Fly Spring
Want to set a few thoughts down…
As I near the end of my thirteenth season with James Sewell Ballet, I am taking stock, and I find that I am happy. Recently, amid massive internal inquiry and indecisiveness about my dancing future, not to mention all the shit re: my divorce, I’ve remained grounded; I’ve been joyful even. I’ve decided to stay.
(Re: the “shit of my divorce”, I mean it like fertilizer. I’ve mined the process for all it was worth to emerge the person I always knew I could be. My heart thanks J, for having the forethought to make a brave choice for both of us. As horribly unilateral as it was, I know it to be the right thing. All my solidity proves that. I’m solid in a fluid sense, like how bamboo can bend with the wind but not break. I now know how to be vulnerable, what a gift.)
On this first day of spring I am reminded that I’ve never felt quite settled about spring’s arrival. It always makes me a little sad, even though winter’s no picnic. (Love those blizzards though, and the ready excuse for a fire.) I don’t know, all this sudden openness is maybe too much too soon. Maybe I’m not quite ready to abandon the cocoon that I’ve surrounded myself with over these dark months. Maybe it’s that I feel too much pressure, to rejoin the human race and my community. Maybe it’s that all this lingering light hits my windows at odd hours, and I see how dirty they are. I hate to clean, and yet I know it feels so good once it’s done.
Soon my balcony will once again be like another room of my cozy apartment. I’ll be able to hear the church bells without straining my ears. My cat will meow to go out and I’ll let her, chaperoned of course.
And then there’s my dancing. Our season ends with a kick-ass piece by Jennifer Hart that’s challenging me both athletically and balletically. And then in James’ expanded “Opera Moves” I get to dance duets with Sally and Nic. Playing two different characters that morph into one at the end, the parallel to my own recent experience is not lost on me.
Today I conclude that life is good. I love it for what it is: hard, bewildering, fraught with alarming things. It also offers so many moments of grace I can’t begin to count them; I wouldn’t want to try.
Today I am at peace with this mystery that is life. Perhaps some things are not meant to be fully grasped. Holding a thing down may change its nature, its it-ness. I remember early on in our breakup being hit with the notion that I had to let J go in order for him to maintain his J-ness. And low and behold, in that letting go, I’ve allowed myself to fly. Not that occassionally I won’t need to return to my cocoon. I know I will, perhaps even later today. For the most part I am untethered; no strings attached.
As I near the end of my thirteenth season with James Sewell Ballet, I am taking stock, and I find that I am happy. Recently, amid massive internal inquiry and indecisiveness about my dancing future, not to mention all the shit re: my divorce, I’ve remained grounded; I’ve been joyful even. I’ve decided to stay.
(Re: the “shit of my divorce”, I mean it like fertilizer. I’ve mined the process for all it was worth to emerge the person I always knew I could be. My heart thanks J, for having the forethought to make a brave choice for both of us. As horribly unilateral as it was, I know it to be the right thing. All my solidity proves that. I’m solid in a fluid sense, like how bamboo can bend with the wind but not break. I now know how to be vulnerable, what a gift.)
On this first day of spring I am reminded that I’ve never felt quite settled about spring’s arrival. It always makes me a little sad, even though winter’s no picnic. (Love those blizzards though, and the ready excuse for a fire.) I don’t know, all this sudden openness is maybe too much too soon. Maybe I’m not quite ready to abandon the cocoon that I’ve surrounded myself with over these dark months. Maybe it’s that I feel too much pressure, to rejoin the human race and my community. Maybe it’s that all this lingering light hits my windows at odd hours, and I see how dirty they are. I hate to clean, and yet I know it feels so good once it’s done.
Soon my balcony will once again be like another room of my cozy apartment. I’ll be able to hear the church bells without straining my ears. My cat will meow to go out and I’ll let her, chaperoned of course.
And then there’s my dancing. Our season ends with a kick-ass piece by Jennifer Hart that’s challenging me both athletically and balletically. And then in James’ expanded “Opera Moves” I get to dance duets with Sally and Nic. Playing two different characters that morph into one at the end, the parallel to my own recent experience is not lost on me.
Today I conclude that life is good. I love it for what it is: hard, bewildering, fraught with alarming things. It also offers so many moments of grace I can’t begin to count them; I wouldn’t want to try.
Today I am at peace with this mystery that is life. Perhaps some things are not meant to be fully grasped. Holding a thing down may change its nature, its it-ness. I remember early on in our breakup being hit with the notion that I had to let J go in order for him to maintain his J-ness. And low and behold, in that letting go, I’ve allowed myself to fly. Not that occassionally I won’t need to return to my cocoon. I know I will, perhaps even later today. For the most part I am untethered; no strings attached.
posted by barefootblogger | 2:15 PM
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