Supressed by all my, childish fears...
Fascination casts a spell and you became more than just a mystery...
Every now and then, pangs of nostalgia hit me and I realize then, more than ever, that I'll always be a dancer. Whether I want to or not, it's a part of me. And I think that if I wasn't so good, it would have been easier to let go of. If I sucked, then quitting would be so easy. There would be no remorse...except I succeeded. It was, and is, one of the only things in life that I was honestly good at. Really good.
I miss it the way an alcoholic might miss a glass of wine once in awhile. one slight, bittersweet taste of it, and the entire downward spiral can potentially start all over again.
I still have a lot of the scars on my feet. Rough skin from where the callouses used to be, on my toes, still exists in patches. Some things just never die, including old haunts that remind us of how great we had once been. I miss it all so much. I miss my students, who were so cooperative(for the most part, anyway). I loved working with them. I loved how there was so much structure and still so much creativity in my classes. My students, professional dancers aged 14-18, would come in and immediately take off their dancing shoes and place them in the corner. Feet with tape covering rough blisters on our toes would be in solid contact with the polished wooden floor beneath us. We were all the same at that point--barefooted grace with a fire of expression.
They trusted me. If I wanted to try something out of the ordinary, they were troopers. When I went for slightly risque dance, combining multiple styles of both contemporary modern and antique, they experimented with me and gave me what I needed to see. If I wanted to try something dangerous with my students being thrown in the air, they were hesitant but still so willing. My favourite pieces, both to teach and to dance to, have always been the slower kinds. Barefoot on stage, dressed in simple small black shorts and a black tank top with moves that almost defy the formation of the human body. My dancers were so strong, physically they were almost infallible. Under my instruction, there was no way they couldn't bend and no position they couldn't hold for extended periods of time. Up on the pointe of their bare foot with a leg, unsupported, stretched clearly in a vertical split. To this day, I still stand by the statement that each one of them could bench press equal, if not more, weight than a football player. They were so solid.
I remember being on stage, myself. I remember being alone, before an immense audience. Dressed in a remarkably simple black dress. Spaghetti straps, stretchy material. Soft music with a slight beat, not enough to really pop a move to but enough to stretch out elegantly and twist. I remember the insane feeling of satisfaction when a muscle was stretched to capacity--it felt like it should always be that way. Lying in a split on the floor was always my most comfortable "seated" position. I still catch myself plopping down like that sometimes.
I remember Desert Rose, which was one of the most unbelievable pieces I ever choreographed and danced to. I remember almost flying, leaping feet in the air with an arched back and splayed arms. I remember Return to Innocence, and the way it enraptured me on stage. I remember standing ovations, I remember beaming in pride when my students executed a choreography perfectly. I remember being in the studio, yelling at them that it was kick-double spin-fankick-split and not fankick-doublesplit-kick-split. I remember seeing my dancers get into a choreography, really get into it, and they always had the same gleam in their eyes that I had for years. I remember sweating buckets in a studio, with my shirt tied in a knot around my navel, doing double axl turns with them. I remember how I yelled when their leaps weren't high enough, I remember how I'd stop the music IMMEDIATELY when I felt that one dancer, just one, wasn't feeling the music anymore. I remember making them start all over, repeatedly.
I remember being great.
I remember spending up to 12 hours straight in a dance studio, practicing for upcoming competitions. I remember not being able to pinch an inch, not a single INCH, of fat on my body. I remember standing at 5'3 and weighing in at slightly over 80lbs. I don't miss that part so much, it wasn't my natural weight and didn't suit my frame. I've come to like a few extra pounds on me.
I miss it sometimes. The glory, the glamour. The pain and the tears, too, I long for. When it went bad, it went really bad. But I can't remember ever caring, or loving something more than I loved my dancing.
I wear socks a lot now. I can't stand to look at my feet, because I see the scars and I want it all back. Every last bit.
Every now and then, pangs of nostalgia hit me and I realize then, more than ever, that I'll always be a dancer. Whether I want to or not, it's a part of me. And I think that if I wasn't so good, it would have been easier to let go of. If I sucked, then quitting would be so easy. There would be no remorse...except I succeeded. It was, and is, one of the only things in life that I was honestly good at. Really good.
I miss it the way an alcoholic might miss a glass of wine once in awhile. one slight, bittersweet taste of it, and the entire downward spiral can potentially start all over again.
I still have a lot of the scars on my feet. Rough skin from where the callouses used to be, on my toes, still exists in patches. Some things just never die, including old haunts that remind us of how great we had once been. I miss it all so much. I miss my students, who were so cooperative(for the most part, anyway). I loved working with them. I loved how there was so much structure and still so much creativity in my classes. My students, professional dancers aged 14-18, would come in and immediately take off their dancing shoes and place them in the corner. Feet with tape covering rough blisters on our toes would be in solid contact with the polished wooden floor beneath us. We were all the same at that point--barefooted grace with a fire of expression.
They trusted me. If I wanted to try something out of the ordinary, they were troopers. When I went for slightly risque dance, combining multiple styles of both contemporary modern and antique, they experimented with me and gave me what I needed to see. If I wanted to try something dangerous with my students being thrown in the air, they were hesitant but still so willing. My favourite pieces, both to teach and to dance to, have always been the slower kinds. Barefoot on stage, dressed in simple small black shorts and a black tank top with moves that almost defy the formation of the human body. My dancers were so strong, physically they were almost infallible. Under my instruction, there was no way they couldn't bend and no position they couldn't hold for extended periods of time. Up on the pointe of their bare foot with a leg, unsupported, stretched clearly in a vertical split. To this day, I still stand by the statement that each one of them could bench press equal, if not more, weight than a football player. They were so solid.
I remember being on stage, myself. I remember being alone, before an immense audience. Dressed in a remarkably simple black dress. Spaghetti straps, stretchy material. Soft music with a slight beat, not enough to really pop a move to but enough to stretch out elegantly and twist. I remember the insane feeling of satisfaction when a muscle was stretched to capacity--it felt like it should always be that way. Lying in a split on the floor was always my most comfortable "seated" position. I still catch myself plopping down like that sometimes.
I remember Desert Rose, which was one of the most unbelievable pieces I ever choreographed and danced to. I remember almost flying, leaping feet in the air with an arched back and splayed arms. I remember Return to Innocence, and the way it enraptured me on stage. I remember standing ovations, I remember beaming in pride when my students executed a choreography perfectly. I remember being in the studio, yelling at them that it was kick-double spin-fankick-split and not fankick-doublesplit-kick-split. I remember seeing my dancers get into a choreography, really get into it, and they always had the same gleam in their eyes that I had for years. I remember sweating buckets in a studio, with my shirt tied in a knot around my navel, doing double axl turns with them. I remember how I yelled when their leaps weren't high enough, I remember how I'd stop the music IMMEDIATELY when I felt that one dancer, just one, wasn't feeling the music anymore. I remember making them start all over, repeatedly.
I remember being great.
I remember spending up to 12 hours straight in a dance studio, practicing for upcoming competitions. I remember not being able to pinch an inch, not a single INCH, of fat on my body. I remember standing at 5'3 and weighing in at slightly over 80lbs. I don't miss that part so much, it wasn't my natural weight and didn't suit my frame. I've come to like a few extra pounds on me.
I miss it sometimes. The glory, the glamour. The pain and the tears, too, I long for. When it went bad, it went really bad. But I can't remember ever caring, or loving something more than I loved my dancing.
I wear socks a lot now. I can't stand to look at my feet, because I see the scars and I want it all back. Every last bit.