Life Shopping

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For me the switch to January is clearly demarcated; instantaneous.  As the year winds down to December, the days get darker, richer, and there is a sort-of cuddled-up-homey feeling that goes along with it.  December is like being wrapped up in a quilt in front of a lazily glowing fire and looking out at a midnight-blue sky studded with warm yellow stars. 

January is completely different.  At the beginning of my new year, everything feels open and fresh, the light gets brighter--kind of white and baby blue--and the cold brings with it a clarity and vigor that just begs for action.  I love that feeling.  It makes me feel like doing things--big things.  This is really good considering that I'll be looking for a "real job" this year.  I'm a little intimidated, not going to lie, but it's also kind of exciting.  I have no idea where I'll end up.  Job hunting is like picking out a future.  Finding my new life is going to be a little adventure!

Wish me luck!

Go me.

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As they say in Texas: "if you done it, it ain't braggin'".  Well, I'm bragging about something I didn't do today.  I didn't make it any worse. 

I'm sure most of us are a little sick of sweet things to eat right now, and can feel the Christmas fallout sinking in...a little to much dessert, a little too much shopping stress, lots of party cheer and noise, not a lot of sleep...and we're probably realizing the wisdom in the "less is more" mentality. 

I've never been very good at denying myself things that I want (especially if they are covered in chocolate) but lately the things I want have been conflicting with each other.  I want to be happy now, but I also want to be happy later.  I don't want to be alone now but I also don't want to be alone later.  So often that later takes careful building and planning, and it's necessary to wait through the boring, lonely, or painful to get there, and that means self-denial (crap!).  If I give in to my desire to have the exquisite taste of home-made chocolate-dipped toffee on my tongue now, even though I am stuffed to the brim and have eaten too much dessert, my later is going to feel a lot more queasy and be a lot more susceptible to cavities that it would otherwise have been.  Likewise, if I indulge in something that might feel like the right thing now but that I really know is kind of wrong, my later isn't looking to promising.

Cryptic-ness aside, whatever this little analogy might mean to you, for me it applies to my seemingly endless quest to shed my single status.  It's hard to be alone anyway--it's boring, it's painful--but when everyone else around me seems to be part of a two-some; when everyone else is able to move forward in that aspect of life and do that work that is (every holiday movie will teach you) the real reason for living, my own life feels maddeningly and helplessly incomplete. 

In that state you can see how easy it might be to wrap yourself up in something now that really isn't what you want later.  But today I didn't.

I didn't send an e-mail, I didn't write a text, and I didn't get on an airplane to Fargo at 8:35pm.  For me these are achievements; a bit painful and hard-won, but small successes in their own way.  They are the building blocks for the later I hope to have someday.

Simple Christmas

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First day of freedom! Finals are over, grades are in...I'm still randomly shaking myself awake in the middle of the night afraid I've forgotten something...but that's wearing off, so I took the time today to get some long overdue cleaning done and decorate my room for Christmas.

I'm a pretty sentimental person, and though I haven't kept everything, I have packed away many meaningful tokens from as far back as 1993 when I was in sixth grade and performed in Ballet West's Nutcracker for the first time as a toy soldier.  Since then--I've tallied it up--I have performed some part or other in the Nutcracker 113 times (a relatively small number for most in the professional world).  I should be sick of the music by now, but strangely, I still get chills listening to the Grand Pas and Waltz of the Flowers, and I feel a little rush of adrenaline whenever I hear "Journey Through the Snow".

Each year I pick a card or two that is particularly meaningful or beautifully written and it goes in a box with my Christmas socks.  Generally I don't read them all again every year, but this year I did.  One card I almost threw away because I didn't recognize the handwriting, but when I read it I was very touched (again).  It was from a girl in one of my singles' wards who had (for some strange reason) been impressed with something I had done and took the time to tell me so.  You never know what people think of you, but sometimes it is really nice to hear.

I have kept quite a few from the girls in the first little ballet class I ever taught.  It was held in the drafty attic of a house that had been converted into an arts center.  The room was small and freezing and there was only marley on half the floor, but I learned to love those little girls, and I hope they learned to love ballet.  Their little handmade cards were just too precious to toss out with the other cards I'd recieved.  I never admit to having favorites when my students ask me, but there are several of the girls in the ballet B (and later C) class at the Hinsdale Center that will always have a special place in my heart. 

