My body and soul are rebelling in the days since my birthday. It may be the fact that just before my birthday I missed a few days of dancing. Yes, I social danced, but I did not train. I missed my hip hop classes, I didn't practice blues with Drew, I didn't really do anything except move all my stuff from here to there. And today, I had planned to go to Pilates at 8am before my beginning ballet class, but my body did not want to move from the bed. I sat around listening to my playlist that was waking me up and wondering why I felt so dreadful. Is it the portable mattress I'm sleeping on, did I not get enough sleep, did I not eat enough yesterday?
I finally made it to ballet class about 5 minutes before it began, but my morning was spent in silence, observing my body struggle with itself. The teacher reminded us to smile, and I wonder if it was not pointed at me. I do feel better after ballet, though my back is still stiff and I really need to stretch my legs.
The rebellion of the soul - it almost seems silly to write it here, because even as I set out to write about it, I feel my resolve and determination returning. The fear presents itself: You just turned 26. What business do you have training in dance? This is an art for the young, and you won't really be prepared for another 7-8 years, retirement age for most professional dancers. Furthermore, if you don't follow the course of a professional dancer who joins a company, etc., what will you do? Teach social dance? Well we all know that road... no money, no health insurance, no security. For God's sake, Jonathan, you're trying to make a living off a low-income dance community in a recession-striken town by not charging any set fees.
But on the bright side, I still have savings that I am willing to rely on. It's hard to know how long they will last with the constant drain of rent, food, and dance classes... I suppose I should do some math and really figure this out.
How to deal with these issues? I think of Gen. George B Mclellan and Gen. Robert E. Lee. Mclellan was, as Shelby Foote likes to say, a superlative planner. He could drill and drill and prepare and prepare. He built a massive force, larger and arguably more disciplined than its Southern counterpart. And he waited and prepared for everything to be just right. However, things never were just right. Some unforeseen circumstance always presented itself, and Mclellan would never wage an all-out attack if there were a shred of doubt in the outcome. Compare him to Lee. Lee was a brilliant strategist - he bobbed and weaved, used feints and trickery. He used what he had, instead of what he wished he had. Lee seemed to understand Sun Tzu's claim that the art of war is deception. Lee accepted the fact that all things cannot be known - neither to himself nor his opponent. Mclellan assumed all things could be known both by himself and by his opponent. Lee was free to act because of this necessity of partial ignorance, and Mclellan was paralyzed by a futile hope for omniscence.
It seems that I must distract myself from the fear and rebellion in my soul with a continuous onslaught of stretching and exercises, because if I keep dancing, I can forget that this all seems hopeless at times. I will deceive myself, and just maybe be free.
