goals and such

My intention with this blog has been to write (at least) one entry per week. Last week no story/observation/tidbit/nuthin' was offered from me because I didn't think I had anything to say. And on thinking about that, I realized that I don't have to have an "event" or some such thing to happen in order to spool out words. There's plenty swirling around to string together moments of observation.

And a good place for some seeing is the subway (not usually as empty, graceful or shiny clean as the picture at left. you rarely/ever want to go barefoot there). Looking into the faces of New Yorkers (what you can see of them considering that 6 degree weather doesn't encourage a lot of face to see), I'm struck with the reflection of stoicism—a little bit of just-get-through-it attitude—mixed with the sense that we all seem to move in our own bubbles despite being surrounded by hundreds/thousands/millions of people. I love to look at people and make up stories about them, and though I've no doubt I'm far from right about anything I come up with, it can be a study in character building. And sometimes as i'm watching, a person will meet my eye and we hold it for a split second. Like last week when what I thought was a really full-of-himself, haughty guy pushed his way on to the train as I stood across from the door watching the people pour in. I rolled my eyes and the woman who came on after him caught my gaze and rolled her eyes too. then we both smiled, like we had an agreement. Then we promptly looked away, even more determined to not glance at each other ever again for the rest of the ride.

I don't know if it's fear of space invasion regarding a stranger coming in too close—or them thinking you are—or whether intimacy of looking at each other is just too intense, but that kind of connection is fraught with stuff. A week ago I'd doubled up on classes at the studio and came smack up on this very situation. Mind you, the room is dark, the space is safe and fun, and the ladies all in the same position (as it were), but I was doing make-ups and didn't know any of the women in class, which can be both freeing and intimidating. In one of the classes, the teacher had us double up and do some combination of moves for our partner, who was sitting in the chair. The kicker was that every movement involved us in some way showing ourself or coming in contact with her, whether through looking directly in her eyes or letting her see a part of us as we slid and twirled on the pole inches from where she sat. The woman I paired off with immediately started giggling as she did her thing, which I found charming as an ice-breaker, but also a bit distracting. I found myself saying all manner of encouragements like "beautiful" and "ummmm" and etc. to fill up the space as she moved. (we probably sounded like some weird-ass radio frequency that doesn't quite land on one channel or the next.) When it was my turn to dance, I found it near-on impossible to meet her eyes and actually, maybe sensing this, she closed them for a portion of the time. Afterward we figured out that the way we reacted was exactly how we do in the rest of the world when we're uncomfortable. I make nonsensical, mostly supportive noises, she apparently giggles uncontrollably. We both close our eyes to the discomfort and no doubt trip over stuff and/or miss the good stuff altogether.

A couple of days later, in another class, I was asked by the teacher after my dance if i knew who it was who'd been sitting in the chair during my dance...and I didn't. She wondered about that, acknowledging the immense fear of intimacy that exists in all of us, but also suggesting that it's pretty important to notice the humans in the world around us. I realized that even (maybe especially) with the person I'm most intimate with, I've had trouble looking into his eyes when I dance. It's almost more naked than being naked. So this exposure in life, whether total strangers or closest lover, becomes a test (or treat, depending) on seeing in both directions. Not having to have a goal of what wants to be seen or said, but instead just opening up to it, whatever comes. I oftentimes have latent reactions to things, so that I sail through in the moment, then the wave comes and slaps me from behind a couple of beats later. When I think about keeping my eyes open and watching as the swell approaches and appreciating that I'll be fine, well, it's something to keep in mind whether there's a story there or not.

limb to limb

hard and soft / rich and poor / empty and filled
stripped bare yet protected.
all these things i struggle with, yet celebrate. i see that tree in the neighborhood completely uncovered, i see right through it, and it lets me see more of the sky and what lies beyond, tho in the months that it's green and full i notice the actual thing itself supporting life and I may only look at what's there.

