Too Good To Be True

Currently in English, I have begun a study on Shakespeare and his work, The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet.
Currently on YouTube, I have begun my work as a leech to any and all videos of the balletic variation Esmeralda.
Currently on the sports page, men take juice.

Now, as an arbitrary figure, that has no basis more reliable than my own assumptions and scant observations, the great majority of our population is comprised of mediocrity-- average people doing average jobs in order to keep our society ticking. That's fine though, it's not a bad thing nor does it give those who aren't average any reason to complain (though some do). Unfortunately, however, I have noticed a trend: more than the exceptionals complaining about those below them, generally, the averages complain about those above them. In fact, this habit of complaint has a name. Jealousy.

Currently, extensive studies are being undertaken to disprove Shakespeare's work. Many of those who have spent a considerable amount of time exploring the intricacies of his literature are now filling their days trying desperately to negate the fact that he actually did the writing. According to them, it was Marlowe, it was Bacon, it was some bloke on the street whom Shakespeare paid a buck or two for the first ever calling as 'ghost writer.'

Currently, I've spent more time than is healthy drooling over YouTube, watching video after video of the same choreography. It's funny, though: no matter how incredible their extension or their feet or their stage presence is, a glaring fault pops up in my line of view to obscure their success. I have to find something that makes them less. They're "too good to be true."

Currently, athletes take juice. They've figured out that sometimes, their own talent isn't good enough because unfortunately, there's someone better. So it's easier to cheat than to remain loyal to their integrity. It's easier to accept their own dose of juice than to accept their own dose of relative mediocrity. Bummer.

So why can't we just chill? All of us? Relax and come to terms with the fact that we aren't going to be glorifyingly great all the time. We've been given what we have and jealousy, cheating, is not going to improve our inner knowledge of the fact that we're, in one aspect or another, just like someone else. In fact, in one aspect or another, there are innumerable hoards of people who are a whole lot better. Ouch, right? Wrong!

You know, it's as if we're running our marathon of life, proud to excel around one bend only to discover that we're neck and neck with some other guy around the next. Isn't that pretty cool, though? We have a buddy to run with, right?

Not being the best means that someone else is. And since we all know what it feels like to be great, we ought to play it off as our collective victory when we've tried our best and come nowhere near the mark, only to hand it off to some other shmoe. A gift, almost. Because, see, we're all the same species and in the end we're all great, forced to share the same prizes, and triumphing in one another's successes.

It's a scary thing, mediocrity. But hey, so is life. We're all frighteningly fantastic when it comes down to it, and our own anatomy and our own spirits contain more power than we may ever realize. But as scary as that all is, it's all chill. I swear. As Ellen DeGeneres' lovable animated fish, Dory, once said, Just keep swimming, just keep swimming... even if we aren't anywhere near the front.

The Weight of Ribbons

I apologize, for once again making this about ballet. I'll broaden my horizons next week maybe...

So, a friend of mine recently was chosen as one of four Americans to be allowed the privilege to compete and participate in the Prix de Lausanne. This is an international classical/neo-classical ballet competition in which only the best of many many applicants are even allowed to compete. From the 80 that are chosen, only 20 are passed onto the finals, and from there, seven this year were awarded the prize: a scholarship to a school of their choice, or for the older competitors, an apprenticeship to a company of their choice. All told, this is a very prestigious competition held only for the elite few, and even that my friend was allowed the honor to compete was a triumph. Fortunately, due to the fact that she is a truly amazing dancer, she went onto the finals, however, was not chosen for one of the awards.

These awards, now. I wouldn't have a problem with the way they dealt their prizes, generally speaking. I am a strong believer in the wisdom of a diverse panel of judges, like the Prix had, and typically trust that their persuasion as to whom the prize should be awarded is sound. But something happened in this particular competition that rather unsettled me. The girl who was awarded the 1st place prize was the same girl whose ribbons had come undone earlier and caused her to go off stage before resuming her performance. It's very human for this to happen, however, it is also cause for professionals to be fired and dancers to be shunned within their own community. It's bad. It's unprofessional and looks horrendous. Any dancer knows this, and, with that knowledge, they take the necessary precautions: hairspray on the knot, sewing the knot to the other ribbons and sometimes the tights, taping the knot, clear nail polish on the knot, I mean, the list of new and inventive ways to prevent this from happening is never-ending. I don't say this to bash on the dancer, understand. It happens, and has to every ballerina who's ever danced. Absolutely human. I've had it happen during class, and once during a dress rehearsal. I mean, it's not unheard of, but it certainly is unprofessional; I don't care that her ribbons came out, but I am a little suspicious of the events that followed.

So she goes off stage, reties her ribbons, and then enters again, seemingly undisturbed (as she should seem, in a performance). She proceeds to perform beautifully; not phenomenally, but certainly not bad. I'd seen better performances in the duration of the show. But then, she won. The whole shabang, in her pocket.