I've also kept every ornament I've ever recieved--even the silly ones.  There are some from my days in Young Women and choir, but most are from my students.  I can't believe how many ballerina ornaments I have that are in the exact same pose ;)

Unpacking all of this made me see the irony in how inseperable ballet is with Christmas in my mind.  Christmas time has always been Nutcracker season, and if I wasn't doing it myself, I was teaching little girls to do it.  A good 70% of my Christmas decorations are ballet related, and most of the cards I've kept have been from people I danced with.  It's ironic mostly because I've been coming to realize more and more lately that my own life is inseperable from ballet.  I just love it.  It is who I am as well as what I love to do, and teach, and watch, and read about.  I didn't know it could become more important to me than it already was when I was dancing, but it has become what I think about when I don't have to think about anything.  Last weekend I went to two different Nutcracker productions, and though the dancing was far from perfect I still got lost in the dancing and the joy of it all. 

Irony #2: In many ways, ballet has become another way for me to understand the Gospel (the second thing that occupies my mind quite frequently).  They are both governed by many of the same principles: the daily pursuit of perfection, the rewards you recieve from your efforts, the roles of students and teachers, the levels of understanding that come layer by layer, how it requires every ounce of your energy and affects every corner of your life.....much of what I understand about the Gospel, I understand because I learned it from ballet.  Like Pres. Uchtdorf, all of my analogies are based in my profession. I hope my Relief Society isn't sick of it yet....

I guess what I'm getting around to saying is that Christmas is wonderful.  Ballet is wonderful.  The Gospel is wonderful, and I'm realizing how important all these things are through the simple sentimental things I've collected through the years.  Thank you, dear reader, for being a contributor. 

Merry Christmas!!

Lost...

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I was driving around the other day and happened to find myself behind an ambulance that actually had someone in it.  It wasn't in a hurry, the siren was off, but he lights were on and I could see the EMT's bustling around a bit--just enough that I felt the reality of the situation.  The gurney must have been facing toward the front of the ambulance because the EMT's were looking down and slightly towards the back windows, as was a man seated somewhat farther back and on the side.  He had his hand to his ear talking on a cell phone and he was also looking down at whoever was laying on the gurney, but what struck me most was how much worry was in his face.

Of course random moments like this make a person think about how precious some things are: life, love, family, friendship...and how fragile those things can be; how easily they can be lost. 

I really have so much to be greatful for, and so much that I need to put time and energy into keeping strong and bright.

Last Week of School part 1

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Singing Final

I've been taking singing lessons this semester from one of the opera students taking a pedigogy class.  It's been really cool, but somewhere about halfway through it Michelle informed me that part of her grade would be teaching me in front of her class.  That meant that I would have to sing in front of a room full of vocal performance majors (AHHH!!!). 

Don't get me wrong, I love to sing and I think I can do it fairly well in the shower or in my car, but I get the most horrible stage fright if I'm doing it by myself in front of people, especially in front of people I know.  I've had horribly embarassing experiences at professional auditions (for "dancers who sing") that have only solidified that feeling and therefore I have been dreading this experience all semester.

Monday was the big day.  The classroom in Gardner Hall was fairly small, filled with desks crammed close together with a very small space between the piano and the front row (at least from the perspective of a person very insecure about her singing).  When I came in I greeted several people I knew from working the opera last season--people I knew to be very strong singers, and who I was anxious to appear competent in front of, (especially since I hope to be working with them again this spring).  I sat in the front row with Michelle and tried to focus on good things.  When it was her turn to demonstrate her pedigogical skills we stood up and she warmed me up a bit with the exercises we'd been working on all semester.  I did pretty well, I think, though I got a little nervous when we started lower than I usually do, and didn't get high enough to go through my pissagio. 

Then it was time to sing my aria.