so there's that. i feel lately as i slip and slide between really feeling what i'm capable of and actually owning it, that the dichotomy between my desire and my power rises up to challenge me. The fact that i struggle with it, wrestle with what i perceive as the gulf between the power and the desire, only makes it that much more real that it exists. I've never felt so full of myself and possibilities and happiness, while still so unsure of what's around the corner. I know, i know ... this is the point. the dance i've been twirling around for the last year (plus) as i've been writing words on this blog situation. but, hey, a girl needs to remind herself every once in awhile (OK, a lot) that just because i had a kick-ass dance last week, there's no guarantee of anything near that happening the next time...or maybe it will. When i leave the studio or the apartment or the office, I walk my walk differently every time. Nothing is as it's been before. there's no telling that the passion i feel looking into a pair of eyes this morning is going to hold the same intensity the night that follows, but trust that those eyes will still be there to look into, there just may be a different view. and that's actually a good thing. that's the point i think ... maybe even the beauty. i'm sure we'd all just flame-out into little green spots if we lived in that intensity all the time.

and the fact(?ha) is: i'm scared of not holding the eyes of intensity in a steady gaze because my ego whispers in my ear that if i blink first, all that passion will disappear—as if that's the thing that rules me. me of little faith in space and what lies between. what exists in the dark. my sense that i can control anything, that somehow doing it on my own is a brave thing, when in fact it isn't courageous at all. What is, i'm finding, is to stay with eyes wide open, aware of the who around me, bare yet full, being seen through while still very much present. the hard, soft, rich, poor, empty, filled moments touching me over and over without me losing sight of what i have to offer inside of that. and so it goes.

acclimate

Sometimes you just need to find a place to burrow. somewhere to tuck in and survey your surroundings...or rest...or be watched over. sometimes you just need to give in.

having recently relocated with my furry beasts (and pole soon to follow) to lovely new surroundings, i'm wrapping around what it means to step into somewhere new, to look around and appreciate feeling slightly off balance though also completely present in the place I stand (or fall, or recline). while this transition is enhanced in a major way by the person whose abode i now share, the sense of taking the time to appreciate and explore my own presence in the landscape is key. If i followed my furball's three step process, it would go a little like this: first a tiny bit of hiding, then the picking of a spot to make their own—never to let a human displace them, occasional forays into other nooks and crannies, but always a return to that original place (while outright ignoring the fact that another body might actually be taking up the space) to sleep...and sleep...and sleep. But see, I'm not that tired and i'm actually curious about the intersection where change, comfort, challenge, and balance meet.

I used to gloss over moments of change because I wasn't sure what to do with the crunchy bits. if it didn't feel altogether good, then i sure didn't want to know about it...even though the sense of unsettled would burrow down somewhere, usually poised to rise up at some weird inopportune moment (like at the dry cleaners or grocery store or some such awkward place where i'd experience a sense of emotional vertigo and misfire some grumpy-ass-ness at an unsuspecting human. sorry, people to whom i've been less than gracious). But i was so unused to handling my own discomfort that i'd try to hold on tight to a zombie-happy state where the only antidote was a swing to the irrational. When i moved from the house that was the scene of my disintegrating marriage, i gave nary a backward glance. And while i was hugely relieved to be in my new digs, loving every view from every corner and window, I had lots of wake-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night dreams to do with being lost and not being able to find my way out/in/over/around. then i'd tuck all that away, roll over and go back to sleep. I was in fact burrowing, but i wasn't giving in. Nor was I resting or letting myself be watched over.

so in the here and the now, as we all negotiate space on the love seat that has apparently been claimed outright by the four-legged ones, i'm rolling up to that intersection and stopping, and looking in all directions to take in my surroundings. as long as my hands are still on the wheel and i've come to a complete stop, it's ok to be off-balance (a thing I've also discovered in class recently in the wearing of the tall boots, which has freed my body to move&stumble in ways i can't predict). I'm presently completely enamored of my surroundings and am still scoping out the space where it's fun to burrow, to watch, be watched, give in and partake depending on the moment.

sense & memory

in frolicking through this holiday, one in which I and me-honey mixed up a great smorgasbord of fun, food, play(s), libation, and relaxation, there was an appreciation in me of what it is to indulge in what the body wants, to give the mind (the overthinking part) a break. Twould seem easy, but i was presented with a question last week in class: how to let my body remember without my mind getting in the way? How to let the memory of what it is to move with honesty (a place I've visited before) prevail without my mental state mapping out the landscape. And being reminded that just because I've done it before (the free-your-mind-and-the-rest-will-follow part) doesn't mean it's the go-to place.