My congratulations go out to her, she was an accomplished dancer, performer, and did a remarkable job at maintaining composure when the going got tough. But the judges' performance, I question. It seems dubious that they would pick her over others when there were others that presented, in my opinion, a superior performance. I'm afraid that they picked her as the first place winner not because of her dancing but because of her sustained composure. Which would have been impressive, had it been a composure-competition, but it wasn't. It was a ballet competition and in that category, I don't think that she would have won. But from the judges' standpoint, I believe they found it impressive that she could lose something so eyebrow-raising and then come back on stage, and I think that swayed their decision. I prepose that they were more preoccupied with how she could leave the stage and then return full-force than with her dancing. I prepose that they were distracted. Distracted from their ultimate goal: choosing the greatest dancer in the lot.

This is all speculation, albeit extremely critical speculation at that. But I don't believe that had her ribbons not come out and had she not proven that she could deliver a good performance after that, she would not have won.

I don't know really. I guess I'm rambling at this point. But it's a weird dance-related moral issue that's at the forefront of my thoughts. My congratulations goes out to that girl though, as well as the other winners and finalists.

Maybe someday I can be one of them. Hmm. :).

Why do I dance? Why do I breathe?

For all my life I have been a dancer; I intend to remain that way until the day I die. However, ultimately, I truly believe that it is within anyone who is human to be a dancer—my personal practice of this art should not and is not exclusive to me. We will all be dancers, forever. We’re human.

So I suppose where I’m going with this is that my essential goal through dance is to spread the honesty of emotion, and sincere expression of what fabricates humanity’s spirit, that comes with and through dance. I believe that in times like these, with all the nasty turmoil that churns in the everyday world, people need to turn to simple, honest reminders of who we are: singing, painting, writing, and, yes, dance. These are the things that humans learned to do first, because they were natural, and beautiful, and felt right. It was what defined who we were as a species. It was what stirred our souls.

I know that I’ve trained for the bulk of my life to be a dancer, because I know that’s what I want. I want to move people, to make people cry, and laugh, and walk out being able to say they were changed. For the better. I want those who have become disenchanted with the monotony of life to be reminded of the beauty in our world, in life, in themselves. I want a mutual sense of connection between me and my audience, a silent agreement that we will both be better people tomorrow. Whatever scene or emotion was portrayed in the dance is always honest, and I want that to remind others of the presence of that honest emotion in all of us. I want to move people from judgment and towards acceptance, from restlessness and towards serenity. And if they are ignorant, I want to spread awareness so that we as a people can come together and lessen the pain that is rife in society. But ultimately, I want to remind people why they're people, reaffirm humanity's faith in itself, because there is so much faith that there is to be had. That is my intent when I dance.

And as for my goal in my dance career, I don’t mind much what I do. I just know that I have to dance. I understand that I always will, even just in my living room when I’m 85, but I’d hope that I’ll be able to carry that over to my workplace. Dancing is what I do. It’s all I know how to do. I'm human.

Dance is still something that stirs our souls, as people. We, as a population of mankind, are still great! And don't you remember? Remember when things were simple, when all that felt right was to sing out, to dance, to celebrate our identity in the world? Remember when we laughed, and painted pictures on the side of the wall, even if we "weren't supposed to"? Because that is exactly what we ARE supposed to do! We are dancers, we are painters, we are thinkers and artists, and we have power to change the situation whenever crap happens.

Remember? We're human.

Corrections

I apologize on my last blog-- there were actually 13 people who died in the 1996 Everest disaster. Just to clarify, out of respect to them.

Thoughts on the Human Spirit

So I'm reading this book, Into Thin Air (by Jon Krakauer) for the second time around-- and unfortunately, despite the fact that I am enjoying the book more, the characters' fates are still as un-enjoyable and unfavorable as before. The book winds through an ascent to Everest, and as much as I will it otherwise, 9 people still die, and many others still end up with frostbite. But of the few that remain of these expeditions up the mountain, I'm curious as to how they knew they could keep going, and those many others couldn't. How exhaustion was trumped by the thirst for the summit, how death was somehow trumped by life, despite the clear indications that in all logical situations it would be otherwise. Is this genetic makeup that decided their separate fates that day? Or simply their will?
Let me relate this to my own life. I happen to be a dancer, and tonight I took my average tuesday-night class, variations. For the past month I've learned and rehearsed separate parts of a variation from Balanchine's Who Cares? and tonight we pieced it together, running it beginning to end several times over. It's three or four minutes long, and I realize-- that pales in comparison to many other sports or ventures, such as climbing, but in dance, in ballet, that's long. That's hard.
I felt foolish though, huffing and puffing after running it through for only my second time. Huffing and puffing, mind you, as I thought furiously to myself, you can do this, common now... But what is a limit? What's that word mean? As I read this book and as I dance my part I want to know, when do I know I've pushed too hard, fought too long? Men have climbed Everest. They've spent the night in sub zero temperatures at 28,000 feet, with chilling winds that ripped their clothes off. And I, in my quiet studio that sits midst small-corporate-business-land, is out of breath after dancing for a mere four minutes. So what's up with that? Is that human spirit, should I push harder, work longer...Is that the differentiation in our efforts...I don't know, to be honest.
But what I do know is that I am a human being, precisely engineered for always pushing, hungering for more, more of whatever it is that I need. For me it's dance, for them it was the summit, and although I am fully aware that these two venues are hardly comprable, I've come to the conclusion is that there's always more I can muster, there's always more I can work at, and at least from my viewpoint, I'll never be able to do enough.

I think that's ok though. In fact, it's pretty neat.