happen.
Immediately, some really great things started to unfold. It was like a relaxing game. And I came to the conclusion that I trust him immensely. There were a few moments that bordered inappropriate, a few lifts that could have spelled disaster, and overall it was a dance that I never could have imagined being a part of next to someone so incredible. But he trusted me to handle it and was patient with me figuring out how to trust myself. And for that, I had no choice but to trust him back.
A good 10-15 minutes later, we were giggling and he flat out said he missed dancing with me. A little bit in awe and star-struck, I could do nothing but say the same back, which is the obvious truth. So, I admitted to originally being terrified of dancing with him, which he claims to have not understood. I think it's obvious though.
We watched the video and he kept saying that he was just trying to give me his weight, and I wouldn't take it. I didn't know how to tell him that was when I was still at war with myself about what was happening. We didn't get to watch the part where I decided to just be. I want to see the whole video and hope the difference is visible.
My revelation for today is to stop allowing myself to become so afraid of the wonderful people and dancers around me that I stop letting myself do what I love to the extent that I love it. I don't know where I got the idea that hiding myself and playing it safe would be better. It's so completely not. I haven't worked this long and this hard to dig a hole and stick my head in it and I've never ever considered doing that until somehow, subconsciously that became my method of survival. That's crap.
Once again, it's about time I started trusting myself. It's kind of great when I do.
Breathe.
Just be.
Class, rehearsal and a second rehearsal today after a weekend of concerts...needless to say I'm a little exhausted. Joking, I said that to my old teacher/friend at the beginning of his rehearsal (the second one in my lineup for the day). He forgave my exhaustion and the fact that I didn't quite know what was going on and just laughed with me. I caught up quick enough, so it wasn't a big deal...thank goodness.
He ended early and the studio was open, so I figured I'd use the time to work on one of the solos that I need to have polished in the next week. But, he didn't leave. He asked me about my life and somewhere in our chat wondered if I wouldn't mind fooling around and coming up with some material with him.
What an honor. Of course not.
Okay. I'm going to follow you.
Now, if I had the video, I could show you how I shook my head at him and told him I was absolutely not leading anything with him. And he still won somehow. Momentarily.
We start dancing and I realize...I'm terrified. What if I screw up? I am so not good enough to be improving with him. Ugh, my leg is not going to go where he wants it to. Why are our faces so close? Is this okay? What is he thinking? What am I thinking? Jeez oh man, why did I say I'd do this?
And then I realized...Cassandra, stop being an idiot. Just dance. You really can do this. You really are good at it. You love this. Who cares what's going on? He knows you, he's seen you dance, and he still asked YOU to dance with him. Just let it happen.
Immediately, some really great things started to unfold. It was like a relaxing game. And I came to the conclusion that I trust him immensely. There were a few moments that bordered inappropriate, a few lifts that could have spelled disaster, and overall it was a dance that I never could have imagined being a part of next to someone so incredible. But he trusted me to handle it and was patient with me figuring out how to trust myself. And for that, I had no choice but to trust him back.
A good 10-15 minutes later, we were giggling and he flat out said he missed dancing with me. A little bit in awe and star-struck, I could do nothing but say the same back, which is the obvious truth. So, I admitted to originally being terrified of dancing with him, which he claims to have not understood. I think it's obvious though.
We watched the video and he kept saying that he was just trying to give me his weight, and I wouldn't take it. I didn't know how to tell him that was when I was still at war with myself about what was happening. We didn't get to watch the part where I decided to just be. I want to see the whole video and hope the difference is visible.
My revelation for today is to stop allowing myself to become so afraid of the wonderful people and dancers around me that I stop letting myself do what I love to the extent that I love it. I don't know where I got the idea that hiding myself and playing it safe would be better. It's so completely not. I haven't worked this long and this hard to dig a hole and stick my head in it and I've never ever considered doing that until somehow, subconsciously that became my method of survival. That's crap.
Once again, it's about time I started trusting myself. It's kind of great when I do.
Breathe.
Just be.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Awesomely normal
Where to begin? I'm burnt out a little. I took some time at home to give my parents some time away and it was phenomenal. It made me not want to come back.
My back is killing me. I went to the chiropractor back home and he thinks he can fix it. A mere issue of being all around unbalanced. Oh, okay. Just that. Him helping my back also resulted in my hip screaming at me. I can't decide which is better.