The 20+ inches of snow that fell on the NYcity helped remind me that there's no controlling the landscape or movement of anything: one day a street looks like a street, the next it's rolling mounds of white-covered hunks of steel with little side-view mirrors peaking out. Yesterday I knew where the blue mailbox on the corner was, today not so much. It's taking a chance that a train may come...or not. it's struggling in my clunky boots and hat that falls over my eyes through the icy river of an intersection gritting my teeth, then laughing when I fall on my ass in a snow drift (tho not so much when little salt pellets spray me from the salt truck. those puppies sting). it's all random. It all moves me in a way unexpected, because nobody gave me instruction on what to do as i slushed and negotiated the curb outside the front door.

Therein lies the rub: to approach it instinctually, to get up and over and sometimes land on my butt—then most likely get up again—without a solid plan. to be able to live inside the experience without building big thoughts on top that tip it over into choreography. i'm a lot less freaked out about looking silly than i've ever been before, so why not live it? no sense. no memory.

silences + discernment

Last night myself and the band of merry dance luvuhs went to see Alvin Ailey at NYs City Center, which just about brings me full circle to my first blog entry that featured Ailey at City Center on December 29, 2009. What an amazing year that has twirled me here and now (a topic to be returned to)! But specifically it dawned on me last night while watching the show that two things I've not known very intimately before are much more prevalent in my life: 1) calm and easy silence, 2) discernment.

One of the pieces, The Evolution of a Secured Feminine, my favorite (followed by a veryvery close second in a piece called "Uptown" where Clifton Brown, incredible Ailey dancer, did a solo piece to Langston Hughes "Weary Blues"), was a solo performed Brana Reed, choreographed by Camille Brown (click on the link to see a snippet). A portion of the piece was danced with no music on a bare stage featuring only a chair. For me, hearing her breathe, exert, deep ins-and-outs, feet scraping across the floor, feet landing on the floor, practically hearing her arms slice through the air was mesmerizing because, duh...dance...what do you move to if you don't have music? What do we respond to without a prompt? I've been facing those moments of finding a stimulus other than what is put in front of me to respond to. And of course breathing has been such a challenge for me, that to hear others do it loudly and necessarily is a kind of thrill. But almost as important was the realization of how uncomfortable silence can be. I may be making this up (as I am wont to do), but i sensed the audience's fidget and squirm as she moved and moved and no audible beat came from the sound system. no amplification, only the rhythm of her body language.

Silence with others has always been a challenge for me (when on my own it's no problem, i don't even talk to my cats, which is the reason as i understand it, some people actually own cats, but then the little beasts never pay attention to what i say anyway...). With people around, my go-to place has been to fill those expanses up because they made me nervous. My sense of What Are They Thinking? kept me from letting myself figure out what I'm thinking. It's been a big part of my dazzle and look-over-there-shiny-object way to distract before anyone can think or form an opinion. Gasp...an opinion that might not be favorable to/of me if i was just still. This last year I made leaps and bounds in the still department, much of it to do with learning how to move in class from my stillness (while attempting to remember to breathe), and also to do with my realization that i just can't control what people think and do. boy-oh-boy did i get that lesson this year. While wrapping my head around events that happened in the dark silences of my marriage, trying to wrap my arms around relationship echoes, and wrapping my mind around the knowledge that everything was going forward noisily anyway, I found myself giving up to the realization that it had to fall apart. It seemed like the kind of quiet that may happen in the calm before a storm or the eye of a tornado. Something that is quieter than quiet itself. Now I find myself sharing a space with someone where being quiet can be very very intimate, where I don't feel i have to prove by saying. Where my friends know me without hearing me get vociferous about stuff.

And so she danced with no pre-recorded soundtrack.

On discernment: I used to take the first thing that came along, just in case nothing else appeared...i'd learn to like what i got. I used to think that once the moment was in front of you, you had to like everything about it, because to admit flaws was to sully the experience. Last night at Ailey, I realized that there were some parts I really liked and some parts that left me cold. But the experience and view as a whole were absolutely worth it. And as I dance that out into the world I'm realizing that it's so much more fun to run my hands over the smooth bits and the flaws (which actually make the smooth bits that much better).


