I’m sitting here watching Phantom Gourmet, procrastinating just a little on getting motivated (okay, it’s 11am, so what!) and this seemed like a good time to run my mouth off in a blog post.
Anyway, I come before you today to talk about dreams. I’ve been having pretty vivid and interesting dreams all week, ranging from a trip to my family’s cottage in New Hampshire to a Pulp Fiction-esque nocturnal reverie (I blame this week’s episode of Community for that one). Last night, though, I had a lovely ballet dream. These are more and more frequent as my obsession — I mean passion! — grows.
In my dreams, I can developpé à la seconde up to my ear, hold my balance en pointe, hold my arabesque, pirouette (doubles! triples! en pointe!) … in my dreams, I am about 200% more talented and flexible than I am in my waking hours.
The first few times I had dreams such as these, I woke up disappointed with my self and with my limitations. Now I relish in these dreams! They inspire me, they motivate me, they drive me to be the dancer I am in my subconscious. At my age, I may never be that dancer, but the dreams push me to be better than I am now and that push is everything.
I’m stubborn, I’m a perfectionist… sometimes it feels as though I won’t rest until I get something right. Until then, I’ll always have these dreams. If my brain can do it, sooner or later my body will, too. Right?
Sometimes I wonder if my neighbours can see into my kitchen windows. If they can, they may occasionally get a glimpse of me doing ballet in front of my stove. I’m not too worried about them thinking I’m crazy, though, since I’ve gone out drinking once or twice with a few of them. They already know I’m crazy. Problem solved.
It’s become part of my daily routine. Need to get something from the fridge? Arabesque or bourrée across the floor to get there. Have to turn the light off over the stove before bed? Take some time first to practice pirouettes (I’m surprised I haven’t worn a hole in the floor in that spot). Now it’s gotten so bad that I stand in relevé or turn, turn, turn when I’m waiting for my dinner to cook (or heat up in the microwave, if I’m being lazy).
Hell, I even do that last one at work sometimes.
But it all HELPS. I posted back in January that my goal for the New Year was to get over my fear of turning, and I’m pretty sure I have. I still worry about falling — it’s a lot harder to bounce back up at 26 than at 6! — but I have finally found the fun in turns. A few weeks ago, I could barely complete one pirouette successfully, but now I’m finally getting the hang of it… more or less. Tonight I almost “made it a double” starting from sous-sous! It’s so exciting to feel like I’m starting to make progress in ballet, and it’s been an interesting experience to realise that the main thing holding me back from said progress was my own fear of failing.
My only hope now is that I can be half as good in class as I am in my kitchen.