I actually did something right in rehearsal though. I was bombarded with corrections Sunday morning, before I'd even warmed myself up, running on 4 hours of sleep at most. I got mad. I thought about what was being said and what I could do to fix it. What is this piece about? The fragility of life. How we as humans deal in terrible situations, when all hope is lost, when we've reached the breaking point. I realized I'd been dancing scared...which is one way to approach that breaking point. But there's another way - anger. The why me? The attack. The drive to do anything necessary to bring things back to the way they should be. Frustration. Rage. Hunger.
So I figured, what the heck? It's worth a try...I suck anyway. So, I pictured figures from my past whose actions still have me furious, who I will never truly be able to get revenge on, who may not even know what they've turned me into. And I attacked. And I did good.
Rage. I have plenty. Without a doubt enough to get me through this performance.
And then there's this boy. There've actually been several who have tried to break through to me...and every time I run, right when they're about to get somewhere. I have it down to an unconscious science. But this one, he snuck in. He's already talked to me further than I should have allowed. He's already trying to save me, and I can see it. And I'm letting him, but I'm not sure how long I'll let it go. And it won't make any sense at all to him when I disappear and for that, I already feel guilty. And I started to last night with the guarantee to melt away my bitterness. With the belief that chivalry still exists. With the texting that accompanied me until I fell asleep with a phone in my hands. It's only a matter of time...
I'm reading this great book that Jess gave me called "women, food and god" and it describes me to a t. It would be so helpful if I could listen to it. I see the connections, and my problems, and while I believe the solution is all but blatantly spelled out on the page, I can't seem to find it. Or maybe I don't want to. Maybe I'm so set in my ways that I fear being in a place where I can know who I am and that whatever that is is ok.
Today, I read about past stories. The book is encouraging me to let them be just that...stories. They can't hurt me anymore because they're not real anymore. It's the first time that's really made sense to me...but I don't know how to let go. It insists that as soon as I do I can start living for who I am and what I want, need and feel now. That'd be great.
It also wants me to stop apologizing for who and what I am. I'm gonna try book. I really am...but it's going to take so much courage.
My back is killing me. I went to the chiropractor back home and he thinks he can fix it. A mere issue of being all around unbalanced. Oh, okay. Just that. Him helping my back also resulted in my hip screaming at me. I can't decide which is better.
I actually did something right in rehearsal though. I was bombarded with corrections Sunday morning, before I'd even warmed myself up, running on 4 hours of sleep at most. I got mad. I thought about what was being said and what I could do to fix it. What is this piece about? The fragility of life. How we as humans deal in terrible situations, when all hope is lost, when we've reached the breaking point. I realized I'd been dancing scared...which is one way to approach that breaking point. But there's another way - anger. The why me? The attack. The drive to do anything necessary to bring things back to the way they should be. Frustration. Rage. Hunger.
So I figured, what the heck? It's worth a try...I suck anyway. So, I pictured figures from my past whose actions still have me furious, who I will never truly be able to get revenge on, who may not even know what they've turned me into. And I attacked. And I did good.
Rage. I have plenty. Without a doubt enough to get me through this performance.
And then there's this boy. There've actually been several who have tried to break through to me...and every time I run, right when they're about to get somewhere. I have it down to an unconscious science. But this one, he snuck in. He's already talked to me further than I should have allowed. He's already trying to save me, and I can see it. And I'm letting him, but I'm not sure how long I'll let it go. And it won't make any sense at all to him when I disappear and for that, I already feel guilty. And I started to last night with the guarantee to melt away my bitterness. With the belief that chivalry still exists. With the texting that accompanied me until I fell asleep with a phone in my hands. It's only a matter of time...
I'm reading this great book that Jess gave me called "women, food and god" and it describes me to a t. It would be so helpful if I could listen to it. I see the connections, and my problems, and while I believe the solution is all but blatantly spelled out on the page, I can't seem to find it. Or maybe I don't want to. Maybe I'm so set in my ways that I fear being in a place where I can know who I am and that whatever that is is ok.
Today, I read about past stories. The book is encouraging me to let them be just that...stories. They can't hurt me anymore because they're not real anymore. It's the first time that's really made sense to me...but I don't know how to let go. It insists that as soon as I do I can start living for who I am and what I want, need and feel now. That'd be great.