(this pic* is for me a good example of my eye of storm...the music had stopped playing, the joy was ongoing, the sound was only of click-click-click, the smile came from a place of knowing I'd chosen this. worked hard to get to this quiet place where I could feel/show me: flaws and all. Heather, the photographer, is also amazing at letting her subjects get to that place. Check out her website to set up your very own quiet riot: divavoom.com)


*stay tuned for more pics to come.

through a lens lightly

LA. Land of my youth. land of my leaving. land of my ex (recently). land being reclaimed (now). I was there last week for Thanksgiving and the city was tinged with a slightly different light. A good portion of my favorite people are there (father and friends), and I loved seeing them, still flashed on and visited places that make me smile (Fred's, Le Figaro, Jumbo's, the offramp on the 5 where last year, when Led Zeppelin's "Dancing Days" came on the radio, I became a teenager again and sang the lyrics out the window into traffic...loudly), but this time I didn't feel pulled between there and here. I just felt happy to be there and just as happy to be coming back to NYC. I did give thanks in what a difference a year makes. Especially when I went to the studio to take a class.

Last November something most definitely cracked open in me after an immersion class in the LA studio. I think of it as the beginning of my realization of how much i needed to slow down and let myself be seen--and to feel everything i did. everything. And so began a chain reaction of events throughout this last year that dipped into darkness, lifted into light and oftentimes simply coasted on curiousity regarding who i was becoming. For that I am extremely thankful and happy. This year as I sat on the floor in class, not knowing anyone and feeling fine about that, the comment I heard after my dance was to be more selfish. to hold more for myself. not give it away (which given my recent experiences as I show people my apartment to sublet is something I should just tattoo on my arm: Do Not Give It Away. eeek.) But I sense a theme: altho for maybe the first time in front of a new teacher I wasn't told to breathe, I was asked to see what it would be like to think of what I want first and move from there. This is an interesting moment for me. Especially as it would be the first time being in a relationship where I didn't put him in front of me. But in understanding that the essence of selfish in a good way is to support and live out the best that i have to offer unabashedly--kind of like in the airplane safety video that everyone ignores about putting the oxygen mask on yourself first--I'm feeling my way toward what it's like to understand and express my own happiness without it being parceled out and dependent on anyone else. Yes, it's true that I'm smiling most when the people i care about are in my life, but i'm also a grinning fool when something seems to be going a bit awry yet it's not the end of the world. Ok, so sometimes i may just feel the fool and/or the grin is more like a grimace, but the moment comes and the moment goes. And I'm still breathing.

This year in LA, the moments were sweet and funny and even featured a grimace, but as they dropped from the sky, I took them happily for myself first and found I had plenty of air to share from there.

...dancing as fast as i can...

this line actually occurs to me a lot (and reminds me of the movie of the same name starring the awesome Jill Clayburgh [RIP] that came out at a time in my life when everything was so important, and it seemed every movie of the time had so much to say to me. C'mon: Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Blade Runner, Tron-ferCrissakes! wow, now i've really digressed...).

As I was mentioning earlier, the sense of dancing to keep up is something I've hit against this week. I had a huge moment of feeling like i was moving my feet, but i wasn't getting anywhere, and there were so many places I felt I needed to get. It didn't occur to me to just stand still and breathe. It also didn't occur to me that these moments I was tussling with were luxurious ones to have. (As a friend used to put it when we'd all commiserate after class about our life, our life, our life. oh, the drama, mostly they were luxurious problems.)

Moment: Somewhere around Monday I felt overwhelmed because I'd taken on two new book projects to edit and freaked out that I'd never have time to work on them. Luxury: two different publishing houses feel i do a good enough job that they want to pay me for freelance projects. This is not a problem.

Moment: On Tuesday, the Kickstarter fundraising was a day away from ending with us still short of our goal money for the Pole Play. Luxury: Within the 36 hours we had left, money came in to take us above and beyond what we needed—and this included backing from a friend who I hadn't been in touch with for awhile and whose generosity totally reminded me that people don't disappear from your life (unless you really want them to).

