Beautiful Ache

I must not, under any circumstances, succumb and watch Before Sunrise this week. I feel the urge tickling my neck, itching my imagination, begging me to revisit the film I've secretly hidden in the archives of my brain as the favorite movie I'll never mention as such.

 If I do, I'll drown in my imaginative urge for the whimsical and lose myself in one of those achingly beautiful moments that leaves me lost in my hunger for more beauty- even though the beauty of the experience itself was only so beautiful because it was passing. 

I'll weep myself a saltwater lake, not for the lost but for that which never was and never will be. I'll weep a lake for the end of a moment that was only ever meant to exist for a moment and even in the stories I weave lacks a satisfying resolution.

When, amazingly, the desired is given a second chance at life, an opportunity for the lost impossibility, it falters. It shudders under the weight of expectation and seems ugly and unsatisfying when it is all it ever could be, and as beautiful as any dream revived.

Still, with realism on my brain my eyes will nevertheless scan the horizon endlessly, seeking and finding beauty in others and moments, my eyes the highway through which this joy will enter my body, and my chest tight and contracted as I squeeze the emptiness it leaves inside me. Like a smell that never satisfies but leaves me inhaling more and more deeply, trying to swallow through my lungs the unsubstantial air it floats upon, I cannot feel completed by the joy that is so present and intangible.

I don't have time for such fantasies. I have jobs and work and the life I love. My brain says I'd rather be lost in my work than a whimsy.

But my heart, so cold and only now so slowly warming, begs to be allowed to love the fantasy and return the dreamer to her place in my body. The struggle, won by the winter even through the summer's swelter, begins a war that is being waged in the crevasses of my soul as the smell of approaching autumn wrinkles my brow. And I wish to be spared the heartache- to remain in my icy hermitage for a little longer, to freeze calmly through another winter and emerge rational at the summer even as I long to dream and love with abandon again.

I'm not ready for the happiness that explodes out of you so fast it hurts

Courage

Today I am in love.

I am in love with nobody in particular, and with everything simultaneously.

I am in love with the blue sky where it meets the green treetops and the hot sun marring my skin with freckles and moles.

I am in love with the lake and the waves and hot sand even as it stings my feet.

I am in love with a future which will never materialize and a past which is not what I remember it as. I am in love with a present that is spiraling around me like some maze I do not understand and cannot escape.

I am in love with the things I hate, and I'm in love with the things I most fear.


Today I am afraid. 

I am afraid because I am vulnerable.

Struggling against the escape of my hopes for so long, the walls weaken as I melt in the summer sun. I should have stayed locked inside, and kept my heart safe and cold and iced. But now it pools in my chest and seeps from my ribs.

It hurts to hope  because I will be crushed. Since October I have dashed my dreams before they were allowed to exist. Now, this August, they have snuck into existence.

Today I cannot contain my optimism and enthusiasm.

Today I am in love with my thoughts that float in the clouds and keep me looking up.

Today, I am destined to be thrown to the ground, eyes glued to the pavement, because today I dared to love my life with the excitement of a younger Christine who once loved before she thought.

Today my heart already aches even as it rises up to chase the dreams that have been hiding in the sky I have been avoiding with my eyes.

Today I am in love with things I know will never love me back.

Today I am brave, because today I opened my heart even though it already aches with the wanting that will never be sated.

Christine's Guide to Choreographing in a Recession

In the last month I’ve been talking to several friends who are finding themselves trying muddle through the waters of choreographing with limited studio time. As an independent choreographer, I am very sympathetic. It took me a long time to master the art of efficiency, and now that I have found my footing in time management (though I have many other ways to grow still) I want to share my findings!

I know that no artist wants to sit and have friend lecture them on how to hone their craft (it’s demeaning) so I created this post to express how I have learned to make art on a budget. I encourage you to take what you want from it, but these are the guidelines I follow as an independent freelancer.

These guidelines are simply the ways I have found to be efficient when creating a concert dance work 3-8 minutes in length. My own aesthetic values and preferences will come into play, but mainly I have simply focused on time management in rehearsal.

1.    Have a goal and WRITE IT DOWN

Holding in my hand a tangible object that is telling me what I want to express keeps me on task. I don’t just think of a goal and let it guide me. I write it down and force myself to stay focused. If my goal morphs- I delete and rewrite. I keep in mind that the longer the goal the longer my dance will need to be. I usually use a sentence-length goal for a piece 5-8 minutes in length.

