To fall, to balance
I sat shivering in the Uber, a dry, hacking retch escaping me — the kind that only comes when I’m deeply stressed. I couldn’t help but wonder why someone would keep pushing their agenda on me when I’ve made it clear my body is gripped with fear and in desperate need of rest. This was shaping up to be a rough night. Fxxk. Why do humans even have to experience fear when we’re nowhere near any real danger?
As I stepped out of the Uber, I summoned the last of my willpower to drag myself into the dance studio. Our instructor greeted me warmly, and I felt the need to tell her I might have to leave early due to how I was feeling. Her eyes met mine with empathy, instantly grounding me. Her presence always brings me calm.
She started the warm-up, the music filling the room with energy. As soon as I launched into the first jumping jack, the fear that had been gnawing at my body melted away. My mind shut off, and I became fully immersed in the movement. With each broad, chest-opening motion, I felt like I was opening my life with courage.
As a dancer, you have to stand tall, pull your shoulders back, and exude confidence and pride, while keeping a sip of flexibility in mind. I thought back to when my friend asked how I was dealing with all this current stress.
“Blue thunder,” I’d said. “My willpower is like blue thunder — indifferent to reality, immune to the pressures of the world. But emotionally and physically, I can’t keep up with it. I’m scared it’s tearing me apart because it’s too strong to control.”
My friend had asked, “How can you apply your dance training to what you’re going through?”
Learning to dance requires intense focus, but I’ve noticed that when I get too caught up in focusing, my body becomes rigid, too stiff to even make a turn. The drive and determination of blue thunder needs to be balanced with flexibility.
“Open up and be flexible,” I responded. And as soon as the words left my mouth, I felt the blue thunder transform into a stream of blue water, strong intention but hold it loosely.
Back in the studio, the teacher asked us to lift our shirts to better see our hip movements. “Make your belly button dance!” she said with a laugh. I chuckled too.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and really looked into my own eyes, and at my abs. The muscle on my skin shines ambiguously through the light. Goddam it, the person in front of the mirror, is not even a fearful pitiful creature, in fact, this bitch is fxxking hot. I couldn’t believe all the energy I was unleashing into the world, even when I felt like I was about to break.
Today’s class was focused on spinning. I felt dizzy and wobbly. The teacher asked, “Do you know the secret to mastering spins?”
“Practice more and more spins until they’re perfect?”
“No,” she replied. “It’s about falling — falling a lot. Do you know why ballet dancers are so good at standing on their toes? If you look closely, they’re actually quivering. They constantly move out of balance and then find it again. Falling teaches your body where your center of gravity is and how to regain it. If you practice conservatively, with minimal motion, your body won’t learn about yourself and regain the balance you need.”
At that moment, I realized that my fear of falling apart wasn’t something to dread. Maybe I’m just in the process of finding my balance again. I went home, turned off the light, and said goodnight to the fear lurking in the shadows. I will leave the rest to Esther in the future.