Moment: On Wednesday the class assignment was not moving me. We were meant to think on what we would want to be when we grew up (still an act in progress, apparently), and of course all that was tumbling in my mind was Well I wanted to be a ballerina, to ride a pony, to be a princess...but really I've been happy in what career i went toward and experienced. I thought if i went in as the little girl, playing something that moved me from my youth (led Zeppelin, thank you), that I could see where it took me. After putting on a little skirt and socks, and adding in the tall shoes, cuz why not?, one of my classmates said, "Oh, you wanted to be a groupie when you grew up." Ha...that was kind of true. To have control of the male gaze, to not be afraid of my sexuality, that was probably closer to the case...but as a career move...yikes. My dance started off with the tease but ended with me pulling off the skirt and not giving a f&k if anyone paid attention or not. Luxury: C's comments: "I'm glad you took off that skirt, because your power lives underneath it and you're beginning to not be afraid of it being seen and felt." (Now I'll await the call to speak at Career Day...)

Moment: On Thursday, I found myself yearning for one household to live in, rather than the funny back and forth I'm doing now between my honey's and mine. I was impatient with no bites on my sublet ads and the real estate guy who was enlisted to put out the word. Luxury: A couple of people have dropped me a line interested in seeing the space. Also, and even more important, this so-called problem comes because of love. This is not a problem.


The view from my window that someone else will soon be lucky enough to see...

a view

I've just gotten a chance to peek into myself from the outside looking in. Not by way of an out-of-body experience, but instead through the lens of a camera. I was in a darkened room with a pole, a velvet-curtained wall, a wooden floor. I had picked some music that I knew would help me move, and that i also knew the words to. I was wrapped up in clothing that made me feel both exposed and free, but also pieces that reminded me that i was enclosed in them (laces crisscrossing up my legs tightly; a corset with stays and hooks pressing in when i moved a certain way). The woman who took the shots was so cool. Just a presence really. And when I did hear her, it wasn't intrusive as in "You look fabulous, baby" but more "Wow, stay there for just a minute more." And I did. Stay there. I'm still there, apparently. And it's challenging.

At the first full view of the photos, I had to look away a lot because they(me) made me uncomfortable. I kept thinking Who is that staring back at me? What is she thinking with her hands there on her body? How did she get to the place where she's even in front of this camera? The moments that had me most kerfluffled were the ones where I'm looking right into the camera. It seems like I'm asking for something. An invitation to come find me in here, to understand that now more than ever I can expose flaws and all without tucking into a ball and rolling away. There's also a hint of wondering if someone else might know more than me who I am and where I'm going. the unwavering glance suggests that the question is mostly aimed inward.

When the pictures were being snapped, I knew i wanted to be playful with the camera, but as with most intentions, that didn't really end up happening (except at the end when I felt like I was swinging-round the maypole). Instead I really felt a pure sensuality and at times the camera became my lover (and a fleeting vision of how he would feel while seeing the pictures spurred me on in those moments), but more than that, I felt safe in the exposure. Moving through the layers of the places my movement has taken me—how the dance and the emotional intertwine.

There were a couple of moments when i felt a sort of wardrobe malfunction happen and i'd think, damn, that's probably more than i want to show...but even still, bumps, bulges and all, that was mostly very far from my mind. In fact, feeling and seeing All.Of.It is a place I continue to move into slowly. And these photos really showed me that my eyes are more open to it all than they've ever been. And so follows the rest of me.

I keep looking at these shots and teasing out the moments of where i am now (ever-changing, i know): from someone whose normally been challenged to not make a face when facing a lens to someone whose curious enough to keep on looking. a little bit challenging. a dash of defiance and a shake of a question. I find myself wanting to hold the gaze.

nothing left to lose

"Freedom is in the unknown. If you believe there is an unknown everywhere, in your own body, in your relationships with other people, in political institutions, in the universe, then you have maximum freedom." John C. Lilly

So I came across that quote the other day and it occurred to me that I've apparently never really wanted to be free. yikes. Sure, I've told myself that I have, but i think when it comes right down to it, Hells, no...the unknown seems too scary. I'm a girl that likes to know (where I'm going, how long it will take, what I may find), to the extent that I used to do dry runs out to the new schools I was teaching workshops in, just so I'd know what travel weirdness I'd have to deal with so as not to be surprised on my first morning of class. I'm also often early for appointments, leading to occasional trouble. (like the time I showed up for a possible tutoring job a half-hour early and while waiting on the stoop managed to help get my potential employer's cat stolen. I didn't mean to do that. At the time it seemed like a good idea to help the "rescue" lady who turned up and put the collar-less, rather mangy cat that I'd been petting in her car to go get shots and a bath. The fact that I lied to the cat's owner when she got home that I hadn't seen a/her cat on the stoop was a particular low-point. In the end, I got the job[!?], the cat was returned [never again to be very friendly to me], and i tried very hard to just be on time in order to avoid similar incidents.)