2.      Come prepared

Before I get in the studio with any of the dancers, I start in the studio alone.

a.      I generate anywhere from 1-3 minutes of material (for a 5-8 minute dance). I videotape or write down the phrases I come up with so they won’t elude me when I get to the studio.

b.      I plan a structure. I may not exactly stick to it but I know approximately where I am trying to go with my piece.

c.      I plan what I need to do with the dancers that I cannot do alone. Generating lifts, intertwining phrases, juxtaposing different tempos….I plan in advance WHAT I will do in each rehearsal. I may change track in rehearsal, or find a better way, but I always have a to-do list.

d.      I plan too much. I always aim to have extra material. I don’t like to get caught without anything planned. Sometimes I have to think on the spot. But I always come over-prepared so I can move on if we’re working quickly, or skip a section if I need more distance from it.

3.      Don’t be afraid to erase.

It’s hard for me to do, but I try not to worry about what the dancers are thinking, or if they spent 15 minutes wrecking their bodies for a lift that isn’t pleasing me. Change is good. If something needs to go- I cut it. It’s better to make big edits early on rather than later once choreographer and dancers are accustomed to the movement. The dancers will ultimately prefer being a part of a dance that is coherent.

4.      The power of video

When you only have an hour a week with busy, overworked dancers, reviewing the material can take half of a rehearsal. I always videotape at the end of each rehearsal. Providing the dancers with a copy of this video via a private You Tube link or email link means that they have no excuse to come to rehearsal without first reviewing. Even just brushing up their memories on the train watching on a smart phone can help jog memories of details. I don’t always do this in my rehearsals but the director of Renegade Dance Architects introduced me to this way of helping dancers review before rehearsal and as a dancer I believe it’s genius!  As a choreographer, however, I always watch the rehearsal video at home. This way I can get space and distance and really sit down and think about what I want to do with the material already generated without the pressure of wasting valuable studio time while I think on the spot. It allows me to make more fully realized decisions about the choreography and the piece as a whole.

5.      FINISH THE DANCE

Even if it’s not perfect, I finish the damn dance! Cleaning the dancers can be done once I’m totally happy with the structure and feel. If I spend too much time editing and cleaning early on it will feel frustrating and scary if I need to delete a section or make major changes once the piece is completed. I ensure the dancers are comfortable enough in the movement, and that it will ultimately look good on them, then I move on. I leave time to finesse the movement at the end, and even if I run out of time, my dancers are always professional enough to pull it together without much cleaning help from me.

6.      Leave time to edit and clean

Finishing the dance early provides me ample time to make changes. Sometimes these changes make ALL the difference in a dance. Small changes in tempo, intention, or a simple arm gesture can change the entire meaning of a section. I leave time to make these aesthetic changes- small edits can change a piece from good to phenomenal. Once I’m happy with the piece, I still have time to clean the dancers and give everyone time to get the finished work in their body.

--

You may have noted, I try to avoid thinking on the spot. Some choreographers make great snap decisions, as do I at times, but sometimes I’m tired or distracted. My on-the-spot decisions may be less informed and less complete than a decision made at home watching a rehearsal video. The most important thing I do is plan for those days when my mind is sluggish, or overhyped.

I hope it comes across that I’m not claiming my choreography fits into your aesthetic value, or is interesting or unique. I have a lot to learn, but I want to share what I have learned so far. And hopefully anyone struggling with the challenges of making quality work in just a couple hours a week can take something from my discoveries. I truly believe that as a community we need to bond together to make better work and raise the quality of dance across the board to bring more people into our elusive world. And so, I hope that by sharing I am helping this process.

Art on a Budget- Why I'm IDC's Biggest Fan

Last night I ventured into the heat to see Innervation Dance Cooperative's "Of One Mind." (Now, two caveats. 1. I have many friends in IDC. I would NEVER trash talk my friends in a blog post, so there is a filter here. 2. I am VERY critical of dance, so I'm not going to sugar coat this entirely....)

I LOVED IT. Honestly, I rarely skip out of dance concerts. Usually I sit around and fix the choreography in my mind and leave disenchanted. Even Hubbard Street has received a "mnah" review from me from time to time. Nope. "Of One Mind" gets a "YEAH BITCH! Work it!"

I left this show not only having thoroughly enjoyed it, but also so inspired and so optimistic about the possibilities for dance in a recession.

First, a little about IDC. The company is a Cooperative. Five members comprise the cooperative and they have ten company members. They also hire out seasonal dancers. None of these members are compensated for their hourly time. But as I understand it performers receive a small fee for performances as well as company class. (FRIENDS CORRECT ME IF I SPEAK WRONG!) This is still a reasonably desirable working situation for even full-time dancers.

Through a grant they have a residency at Thurgood Marshall Middle School where they conduct after school programs for students and also rehearse. (the reason I can never audition- I work when they rehearse :( ) ADDITIONALLY the company tours their work to schools. Currently, I believe, Gods Monsters and Heroes (a fitting show to instruct on Greek mythology while likewise exposing students to dance) is touring.

