I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
I'm writing this at the crack of dawn, the only time I could find a little bit of peace and quiet and I feel afraid. Not the kind of afraid that gives you the fight or flight feeling, just afraid of the particulars in my life. When I look around and realize that I have sacrificed my life for this dance sport. I have given up Sunday dinners with a family I don't have, given up decorating a Christmas tree with a husband that never existed, I am giving up toasting a meal with a group of friends I never made ties with. I'm afraid I will be so busy I won't have time for a family of my own, afraid to have a family because maybe I don't want one, afraid I will be alone, afraid I won't be good enough, afraid of some "hypothetical fight" because I might be dead wrong, afraid to get hurt, afraid to have my dreams crushed by reality, afraid to die, afraid to live fully- whatever the hell that means, afraid to publish this post because it may be absolutely irrelevant to the person reading it and mostly, I'm afraid to make the choice to do what I love in life.
Having already taken the plunge, I have put myself on the line so completely, that if I fall it will be a long hard thud into reality. And nobody give me that speech about how reality is what you make it because it's not completely. You can't choose your family, financial crises call for people with dreams to take "real" jobs and ailments, tragedies, and catastrophes are constantly plaguing the unassuming man on his daily walk.
Oh and did I mention that I got a "real" job. I know I shouldn't complain-in fact, I'm not. I mean, in this economy I GOT A JOB. This should be a statement of exuberance, and god knows I'm lucky to have one, but a part of me feels chained, defeated. As if the subliminal part of my mind has said, good luck trying to get your dreams to become a reality. Because that's what real jobs do, don't they? They make you conform to comfortable living, a home with a 2.5 bath, and a wailing child you kinda sorta didn't want.
Ok.... perhaps I exaggerated a little. I'm sure those slimy, screaming messes are a joy to their parents but for me, I want to to live off the wings of my desires and passions for a little longer while I feel I can still run.
And that is just what I think my dreams are there for-in case I need to run. Because aren't we all escaping something? Personally, I take two hits of rumba, one shot of samba and maybe a waltz to come down because dance is my drug- the vehicle in which I leave my body.
Take point example, when I need to run from the snot nosed, know it-all, livin' with his mama, steroid pumped imbecile I knew in high school who berated me about why I was working in this "dumpy gym" when he thought I had moved on to bigger and better things since I graduated.
Yes, the past few weeks have been peppered with statements by dear friends with good intentions, who all have opinions that they would like to share and naturally, that I am obligated to listen to. Statements about what I should do with my life and how to make myself a better person, a better dancer, a better writer, a better instructor and so on. It's like being forced to get through a bad date with a socially ungraceful savant so completely unaware of the bile coming out of their mouth that all you want to do is muzzle them and call that precious waiter to slip the bill so you can get home and wash yourself of this moron forever.
I can't listen to anymore biased advice. I'm all for change, but...what the hell do they know?
I know I have hit a low point. The pressure has had me down for a few weeks. This insecurity that I have chosen the wrong road. This crossroads in my journey where I have re-evaluated the path to my dreams. But I have concluded (at least for the moment), that nothing else makes sense except to do whatever it takes to reach the end of my destination. The pain and struggle is the only thing that makes sense to me, the only way I know. And to be honest, I am becoming stronger about expanding this idea that I can trust myself to do whatever it takes. If I have to write during strange hours of the night, endure judgment by those who will never understand, have existential crises, constantly change my course of action, never achieve comfort, endure financial instability, never have stability, then that's what I'm gonna do. Reality it seems is what you make it but the particulars, oh the particulars you don't get to choose. That's where the hardships, suffering and challenges come in.
But I have chosen my road, or perhaps it has chosen me. A very inspirational dancer told me about his hardships on his journey of dance, the odd jobs he had to take, the top coaches that told him he would never make it...oh, and did I mention that he and his wife are the American style Latin Champions. I suppose that all is possible, and that minor setbacks are only part of the journey, part of the program that builds character. There are a million roads, but I have chosen mine and while the woods can become consuming I know one thing for sure- when the music plays, and I start to move, I close my eyes and I am home.