So, freedom. A concept. A consideration. (A George Michael song.) I find myself currently staring at door #1, behind which seems to be a whole empty room of unknowns. I'm pretty sure door #2 and 3 hold more of the same sameness that I'm used to—assumptions, judgments, limitations. First I find that by telling my fears out loud, I'm actually being heard. Of course this also has to do with whose on the listening end. I tried it the other night...terrified of an unknown road that I thought was leading into a relationship cul-de-sac (round-and-round I was afraid of going), and found that this stretch of emotional highway actually led somewhere really excellent: a welcome mat where neither one nor the other of us disappeared behind a proverbial closed door, and where I learned that patience, saying what I need, trusting and allowing us to take our time, even when our timing or needs are not altogether the same, is a good&necessary thing.

I also now know that when my mind thinks it wants to move my body a certain way in class (or anywhere, really)—because though I tell myself to let go, I am so often already moving two steps ahead of myself—that suddenly and recently my body just won't follow. Happened last night, I had this great idea for a climb I wanted to do and instead couldn't make it even one pull up. Slipped right down and crumpled on the floor. Not a bad thing. didn't hurt myself. Freedom looked pretty geeky. in the end, i didn't care. totally unknown territory to me.

This sunday, watching the marathon from the sidelines will be an emotional unknown. Having been one of those in the pack for the last three years, I have no idea the rollercoaster of stuff I may feel as I cheer on friends and strangers. But I do now have the freedom to stay up past 9PM the night before and therefore got to make plans with my honey to go out. that's pretty cool.

more chances for unknown places.








Early for work one morning. freedom to...er, play?

courage

A funny thing happened on the way to my NYC marathon this year: I decided to have the courage to do something a little different. I decided to listen to something other than the part of me that does things because, well...because that's always been the way I've done things. I decided to not run this year. There are a couple of important reasons (the main one being that my knee injury threw my training off and hasn't yet altogether recovered its happy place during long runs), but despite that, I'm finding this decision challenges my notion of safety in sameness. You see, for the last three+ years my summers and falls have been regimented pretty solidly around a training schedule that builds throughout the summer to double-digit miles, has me out most mornings before the heat (in the summer) or the sun (in the fall) are up, and reminds me that squirrels can be unpredictable little creatures when you startle them in the act of nut storage during early morning activity...all this sort of torturous, yet also satisfyingly challenging stuff was some kind of baseline of achievement for my life for the past few years. And somewhere along the way I'd made it up that my life would fall apart if I didn't follow the template.

And then along came the idea to be brave and try something new. To stop being selectively deaf, and listen really closely to what my body and heart might be saying. This is a trend that has been rolling out in a few areas of my life in the past few months. And while I've been laboring over this defer-marathon decision for the last couple of weeks, I saw an example of such straight-up, yet oh-so-subtle courage in the actions of a lady at the studio, that it all kind of became crystal clear. This was not an act of gravity defying pole movement (though I saw plenty of that, too, from other lovelies). No, this was a moment that no doubt passed fairly unnoticed to the naked eye. A woman came in for an intro class. She walked into the studio wearing one of those mask-smiles that so conveniently announces to the world: I'm absolutely bat-sh*t terrified here, but look, I'm smiling...right? She was in her 50s and all on her own, while around her were pairs of fairly young ones chatting away seemingly at ease. As I showed her where the dressing room was, she commented on the cute booty shorts and tank tops that the studio sells and that she was pretty sure she'd never be in any shape to wear them. Of course I disagreed with her...of course that didn't change her mind...of course she thought i was just being nice (didn't get that I was absolutely serious). So she went into the class with one kind of smile on and came out two hours later with a smile of a completely different kind. I'm gonna say it was giddy. It was luminous. It was absolutely bat-sh*t sexy! She came up to reception and the words were uncorked: how she hadn't told her boyfriend she was coming tonight, how she wanted to feel sexy walking down the street with him (and since she lives up in my neighborhood of bodacious Dominican Republic ladies, I know exactly what she's talking about! Those ladies know how to walk! If I wouldn't get the crap beaten out of me, I'd follow them down the street and practice.) She signed up for a level one class on the spot and we all marveled at the fact that she was going to keep this a secret from her guy. See, she had a plan. One that involved some high heels, a short skirt, and a demonstration on the best way to pick up the remote off the coffee table when he was watching the game...and then subsequently stopped watching the game and started watching her (then maybe a walk down the street for some dinner and dancing afterward). Brilliant. But the thing that really inspired me was the look of amazement on her face, the sense that she was doing something completely different than she'd ever done before, and she said a couple of times This isn't like me at all. and shook her head, clucked a little, had that whole pride and surprise of self moment going. And I thought, Damn, look what happens when you're brave enough to go against your own grain.