It also wants me to stop apologizing for who and what I am. I'm gonna try book. I really am...but it's going to take so much courage.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Baby face is in the corner
It's been a long time since I last wrote. Not because I've given up and not because I haven't thought of it, but I honestly think I cracked this time. Nothing seems important, aside from my latest obsessions. And while related, this does not directly affect or involve what's going on and so it fell to the side. But, I think it's important to verbalize everything - for myself and anyone who may benefit from what I'm slowly finding.
Everyone knows the sob story about how I was fired for having a big butt - and if you don't, now you do. Once upon a time, I worked really hard to make myself a ballerina for about 6 months, and the last week of that was spent barely eating and sustaining a back injury just before the show. I never got to go on stage though because after all that hard work and borderline mental breakdown, I was fired days before the performance and received no compensation for the work done. Now we can do the typical "Oh my god, have you seen your own butt? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," to which I would probably respond with, "Well, apparently not," or we can just skip that part and come to the conclusion that mine is not a dancer's form.
It took a long time but I got myself back together after that. Then, those same people were hired to teach ballet at my home again, and I was certain it could be for no other purpose than to let me in on the secret of my unsightly body in a passive aggressive manner. I was assured this was not the case, and yet within the first few classes, attention was again drawn to the fact that I am not a dancer who starves herself, which is apparently an issue.
So again, I swallowed the pain and continued forward, until something was said about the shape of my body and face. At the moment, it's not right, but if I could just listen to what I'm being told and change everything I've ever known, I have the hope of being skinnier.
Okay. Easy. Piece of cake. Or...maybe celery in this case...
So, I try. Already going to the gym at least 4 times a week, usually more. Already trying to watch what I eat. Already dancing myself silly. What can I do? Okay, cut out meat. Maybe that'll help. Go vegetarian. Done. Change the workout. More reps. More sets. Less weight. Done. Walk as much as possible instead of public transportation. Okay. Stop eating so much. Okay. Substitute sugarless, creamless tea for that second cup of coffee. Done.
Then, off to New York, where I'm told to look less healthy, moments before going on stage. Less healthy? Assured that wasn't an allusion to the shape of my face, I'm told to cover up the rosy cheeks with brown. Okay, that makes sense. But no, that's wrong. We were talking about the shape of my face. After removing the brown makeup, lines are drawn on me from just shy of my ear down to the corner of my mouth. I look skeletal.
Humans have cheekbones.
So now I'm a fat alien. Awesome. And I'm the only one out of the 6 of us who needs the help of drawn on cheek lines. Even better.
Over it. Pushing forward. Can't change my facial structure. It is what it is unfortunately.
Just keep moving. You can do this.
Then the next week, the solo attention I've needed. I feel better, more grounded and certain of what I'm doing...until I'm pulled to the back of the studio.
You have a baby face. As he puffs out his cheeks to show me what I look like....that's why it looks like you have baby fat all over your body.
Granted there was a lesson in there, a lot more was said, and everything was said in kindness and an attempt to teach me something, but the words stung so badly that I could process nothing further. It was all I could do to hold myself composed for the next 5 minutes of the speech, to look interested and not like my whole world had just been shattered. 5 minutes that lasted an eternity as my head reeled with the words. Fat had been said to my face. That was all I could understand.
Tears. Uncontrollable tears while on the phone with my mom. I didn't even care who heard what I was saying or who saw what I looked like. Everything I've ever wanted just fell on me again, and it is continuously more difficult to pick up the pieces each time they collapse.
The next few days are spent in a total and complete submission to this new obsession. Any time I'm left alone, I'm in tears. All I dream about is different ways of failing for the company. My subway rides are spent examining the facial structures of those around me - jealous of the ones who have the right cheeks and tempted to ask how they got them. I can't look at myself in the mirror, it actually makes me sick. Researching different diets. How on earth did Natalie Portman get so thin? Joy...she was actually unhealthy according to all accounts. Excellent. There has got to be a way to do this.
It's all I can think about and all I can talk about. I know no one wants to hear it. I know I have a complex. I know it's a problem. But how am I supposed to fight this one? I'm already doing everything I know how before leaping into an entirely new realm of sickness. Why isn't it working?
Then I step on the scale at the gym...I've lost at least 6 lbs. That can't be right. So I try again the next day. 7 lbs down. Okay...that didn't happen overnight. Can't anybody see that I'm trying?