I started out ok, fairly strong, but about 8 bars in my throat started to close up (kinda like it does when you feel like crying).  The more I could hear the weakness in my voice the worse it got.  I tried to focus on my breathing and all the things we'd been working on, and I even brought some of my sports psych mental exercises in to try to calm myself down.  When I got to the climax, I hit my first "F" fairly well (at least on pitch), but the 2nd was just horrible.  I totally kaked it and just stopped singing.  My teacher rushed over and immediately tried to bolster my confidence.  We did some breathing and some onset exercises and my voice came back a little, but going back to the aria I still could barely sing.  I got so anxious I started feeling dizzy and lightheaded.  Eventually I had to completely turn away from the class and just focus on the music with my teacher standing behind me supporting my back in order to finish.  Quite embarassing.

Strangely, I still really love to sing, and I'm still excited about it.  I was elated that I had made it through this obsticle, even if it was with tons of help and by the skin of my teeth.  After I sat down someone sitting behind me tapped me on the shoulder:  "keep singing!" he said "seriously, you have a beautiful voice".  Several people behind him agreed and a lot of the girls I'd worked with on Dialogues came up to me after class and complimented me too.  Whatever kind or quality of voice I do have, I hope someday I'll at least be able to use it in front of people the way I can just by myself.

Last Week of School part 2

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The Worst in Me

I am taking a class called "Pas de Deux Methodology" that has been an annoying thorn in my side since June. I signed up for the credit over the summer because I wanted to graduate this May, but fitting 62 credit hours into 4 semesters just isn't possible. It's one of those courses that is kind of independent study and is sort of supervised by the graduate advisor and sort of by whomever of the professors is teaching the Pas classes. That's where the problem starts. The graduate advisor went on sabbatical, one of the Pas professors retired, and the other one was fired, so there you go.

I had planned on finishing the course over the summer by observing classes at the Ballet West summer intensive, but I couldn't get anyone to explain to me what I needed to do. Eventually the supervision of my education in Pas work fell to *sigh* Bene, the department chair.

I was really not excited about this.  I decided to go to my committee for help and so put off really doing anything about the class until I could meet with them in the fall. When I finally got them all together, we put together a plan to propose to Bene that one of my committee members (who actually has extensive Pas experience) supervise me based on the requirements of the Pointe Methodology class.  Then came the bad news: the classes I was to observe had to all be in the same semester, be taught by the same professor, and there had to be 12 of them.  Though I had observed about 7 over the summer I had only done 2 in the fall (have I ever mentioned that I'm busy?)  There were only 10 classes left in the semester at that point, so I resolved to buckle down and just go to every one.  Unfortunately, I had forgotten that I would be missing one of those classes for Thanksgiving break, so I crossed my fingers that 11 would be ok.

Wednesday was the day before the last Pas class.  I was sitting in the new grad office finishing up some e-mails before leaving for another class when another of my fellow grads walked in.  This particular grad is amazingly experienced.  I really have no idea why he is a graduate student rather than teaching somewhere at a prestigious school.  He has so many qualifications I figure that the diploma is just a formality to allow him to apply for university positions.  He's a very good teacher--though he does get nervous sometimes--and it is obvious he's recieved very good training.  He's teaching a ton of classes for the U as part of his TA-ship and among them are the Pas de Deux classes. 

He sat down at the desk next to mine and greeted me.  We chit-chatted and joked for a while and then he non-chalantly mentioned that I didn't need to come to class the next day, that he would just sign my paper for me.  I was a little bit confused, and I thanked him but said that I needed to come because I needed to get 12 observations in .  "You don't understand" he said "I'll just sign for you".  I tried to explain my situation to him and to tell him that coming and observing was as much for my advisor as for my own benefit in learning things I would eventually be writing about.  Again he insisted that I didn't need to come, that if it was papers I needed, he'd just sign one for me. 

Long story short, that was the beginning of a hugely confusing, frustrating conversation turned shouting match in which the worst in me met the worst in him.  He accused me of being stubborn, disrespectful, and dishonest and told me that if I wanted to come to his class I'd have to get the chair to make him let me.  I shouted back at him that he was the one being stubborn; that I was not dishonest, I had a great repect for him as a teacher, I had no idea why he was being so mean to me, and I wasn't going to talk to him any more.  Then I left. 

