I am a nerd. On the best of days, I probably spend 75% of my time sitting, researching, reading and writing. I have come to accept this as part and parcel of my life. However, once upon a time I used to be a dancer. I was capable of many physical feats and was quite disappointed in myself when by my mid 30's it became clear I would never become a professional dancer...okay, disappointed is too harsh of a word because, well, I never did really work towards that goal.
But hitting your 30's -that time period when one body part after another starts to fail, you realize that if you ever had any ambition to accomplish something that could only be done with the physical body, you must do it NOW-right before the next body part falls off.
So there I was, with no husband, no stable job, no stable income. I made the most irrational decision to become a "professional" dancer by joining the Pilobolus dance workshop in Connecticut. The decision made absolutely no sense. I was out of shape, the tuition could go to more necessary things like my mortgage or food, but the truth is, I was running out of time, and the real truth is that I was running away from myself.
The workshop attendees were mostly professional dancers, people with the types of bodies that would be perfectly suited for a Pilobolus dance performance. There I was, overweight, weak and insecure. I would spend the next week learning to really value the strength of my body. I didn't know, until tested, just how strong I was, and how capable I was, and how easily my body could contort itself into positions I never imagined it could. I learned that my problem all along was not that my body couldn't do things, but that my body couldn't do things exactly the same way someone else's body could do it. I learned that if I just trusted my body to react to my space and the task at hand I could do it. For example, if I trusted I could carry a 6' tall man, I would find a way to, even if it meant carrying him on my thigh or my back.
I spent a week in this space:
It was serene, and with the absence of mirrors, I didn't care about what my body looked like, I cared about what it could do- Like travel across the room without touching the floor. Yep! I learned that to respond effectively to my environment I had to be really in tune with myself. So not only was I discovering my body's capabilities, I was finding myself through physical expression.
The session ended and I could proudly consider myself a member of the Pilobolus team. That makes me a professional dancer right? Well, it does in my book. Anyways, I thought this was one of the most indulgent things I had ever done because there was no use for this in my regular life.
But then we had the marathon winter and I am terrible at walking on ice. Any other year, I would've already fallen several times. This year I noticed something different. Every time my feet began to slide, my body responded appropriately and brought me back into balance. I became so assured in my step, I shoveled playfully and even went for hikes when the City was shut down. Instead of taking 20 minutes to walk one tenth of a mile, it would take me five (yes, I am a slow walker regardless). This experience, the Pilobolus experience, which I had seen as completely irrelevant to my daily life, really turned out to be something that empowered me to charge onto the mundane daily tasks --like walking---on ice---and snow. I no longer see the winter as something to be feared, but as something to enjoy and find pleasure in because all that matters is how well I respond to my space and the task at hand. To do that, what matters most it seems, is how well I know myself.
But hitting your 30's -that time period when one body part after another starts to fail, you realize that if you ever had any ambition to accomplish something that could only be done with the physical body, you must do it NOW-right before the next body part falls off.
So there I was, with no husband, no stable job, no stable income. I made the most irrational decision to become a "professional" dancer by joining the Pilobolus dance workshop in Connecticut. The decision made absolutely no sense. I was out of shape, the tuition could go to more necessary things like my mortgage or food, but the truth is, I was running out of time, and the real truth is that I was running away from myself.
The workshop attendees were mostly professional dancers, people with the types of bodies that would be perfectly suited for a Pilobolus dance performance. There I was, overweight, weak and insecure. I would spend the next week learning to really value the strength of my body. I didn't know, until tested, just how strong I was, and how capable I was, and how easily my body could contort itself into positions I never imagined it could. I learned that my problem all along was not that my body couldn't do things, but that my body couldn't do things exactly the same way someone else's body could do it. I learned that if I just trusted my body to react to my space and the task at hand I could do it. For example, if I trusted I could carry a 6' tall man, I would find a way to, even if it meant carrying him on my thigh or my back.
I spent a week in this space:
The session ended and I could proudly consider myself a member of the Pilobolus team. That makes me a professional dancer right? Well, it does in my book. Anyways, I thought this was one of the most indulgent things I had ever done because there was no use for this in my regular life.
But then we had the marathon winter and I am terrible at walking on ice. Any other year, I would've already fallen several times. This year I noticed something different. Every time my feet began to slide, my body responded appropriately and brought me back into balance. I became so assured in my step, I shoveled playfully and even went for hikes when the City was shut down. Instead of taking 20 minutes to walk one tenth of a mile, it would take me five (yes, I am a slow walker regardless). This experience, the Pilobolus experience, which I had seen as completely irrelevant to my daily life, really turned out to be something that empowered me to charge onto the mundane daily tasks --like walking---on ice---and snow. I no longer see the winter as something to be feared, but as something to enjoy and find pleasure in because all that matters is how well I respond to my space and the task at hand. To do that, what matters most it seems, is how well I know myself.
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