I get my head on straight enough to go to rehearsal this past weekend. Saturday's fine. Just a badly bruised shoulder, some swollen knees and floor burnt feet. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then Sunday rolls around. God damnit I hate that ballet class. I love ballet, but I will always dread that class. Always.
First off, I had danced from 9:30am until 2pm and worked from 5pm until 12:30am Friday night, then rehearsed Saturday from 10:30am to 4pm to work from 5pm until 12:30am to be back dancing Sunday at 10am. I am not complaining but jeez oh man, give me some credit. God forbid my arm isn't fully stretched first thing, on that very first plie Sunday morning. If that is the case, we have to go into a 5 minute speech about how terrible I am and that we've been over this before. I have no place on a stage and should just stay home in my kitchen to dance for my mother.
You don't belong on a stage. You should stay home in your kitchen and dance for your mother.
Oh. Okay. I'll do that next Sunday instead. Better that than ever having to be in the same space as you again.
I got pissed. I bit my tongue into tiny shreds and fought back the angry tears. Not only were her words horrible, but there he was, right next to me, the man who was always been there to help me, and he is doing absolutely nothing. Not even so much as a kind glance in my direction.
Fine. I'm on my own. I've got this.
And just in case I'd gotten myself to a place where I felt too secure, she came back over to remind me that my arms are fat. I just wanted to scream. Just because you have no muscle at all does not make me fat. Or maybe I wanted to punch her to show her what those fat arms could do. I couldn't decide and did nothing...as I was trained to do.
I think you're a beautiful dancer. You can't let her get to you. She doesn't get to do this. You are here for you, and for your enjoyment of dance. Otherwise, what've you got? And we all know it's not true. If it was, you wouldn't be here. You wouldn't have improved like I've seen you improve.
I was actually dumbfounded. Jess spoke for me. I couldn't believe the words coming from Jen's lips. She doesn't mess with people. She doesn't say something she doesn't think is true. She honestly believes I can do this. Okay. That's gonna have to be enough to get me through these next few months. Jen thinks I can. Jess thinks I can. My parents think I can. I think I can.
Not doing it was never an option. This is my dream. Very specifically. What I'm on the brink of having right now is everything I've wanted for 5 years. This is the life I chose.
Honey, you're fat and no good. You are exactly where you're supposed to be. This is what you decided to do.
That one actually made me laugh and feel better. It's true I guess. This is everything I asked for.
Everyone knows the sob story about how I was fired for having a big butt - and if you don't, now you do. Once upon a time, I worked really hard to make myself a ballerina for about 6 months, and the last week of that was spent barely eating and sustaining a back injury just before the show. I never got to go on stage though because after all that hard work and borderline mental breakdown, I was fired days before the performance and received no compensation for the work done. Now we can do the typical "Oh my god, have you seen your own butt? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," to which I would probably respond with, "Well, apparently not," or we can just skip that part and come to the conclusion that mine is not a dancer's form.
It took a long time but I got myself back together after that. Then, those same people were hired to teach ballet at my home again, and I was certain it could be for no other purpose than to let me in on the secret of my unsightly body in a passive aggressive manner. I was assured this was not the case, and yet within the first few classes, attention was again drawn to the fact that I am not a dancer who starves herself, which is apparently an issue.
So again, I swallowed the pain and continued forward, until something was said about the shape of my body and face. At the moment, it's not right, but if I could just listen to what I'm being told and change everything I've ever known, I have the hope of being skinnier.
Okay. Easy. Piece of cake. Or...maybe celery in this case...
So, I try. Already going to the gym at least 4 times a week, usually more. Already trying to watch what I eat. Already dancing myself silly. What can I do? Okay, cut out meat. Maybe that'll help. Go vegetarian. Done. Change the workout. More reps. More sets. Less weight. Done. Walk as much as possible instead of public transportation. Okay. Stop eating so much. Okay. Substitute sugarless, creamless tea for that second cup of coffee. Done.
Then, off to New York, where I'm told to look less healthy, moments before going on stage. Less healthy? Assured that wasn't an allusion to the shape of my face, I'm told to cover up the rosy cheeks with brown. Okay, that makes sense. But no, that's wrong. We were talking about the shape of my face. After removing the brown makeup, lines are drawn on me from just shy of my ear down to the corner of my mouth. I look skeletal.
Humans have cheekbones.