Well, naturally this followed on the heels of a class where C observed during my dance that my heretofore suppressed sexuality that's only nipped around the edges of my dance is unfolding in a mighty special (and not scary) way. A powerful and sensual way. And I knew why...as if she's a fortune teller who reads what's going on in my life through my body's moves without me having to tell her, she sees immediately that i'm developing the courage to let myself be seen because I've let myself be loved and to love back. Because I waited (this time) until it felt right (and was fortunate enough that he waited, too), I could say yes courageously, taking a road less traveled by me.

So a funny thing happened on the way to my life this fall: During the past few months when you'd usually find me startling squirrels, I've been startling myself. In the land of sameness, the cowardly lion roared...and then grew a pair...or more...of possibilities.

one of these things is not like the other

so funny how things never ever ever look like I either think they will or like they looked before.

Last week was an interesting series of events in the land of Really? First of all, I got a chance to see a friend of mine fly high in a pole competition where she made it to the final four competitors (out of over a dozen). Sitting and watching an amazing group of women—and a couple of men—spin, climb and twirl (along with moves that i can't even pretend to describe the strength and beauty of), while telling a story within that movement, I was reminded how this form of dance has historically been marginalized to the land of strip-clubs and the male gaze (click here for a great view on that by Claire Griffin Sterrett in her Pole Story blog). But really, the movement is so filled with grace and joy (even when expressing heartache), that I wonder at how long the pole dancing cliché will persist. Though I get that very little clothing and very tall shoes on very lovely (tho not always traditionally so) women may be seen as the main course with the movement considered a side dish, the order of things seems to be changing. (And seeing the two solo men perform—one of whom was wearing a killer pair of shoes—brought a corrective moment to my viewpoint that guys can bring the sexy to the pole, albeit in a kind of gymnastically sideways way.)

And in keeping with the breaking down of that pole dancing misconception, a play project that I'm helping a friend put together (Pole Play: Taking Flight) was put up on Kickstarter, an entrepreneurial Web site that supports independent projects. With a goal of $5,000, the project has made almost $1,600 in one week (with a little over a month to go), which, while incredibly exciting, also reminded me how much fear I have around new projects. In theory, in conversation, in the abstract, it's all very exciting. In reality, I freeze. so this will be a good experiment in being a part of something that involves others, a situation that requires me to speak up and use my gut to communicate. We'll see how that goes. (and now that I've outed myself right here, I'll be sure and keep accountable.)

As the week continued to roll, the theme seemed to be following a pretty solid It Takes More Than One To Get This Party Started trajectory. And here's where that message really hit home for me. After spending an evening with my merry band of dance luvuhs watching Pina Bausch's dance troupe perform one of the most physically demanding shows I've ever seen. Where what was elegant (ladies in beautiful evening gowns) was altered (ladies drenched to the bone while moving through the river that ran through the stage, while still wearing beautiful evening gowns). Where what I thought was strictly dance turned out to be just as much a spoken-word play on life, and where I assumed that after seeing the run time of two-and-a-half-hours that I'd be bouncing in my seat for it to end—and I wasn't, I found myself exiting the theater and entering a kind of face-to-face showdown with a few of my demons and fears.

