It is said that dancing is never a choice in its inhabitants body but an essential way of life. As I stand inside the brightly colored studio with beautiful mahogany floors and stare out to see top coaches who are charging $130 a pop smoking their cigarettes with deep inhalations as if to say I know this life, this has been a hard life...I wonder if the obligatory call of duty has taken its toll on them.
Which starts the inevitable banter, the voice in my head who like an evil stepsister says things like, you don't know what you are doing, you are a fool to even attempt taking this course of action, you will never make it and other incessant ramblings of a similar kind.
What does it take to be a dancer, a ballroom dancer to be specific? Is it heart, or passion, or does it just take a human of Russian blood while the rest of us are hopelessly trying to push Sisyphus's rolling rock to the top of the hill.
I am brave enough to say I don't know. I don't have a fucking clue. Which is what I suppose is the appeal to it all. The reason I have endeavored such an enormous task, taken on this goal with such vengeance it has-to my surprise- had the Russians calling me crazy.
So who am I is the next question I suppose. Who is this lingering soul that dwells in dance studios and takes on big, almost impossible dreams that take lifetimes to build? I guess I'm just a kid-a 24 year old kid who has decided after years of being directed in every course of action from all forces of society, cultural, religious, scholastic and parental pressures to take on my own course.
To free myself by endeavoring a challenge so great it had to be a maniacal choice of my own creation. And yet, and yet...
I feel the call. I myself feel that it is no longer a choice. That I must drive my mind and body to interminable heights-beautifully and sadistically cherishing the pain it takes to reach this goal. I suppose I am not so free and yet...
I'm flying.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Dancing to the call
It is said that dancing is never a choice in its inhabitants body but an essential way of life. As I stand inside the brightly colored studio with beautiful mahogany floors and stare out to see top coaches who are charging $130 a pop smoking their cigarettes with deep inhalations as if to say I know this life, this has been a hard life...I wonder if the obligatory call of duty has taken its toll on them.
Which starts the inevitable banter, the voice in my head who like an evil stepsister says things like, you don't know what you are doing, you are a fool to even attempt taking this course of action, you will never make it and other incessant ramblings of a similar kind.
What does it take to be a dancer, a ballroom dancer to be specific? Is it heart, or passion, or does it just take a human of Russian blood while the rest of us are hopelessly trying to push Sisyphus's rolling rock to the top of the hill.
I am brave enough to say I don't know. I don't have a fucking clue. Which is what I suppose is the appeal to it all. The reason I have endeavored such an enormous task, taken on this goal with such vengeance it has-to my surprise- had the Russians calling me crazy.
So who am I is the next question I suppose. Who is this lingering soul that dwells in dance studios and takes on big, almost impossible dreams that take lifetimes to build? I guess I'm just a kid-a 24 year old kid who has decided after years of being directed in every course of action from all forces of society, cultural, religious, scholastic and parental pressures to take on my own course.
To free myself by endeavoring a challenge so great it had to be a maniacal choice of my own creation. And yet, and yet...
I feel the call. I myself feel that it is no longer a choice. That I must drive my mind and body to interminable heights-beautifully and sadistically cherishing the pain it takes to reach this goal. I suppose I am not so free and yet...
I'm flying.
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