So now I'm a fat alien. Awesome. And I'm the only one out of the 6 of us who needs the help of drawn on cheek lines. Even better.
Over it. Pushing forward. Can't change my facial structure. It is what it is unfortunately.
Just keep moving. You can do this.
Then the next week, the solo attention I've needed. I feel better, more grounded and certain of what I'm doing...until I'm pulled to the back of the studio.
You have a baby face. As he puffs out his cheeks to show me what I look like....that's why it looks like you have baby fat all over your body.
Granted there was a lesson in there, a lot more was said, and everything was said in kindness and an attempt to teach me something, but the words stung so badly that I could process nothing further. It was all I could do to hold myself composed for the next 5 minutes of the speech, to look interested and not like my whole world had just been shattered. 5 minutes that lasted an eternity as my head reeled with the words. Fat had been said to my face. That was all I could understand.
Tears. Uncontrollable tears while on the phone with my mom. I didn't even care who heard what I was saying or who saw what I looked like. Everything I've ever wanted just fell on me again, and it is continuously more difficult to pick up the pieces each time they collapse.
The next few days are spent in a total and complete submission to this new obsession. Any time I'm left alone, I'm in tears. All I dream about is different ways of failing for the company. My subway rides are spent examining the facial structures of those around me - jealous of the ones who have the right cheeks and tempted to ask how they got them. I can't look at myself in the mirror, it actually makes me sick. Researching different diets. How on earth did Natalie Portman get so thin? Joy...she was actually unhealthy according to all accounts. Excellent. There has got to be a way to do this.
It's all I can think about and all I can talk about. I know no one wants to hear it. I know I have a complex. I know it's a problem. But how am I supposed to fight this one? I'm already doing everything I know how before leaping into an entirely new realm of sickness. Why isn't it working?
Then I step on the scale at the gym...I've lost at least 6 lbs. That can't be right. So I try again the next day. 7 lbs down. Okay...that didn't happen overnight. Can't anybody see that I'm trying?
I get my head on straight enough to go to rehearsal this past weekend. Saturday's fine. Just a badly bruised shoulder, some swollen knees and floor burnt feet. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then Sunday rolls around. God damnit I hate that ballet class. I love ballet, but I will always dread that class. Always.
First off, I had danced from 9:30am until 2pm and worked from 5pm until 12:30am Friday night, then rehearsed Saturday from 10:30am to 4pm to work from 5pm until 12:30am to be back dancing Sunday at 10am. I am not complaining but jeez oh man, give me some credit. God forbid my arm isn't fully stretched first thing, on that very first plie Sunday morning. If that is the case, we have to go into a 5 minute speech about how terrible I am and that we've been over this before. I have no place on a stage and should just stay home in my kitchen to dance for my mother.
You don't belong on a stage. You should stay home in your kitchen and dance for your mother.
Oh. Okay. I'll do that next Sunday instead. Better that than ever having to be in the same space as you again.
I got pissed. I bit my tongue into tiny shreds and fought back the angry tears. Not only were her words horrible, but there he was, right next to me, the man who was always been there to help me, and he is doing absolutely nothing. Not even so much as a kind glance in my direction.
Fine. I'm on my own. I've got this.
And just in case I'd gotten myself to a place where I felt too secure, she came back over to remind me that my arms are fat. I just wanted to scream. Just because you have no muscle at all does not make me fat. Or maybe I wanted to punch her to show her what those fat arms could do. I couldn't decide and did nothing...as I was trained to do.
I think you're a beautiful dancer. You can't let her get to you. She doesn't get to do this. You are here for you, and for your enjoyment of dance. Otherwise, what've you got? And we all know it's not true. If it was, you wouldn't be here. You wouldn't have improved like I've seen you improve.
I was actually dumbfounded. Jess spoke for me. I couldn't believe the words coming from Jen's lips. She doesn't mess with people. She doesn't say something she doesn't think is true. She honestly believes I can do this. Okay. That's gonna have to be enough to get me through these next few months. Jen thinks I can. Jess thinks I can. My parents think I can. I think I can.
Not doing it was never an option. This is my dream. Very specifically. What I'm on the brink of having right now is everything I've wanted for 5 years. This is the life I chose.
Honey, you're fat and no good. You are exactly where you're supposed to be. This is what you decided to do.
That one actually made me laugh and feel better. It's true I guess. This is everything I asked for.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)