This is a lot for a small 501(c)3 to take on. By small, I mean in terms of finances. They're not backed by Hubbard Street's grants or Joffrey's rich donors. They don't perform at the Harris or Auditorium Theater. They aren't employing dancers full time. And certainly no one's getting health insurance. They have a couple grants, donors, and fundraisers, but these are on a humble scale.

And yet, in spite of this, IDC continues to amaze me. Last night they still put on a really quality show. Not just, oh it was nice for a community theater version of Les Miserables....no. I mean it was really good.

The story of Trudi Chase, a woman who suffered from extreme multiple personality disorder, and abuse at the hands of her stepfather and mother, was gripping. The choreography was lovely and honestly, at times quite impressive. The dancers were beautiful. Never once did I find fault in their movement- they fully realized all their movement potentials within the choreography and moved as one unified cast even though most of them have other jobs. The costumes were cohesive and relevant. The projections were interesting and added to the work. 


 IDC managed to cram a cast of 23 onto Prop Thtr's modest stage, and never once did it look like the cast was struggling to move. Everyone was moving fully- navigating the space like one instead of 23 cramped dancers.  

None of the normal problems that would restrict a company from reaching its full potential seem to hinder IDC. Need a lot of dancers? Get a lot of dancers. Space is too expensive? Get a residency at a school. Need costumes for 23 dancers? Use pedestrian clothes as a base for the costumes. Need a theater? Get a little theater! No a/c? NO PROBLEM! Got a small stage? Use every inch of it. Need a cohesive concert? Choreograph an evening length work. Want to get involved in the community and give back? Tour your concerts to schools. Need an audience? Get 23 dancers and the audience will come. And, they'll probably be so impressed they'll blog about it or send their friends.

Congratulations IDC on creating a model for how to make quality, meaningful art in a recession. This company serves as one of my greatest inspirations for my future hopes and dreams and I can't wait to see what else they do in their future.

Sid Smith's Review: http://seechicagodance.com/company/41
Go see the show this weekend: http://www.innervationdance.org/performances.html
Donate to IDC: http://www.innervationdance.org/support.html

The Bird's Cage

Last night I dreamed I had a cage full of beautiful little birds. Each special and beautiful, each beloved by me. I opened the cage to let them fly free. I thought they would fly back to me.

But as the day went on the cage was still empty. Other ugly creatures flew into the cage, hairy little winged monsters with teeth and claws. I shooed them away, but still my birds did not return.

I sat down to wait for them, patient and hopeful. But deep in my heart there was a sadness because I had already steeled myself to the truth that I would never see them again. My cage would remain empty and my little birds free in the sky, soaring high.

Kitchen Heat

It's too hot up here in my azul attic.
The thermostat says 87 in the room, but the oven's on in the kitchen and I can feel the blast of heat as I pass inbetween.
Covered from head to toe in flour and sweat, I've slowly stripped to just my bra and panties, wondering if I could, or should, cook naked.
           I'm wondering if there's a moral ground demanding one must at least cover their genitals when baking.
           What about the nipples?
I wonder if it's hot enough to cook the pizza without the oven.

Cat glares at me, begging to be let downstairs where he can flop on the tile basement floor. Instead we take turns sitting in the shower.
The summer heat is here.
Without warning. It just appeared one day, catching us unprepared.

"Whatcha Doing?"
"Making Ice."
"How Much Ice Do You Need?"
"All Of It."

I splash water all over the kitchen, all over me.
It feels good on my grimy skin.
Cat lays in the puddles, a black and white rug at my feet.

Eyes slide shut.
Too hot to stay awake,
Take a siesta in my abode-
        I'll wake up and clean the mess up in the morning, before the sun is high above my attic roof, when it's cooler.

Summer Hunger

Summer's here and the wanderlust sets in.
After months of content I am the cat- clawing at the windows of my life seeking an adventure.
I am no better than my students as the warmth infects me with restless energy.

I feel hungry- there's an emptiness in me and the more I fill it, the larger it grows.
I want.
I want to bury myself in my imaginings and stare at the clouds lilting overhead,
finding in them the landscapes and adventures from my childish imaginings.
I want to explore a castle, or stumble over a mountain peak, or turn the corner in a foreign city.
I want to lay on a sunny bed with the green leaves rustling outside of my window.
I want to sit on a dock of a sunny lake with the dragonflies circling, little fairies greeting me.
I want to sit on the edge of a flowering gate and fill my journal with anxious scribblings.