I was so upset I was shaking.  I had no idea why he was trying to close his class to me (which he technically can't do according to university policy) and he seemed to mis-understand my motives in coming to the class at all.  I could barely see through the tears in my eyes and I had no idea what to do or where to go.  In my ramblings I ran into two of my professors.  One of them suggested that perhaps my fellow grad was intimidated by having to present his final project in front of the class and his professor while I was there, that it might be better if I just didn't go and petitioned the advisor to the course to accept fewer observations.  The other one said I that my fellow grad was absolutely wrong, that I was definately going to his the class the next day and that she was going to talk to him about it.

An hour later, I got a phone call from the second professor who said that my fellow grad was afraid that I would be disrespectful during his presentation as I had been throughout the whole semester and that was why he didn't want me there.  Though I was hurt and offended at this, I was only mildly suprised. 

The previous week he and another student and I had been having a conversation in which he told me that he felt I had been disrespectful to him all semester and sighted a list of reasons why.  The things he said I had done were valid, I had done all of them only once or twice in the 10 days I had attended his class, but I had not considered them to be offensive (such as eating in front of him and the class, or not letting him know which days I would be coming in advance).  I had told him I was sorry I had offended him, that it was not my intention, and that I would not do it again.  That is why I was suprised that he sighted my potential disrespectful behavior as his reason for barring me from his class.  I was also fairly saddened that if he had felt so disrespected he had not talked to me about it earlier.  I had considered him a friend and do truly have a respect for him and his experience as an artist and teacher, now I'm not sure if I will be able to have the same relationship with him I once thought I did.

I know I have a tendency to give offense to people without realizing.  Many times the things I say come out in a way I don't intend them to, or I say things without thinking first, but I never intend to actually be offensive.  I'm just thoughtless; spacey.  I hope that once people get to know me they understand that I am just oblivious to things sometimes and choose not to take offense when they realize I don't mean it.  At the very least I thought--until wednesday--that people would confront me with their issues and give me a chance to apologize and change.  (I hope anyone reading this who has been offended by me will accept my heartfelt apology as well).  I guess everyone is different.  I need to just try harder to be sensitive to everyone else's perspective. 

My professor (who is on my committee) then told me that she wouldn't require that I have 12 observations, that 10 would be ok if I didn't want to go to the class the next day.  She then offered to be a mediator between the other student and I to assure that there would be not further misunderstandings and to clear the air between us.  I told her that I would rather not go to his class if it would be ok and that I would like to meet with the two of them to settle things between us, but that I didn't think I could calm down enough to do it before the end of the semester.

This is just another reason why I will be so glad to graduate.  This has been a very stressful week.

Every Who down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot...

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I cannot begin to count the ways in which my life is stressful right now, but somehow all my squishy insides are still feeling warm and fuzzy.  It isn't like this every year, but this year I am really loving the joys of the season.  I'm listening to Christmas music and not getting sick of it, (shocker!) and I love all the little reminders that people are putting up everywhere; lights and garlands and ribbons and sparkleys....(you know how much I love sparkleys).  In years past these things were only reminders of how much work I had left to do before the break, or how I had to come up with things to give everyone and then shove my way through hours of claustrophobic lines at the mall to buy them.  Those years I was being a little bit Grinchy.  This year, I'm totally living in Whoville.

I'm looking forward to being with my family, going to see my friends' performances, listening to spontaneous musicians on street corners, standing open-mouthed and awestruck under huge and sparkling pine trees, snow, and hot chocolate, and cuddling, and spending time with my dear friends doing unabashedly cheesy wonderful things.  I hope I get to go sledding this year!!

All these little signs of Christmas are reminding me of the reasons why I love humanity.  People can be really loving and solidly supportive--even of strangers, and they seem to be walking around looking for excuses to be nice.  I love the way I feel when I'm in the "Christmas spirit".  It's easier to see how much my friends mean to me, and how awesome people are, and I feel a little more communal with my fellow humans.  Even sitting on the bus and slushing through the snow, I still exchange looks with people around me that say "yeah, we're all in this together".

I feel a little like I'm living in a Disney movie.  It's called "Shaun's Life" subtitled "Enchanted Christmas".  Talk about cheesy!!

Don't worry.  I'll come down off my glowy sugary high just in time for the sucking black nothingness that is Valentine's day, but right now I'm sparkling and happy and blowing my who-hooer as loud as I can!!

I know it's a little early but I can't help myself:
In honor of second advent, Merry Christmas!!!