This unfolding of events wasn't directly related to the show, but instead had its roots in my realization that when I get in a groove (read: going to shows with merry dance luvuhs, continuing to run the NYC marathon no matter whether the training is making me go hmmm, taking S classes), and when I sense that groove is changing, I become terrified and my go-to place is often the land of run-away. Well because the last few months have been filled with amazing moments of newness, in having someone in my life where I find myself smiling and happily surprised consistently, and even though on a pretty accessible level I know nothing stays exactly the same, in fact can't stay the same and can actually get better along with the act&gravity of forward movement, I slipped into an anti-accessible place and freaked the f&*k out about the man in my life. Started to slip into the valley of self-doubt because of a fairly straightforward communication situation. Ahhh. Life. Sharing. Speaking. Showing. All such great words, all of them scaring the beJeezus out of me at that particular moment. And it made me realize how much I still bring in all my past experiences, as if they're happening all over again step-by-step. It was really weird to watch myself go there and know I could actually decide not to dive in, but the funny thing was I wanted to belly-flop into it. I chose to. And after realizing and being reassured that he didn't in fact run off with a Swedish supermodel or disappear having come to the conclusion that he was done here with me, I was able to actually say these things out loud and stay put in whatever words came my way, I felt crazy better (yeah, a little of both separately and a whole lot when put together).

What I thought was happening wasn't. How I think I roll, I don't. When I'm about to make some big-ass decision about the direction of my life...pause. speak. listen. lucky.


(merry band at Bausch-land)

peek-a-boo

This morning the annoying beep-beep-beep alarm went off and it was still dark outside. and it was dumping rain. and the wind was whipping around. and i was meant to go out and run some miles. Now i'm not at all weird about running in the rain. In fact some of my most enjoyable runs have been while sopping wet from the raindrops falling on my head. (One in particular: in central park with my running partner S where we were late to the race due to waiting for someone who never showed, didn't have our numbers because said waiting-for person had them, and it was as close to oz-like, taxi-cabs-flying-sideways weather as mamma nature could muster. yet we said f%$k it and crossed over the start line. We were rewarded for our decision by being so far behind that the elite runners caught up with us during their second round of the park. We pretended we were part of their pack for, oh, 3o seconds until they passed us. they not even noticing us, us noticing that one of these things was not like the other.) But this morning was different. I was cozy and happy right where i was. somehow it seemed ridiculous to leave that moment of just-rightness for an experience that seemed borderline insane.

It made me wonder about that stubborn part of me that has trouble letting go. the little voice that plays peek-a-boo by popping up and deciding i'm not doing it right because i'm doing it differently. I mean, i'm having the time of my life right now—coming at a point when I was ready and capable to embrace the time of my life—and it doesn't really look anything like what has gone before. A dancer friend (who I've also had an amazing run-in-the-rain experience with) mentioned to me that maybe this knee injury has been a blessing, giving me more moments to spend inside of this new and wonderful relationship without disappearing out the door every weekday(end) morning at 6. Even as i write this, i feel the stab of conscience whispering, "but don't get lazy. don't give up your goals." And honestly, that is far from what I plan to do. In fact, my idea is to enhance my goals and be more energized by having someone in my life to share them with. But in order to do that, I have to relax around these somewhat rigid rules i've put in place for myself that are sometimes in danger of interrupting my ability to be ... just be.

I do think we spur each other on in inspiration as long as it comes from a place of support and not fear. For instance, if I'm freaking out about my own stiff restrictions, then i'm too busy with that to be much help in supporting someone else in their pleasure. I know in class that when i watch someone and it takes my breath away, that's because i sincerely love the beauty of what I am seeing, rather than worrying about whether I could do that. And we enhance each other. This same dancer friend who commented on my knee, had also in the past reminded me of the symbiosis of relationships, and i realize that while i do that with my women friends—recognize the equality of what we give back and forth—I have in past relationships with boys forgotten how much i bring to the party. so this is new (have i mentioned that already?), and a really good opportunity for me to lighten up on those old scripts that have piled up on my mind's shelf. the ones that read: Don't do what makes you happy if it could in any way, shape or form upset the order of the boy-moment (rather than: I'm deciding not to run right now because there appears to be a monsoon happening outside) or Be sure to not ask for help because he'll be annoyed and go away (rather than: Hey, if I'm going to get this done, I'll need you to support me, and you'll get to see me even happier, which in turn will make you even happier). And sometimes I'll hear No, and that will be just fine. And sometimes I'll say No, and that, too, will be peachy-keen. And often it won't look anything like I think it will and, wow, that'll be awesome.

And this I can see full on, no more peeking-boo round the corner.