Chapter one: now what
Time is a funny thing. Not the funny "haha" funny but the "shake the head" while ya smile funny. It also plays Jedi like mind tricks when it comes to speed. For instance, I can be on the elyptical watching an entire episode and somehow only mere minutes go by. Granted, I only watched mere minutes of the show but it surely felt like a whole episode, and by full episode I mean 9 hours long. I can also, however, hit my snooze button for what feels like a few seconds and then wake up twenty minutes later debating eye liner or brushing my teeth... both rather important I hear.
Take the past 30 years of my life. I was born. Did stuff. And yet somehow woke up this morning (after several snoozes mind you) wondering what I want to do with my life. Isn't that funny. The "funny" that it's almost depressing cause it's true but you'd rather laugh than cry today funny because you chose the eye liner and raccoon eyes isn't your best of looks.
As it stands I am a ballet dancer. Therefore I am poor. I didn't choose it. And no I'm not the type to say it "chose me" that appears on cutesy wooden Pinterest DIY plaques that hang on your wall. No, my mother started me in dance classes a little before the age of 3. To say the least I think she was attempting to feminize me. To this day that plan of action hasn't helped much in that department, much to her dismay. But it did help me find a love for expressing my awkward lil self that very much suited me.
I didn't have a lot of school friends. Having a singular dimple rest high on only one cheek dubbing me "crater face" didn't serve me well for the popular kids table but more so the foreign exchange students lunch table where to this day I remember Han, a Chinese exchange student from Mrs. Ogden's second grade class, was my best friend. Just like ballet, we didn't have a lot to say.
30. It's not old but it isn't, to society's standard, young either. It's an in between. Pretty much my life as of current.
I've been a dancer for now 27 years. 13 professionally. 16 with ballet boarding school added in. 13 years teaching. 4 years choreographing. 1 1/2 years freelancing full time.
But now what.
According to the IRS my current status would be unemployed. Yikes. So much for my Presidential Award of Academic Achievement.
Funny how you work basically your entire life (minus three years of it) towards a goal, then you reach it and then the road bends. So you bend. Then it loops. So you loop. And when it fails, as some companies do, or an injury happens, or you aren't recontracted, you decide that won't be your fate... Failure... but in between projects, during rehab, auditioning over and over again, that is the feeling, failure. You work towards a goal, accomplish the goal, then the merri go round loops around again.
I'd like to say that when facing these moments I was a warrior in my own story. That I faced the bump in the road head on. But it wasn't always that way. Instead of being a warrior, I was a worrier. I eventually got over myself, and got back on the merri go round but a little more bruised. They don't tell you this but, when you are getting your ticket for the ride, the second you doubt and worry you get thrown off... Hence the bruising. Ya think you'd learn.
One thing I have in fact learned is that the times I worried I can't ever get back. They were pretty useless and served no one. The movement I decided to push on are the times that crap got done (ya that feminizing still hasn't kicked in yet mama).
So now in the in between of "now what" and all the "are we there yet's" I'm going to take this time and not worry. Not obsess. Not get my panties all in a wad... Cause that's never a fun time.
If anything, I know time will pass no matter how quick or slow the circumstances and what will come (or not) will be a ride all on its own.
Now... Off to brush my teeth.
Til next time,
The Dancer Project