Neurotic Owl

flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread

Dance, ballerina! Or whoever, really.

Going to dance performances can be hard for me.  I’m not as sad as I used to be that I had to give up dancing, because I’m 37 years old (gasp) and, even if I had had a career, it would be over or winding down now.  37 seemed much further away when I was 16.

Still, watching amazing professional dancers reminds me of what I had, and what I gave up, and that I was NEVER as good as the least of them.  I was ok.  With the right body, I might have made it into a small local company as a part-timer.  With the body I had, I would have had to be outstandingly talented to get anywhere at all, and I just wasn’t.  To be clear, the body I had wasn’t exactly huge, although I thought it was at the time.

(16 years old, a giant monster in my own mind.)

ANYWAY, that’s why, as much as I love watching the ballet, I just can’t escape some mixed feelings.  Being a dancer was so much of my identity until it wasn’t anymore.

All of which is a huge downer and not at all what I meant to say, because look!  Drawing!


If you don’t know about the spectacular Lauren Anderson, you just should, ok?  The first black prima ballerina of a major American company, she was a joy and a privelege to watch dance.  Now that she’s retired, she’s spreading the joy, doing wonderful outreach work teaching kids to love moving and making art more accessible to underpriveleged children.

Also, I was always too shy to speak to any of the dancers when Mom and I went back to the green room all those years, but Lauren is 50 feet of personality in a teensy little body, and she made a point of engaging me in conversation more than once, to my great terror and delight. Kindness, yo.  It’s the best.

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This entry was posted on April 7, 2016 by and tagged , , , .
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