You could blame the vodka in my class, the seltzer in my water or the garlic on my breath for this entry. I have been alive 25 years and I am getting impatient. I often feel guilty for feeling this way. Feeling ungrateful for the roof over my head, the loving family, loving husband, the pacemaker that keeps me alive. I look back on my life thinking how much worse it has been, how sick I have been and the struggles of learning disabilities and financial difficulty. I look back and wonder how I could feel the way I do now. I have a wonderful life, God has been faithful, yet I feel stuck.
My dancing has always been a torment to say the least. I have struggled with having the ability but lacking a strong heart and being dyslexic. Those two things are a recipe of great frustration, discouragement and pure endurance. It is amazing I have made it this far, established a competitive technical level and have had incredible opportunities to meet and work with some of the most renowned artists of my time. Yet, I feel the ticking of time. It has been since January that I have given myself “another chance: at this dancing thing!?!”. And I have been working very hard. I have been coached privately by one of the best of her time, and I have been teaching and trying to establish myself here in NYC. At the end of the day, I am wondering if it is worth it all.
Yesterday I was called into the office of one of the studios I teach. They wanted me to possibly pick up another class. I said, sure. My response is just another class, could use some more change after the gigantuous monthly rent we pay. This is another class I am teaching, another class I am not taking or rehearsal not attending.
The ballet world is so competitive. It is amazing that even when you have it...sometimes that is not enough. All your ducks have to line up so that you attend the right schools, meet the right people and bloom at the right age.
I dream of having a contract job over the free lance. I dream of having steady pay. In this society dance isn’t very popular. Maybe that is too much to ask. At the end of the day sometimes I wonder if it really matters. We all sleep, eat and die. My life has been full and wonderful but maybe if I don’t make it to my dream, it won’t be that big of a deal. That I will be happier than I could have imagined. I have fought so long and so hard that I am afraid of what it may look like for me to realize that it may not be worth it.
