Enough

A LOT has changed since I've written.  Well, it has also been A LONG time.  Life happens, and I avoid writing my thoughts I suppose because either I don't have time or maybe I'm afraid to write (and consequently, read) my feelings and opinions on a situation or thought.  Over time though, I've slowly realized that I suffer when I don't write.  Writing is simply another way of expressing what is in my heart. 
That being said, I've rediscovered the value in movement.  I took a bit of a hiatus from the studio as a student.  After suffereing from a somewhat chronic injury, dancing became sort of a source of fear for me.  I feared not being able to do what I used to.  I feared my body's reaction to forceful exercise.  I feared others' reactions to my dancing.  Most of all, I feared my own reactions... the judgment I'd put on myself and whether I'd reach my own expectations. 
Foolish.  If I've learned anything about myself, it should be that I often create unrealistic expectations of myself and when I don't reach them, I say to myself "Fail."  This pattern that I created formed a somewhat dead zone.  I decided to not even bother stepping into a studio until I learned to accept myself as an imperfect dancer.  Maybe this in itself is an unrealistic expectation. 
Wrong.  I reached a point in which I couldn't handle not being able to express myself.  So I took a class.  I had no expectations... from myself, or from the class.  I still feared the reaction and the pain.  Surprisingly, my reaction was neutral and my pain was.... well not there.  What a beautiful feeling that was.  I walked out of the studio feeling like my old self again.  After a couple of weeks, I found myself involved in a small filming project.  I became a part of a creation process which, as a dancer, is my ultimate joy.  The choreographer spoke of an idea she had.  She was interested in possibly interviewing each dancer, asking us what it was that brought us back to dance.  What sparked that desire to step into the studio?  Basically, why is dance a part of our lives?
What a fun question to ponder, especially at this point in my life.  I could not feel more honored to have the opportunity to consider what dance is to me in this current moment.  I do feel that my relationship with the artform is continually changing and evolving.  So, here is my conclusion...

A few years ago, I was hit with a sort of writer's block if you will.  A dead zone.  I no longer understood why I had chosen dance as a profession.  I simply woke up each day, went to work, performed what was asked of me, went home and slid into bed, only to wake and repeat... repeat... repeat.  There were moments of inspiration that I would come across, but they never lasted long enough to keep my engine running. 
One night, my best friend forced me to come over because he had something he wanted to share with me.  I had no idea that that evening would change everything.  It sounds trite, but I promise you that my outlook on the artform will never be the same.  I had seen Nederlands Dans Theatre perform before, but I was too young and couldn't understand the gifts that the choreographers and dancers of the company bestowed upon the dance world.  I was in a world of tutus, pink tights, and black and white belted leotards.  Although  my body remained in that world of dance, my heart was somewhere else... but I didn't know where.  I seemed to be trying to reach out to something that I knew existed, but couldn't put my finger on it. 
Jiri Kylian answered those questions.  The dancers resembled creatures, not humans.  The movement, the music, the set, everything made me feel as though I was underwater.  I remember as a child loving the way my hair seemed to float slowly as I swam underwater.  And the force I had to use to move underwater created this wave of energy throughout my body.  It was as if everything was happening in slow motion.  Everything seemed more beautiful below the surface.  Suddenly, every movement had a purpose.  As I got older as a dancer, I began to experiment with this notion in the studio.  Each class became an exercise to see how I could change the way I moved by imagining that I was underwater.  I entered into a completely different zone.  I was obsessed with this idea of moving with purpose and not just because it was part of the choreography.  I also realized that one of the things I loved about watching a beautiful piece of choreography was when I was completely captivated and had no idea where it would go next. 
This is exactly the feeling I had watching Bella Figura.  Each segment subtly took me to a new place I didn't know existed.  For me it became an exploration of not only movement, but of the mind.  Frankly, I struggle to describe the experience in words.  I suppose that is the beauty of it, actually.  It's as if it is truly only meant to be expressed with dance.  Writing about it somehow takes away from it's beauty.  However, there is one word that comes to mind when I think about it... disarming. 
By the end of Bella tears were streaming down my face.  I had rediscovered the reason why I chose dance over any other form of expression.  Somehow the movement seemed to perfectly describe both what I already knew, and what I had been missing.  I felt like I had finally arrived home.  This is a language I could and wanted so badly to speak.  In that moment, I knew I was not finished speaking through my limbs.  So began my quest.
This quest brought me to my adventures in Canada.  There, I was immensely humbled, I was forced out of my comfort zone, I met people that pushed and guided me.  As an artist, I learned and I grew.  The quest continued... although it seemed to have ended there for a bit when I had my injury and moved back to the States.  My original hopes and dreams for Canada had somewhat of an agenda.  By moving up there and working where I did, I had hopes (maybe more like expectations) involving two things... traveling to Europe, and learning the movement of Kylian.  He was the reason I stayed in the studio after all.  I wanted so badly to see and experience the brilliance... like so many dancers out there. 
Good news is, I made it to Europe!  On the other note, I ALMOST made it to my Kylian dream.  The season after I left Montreal, the company performed the North American premeire of Kylian's Kaguyahime.  During the fall and winter of 2012, I will say that I struggled a bit with envy.  I came so close to a goal that I had set for myself!  It took me sometime to finally let go of this. 
Last month, I read an article in the Shambhala Sun by Michael Sowder (full article).  He was writing about being a teacher of poetry and one of his noted conclusions really stuck out to me.  "The practice of being a poet, an artist, or a Buddhist is this practice of waking up to what's around us, to the miracle of what's happening.  Such moments of perception can lead to powerful writing, original, and alive.... When we practice mindfulness, the things of the world are no longer inert objects but presences in whose life we participate."  Wow.  This is quite profound when thinking about my choice of art expression.  It essentially explains in a sense why I fell in love with dancing... this explanation I will leave for another day. 
I will say though that this idea helped me realize that while some may say that there are no coincidences, I also believe that along with that, everything has its place.  Every "presence in whose life we participate" gives us just enough.  We may have expectations for what or how that presence will provide for us, but those false expectations may not be met.  Instead of approaching that with hostility, it behooves us to accept the changes that don't allow those agendas of ours to come to pass.
In my case, I've realized that Kylian and Bella have their place in my life.  While I may be given the opportunity one day to perform his work, I also may not.  And that's OK.  Bella gave me the gift of rediscovering my passion, and provided the fuel to my fire in continuing this artistic quest.  Kylian's work will forever continue to inspire and push me as an dancer.  That is a much more valuable gift than performing the work itself.  That is enough.