No amount of adventure will be enough- my satiation is impossible.
In spite of everything the wild child is freed-
stupid and irresponsible and carefree- alive.
Dreaming of adventures beyond this world.
I thought this summer might be different- so content with my life and my work.
But then the breeze rustles the hairs on my bare arms and awakens in me the missing piece of my puzzle-
the wild wakefulness that had been laid to rest and stirs again.
The embers in my smoldering pit have flamed into a fire.
Here comes the insatiable hunger and the endless wanderings of my mind leading me into weeks of daydreams.
Hours spent in reverie.

Summer's here- I'm awake and necessarily discontent.
The impossible search for the world of my imaginings is on.
Like the mosquito bites on my leg, no matter how I scratch I cannot calm the itch.
Come on an adventure with me- let's discover this summer together.

Why You Shouldn't Worry About My Finances

....I mean, besides the fact that Mom, Dad, and I do enough worrying for everyone else.

So APPARENTLY money is a taboo subject. But, as a person who was born without any sense of social conduct, I never worry about dropping the "less than _____ K"'s. And then, inevitably, things get awkward. It goes something like this:

You tell me I simply cannot live like this. I explain that I'm above the poverty level, but taxes can still upset my finances for months and a restructuring of the tax system may be in order. You say that I deserve to make more than ____K. When I agree, and suggest you write your congressman or woman and suggest more funding for the arts, you suggest I "sell out." When I explain that I like my job, you are worried about how I'm surviving. When I mention I love my Latino neighborhood and attic abode, you are concerned for my safety. When I mention that my landlord lives in the building and keeps an eye on me, you suggest I find roommates. I say I love living alone, you insist I can't live in these conditions any more. When I say I'm perfectly happy and have everything I need, you suggest grad school. Then I agree that grad school is on the books and leave out the fact I'm looking at an MFA in dance just so we can talk about something besides my apparent misery.

Yes, I need to be paid more for the work I do. Yes, arts funding needs to be more available and dancers need to stop taking jobs that don't pay when the directors are paying a tech staff for one night of work. But I LOVE my job, and I LOVE my life and you can't tell me for a second I should sacrifice all the love I have and give and get everyday just so I can move into a bigger apartment, buy a newer car, eat more expensive food, take vacations, and go out more. I don't want any of these things. All I want is a day off and a French baguette with a glass of red wine. And maybe an annual holiday- but beggars can't be choosers.

Last Saturday night I worked a bat mitzvah and crawled into bed at 1 am in my clothes. Then I was back awake and at work by 9:30 Sunday morning. I worked until 9 pm then woke up at 7 am Monday morning to haul my ass to 3 separate teaching jobs before stumbling into Aldi's for groceries at 9 pm, then coming home to a cat that just wants to be held like a baby.

And tonight I'm the happiest woman in the world. Yes, my apartment is a mess and I have an awful stomach ache because I only ate a bag of Combos all day. I have deep circles under my eyes and I'm praying the 9th virus of the winter isn't on its way into my sinuses....but I got to spend my whole day doing what I love.

Kids are phenomenal because they give back what you give to them. I teach with love. I hold hands, I give high-fives, I tell funny stories, I ask about my student's lives, and I share dance. In return I get hugs, assurances that I'm fun, hilarious stories and anecdotes, and phenomenal dancing. Ok, so it doesn't work like this all the time. But today I'm feeling pretty positive.

Today was the first day of my new Chicago Public School job. I headed down to 104th street where I managed to convince the kids I was a leprachaun because I was so damn pale. I'd been warned to be prepared for unruly CPS kids, but these were the best kids I've ever taught. Oh sure, they were kids. And for some reason their reaction to everything was to hit their bestie beside them. (Ladies- rule #2- Hands to yourself.) Sure I had to yell and ask for their attention and threaten to take away free time. But, I mean, that's the usual, and I got like 7 million hugs before I left.

The thing is, these kids were so excited to be dancing. It was such a treat for them. And it should be. Kids know that they're lucky to come to dance class: they get excited. That's why they lose their heads, and then I lose my voice. It is exciting. And I get to be a part of it. I get to tell them what a great job they're doing. I get to help them do better. I get to laugh until I cry when they do something hilarious, I get to share their success, and I get to pass on all my passion to them.

So I know it's cliche, but you don't need to worry about my finances. I am rich in joy. If you want to help me, write to your congresspeople and remind them that arts jobs are jobs, and that people need and love art. Art feeds the soul. That's why we make it. Like education, like food, like safety, art needs to be accessible to all. Whether you're at 104th St or in Lake Zurich, 2 years old or 75, you deserve to dance, and sing, and paint, and to be given the chance to experience and participate in the world as a human full of potential and vibrant feelings and beautiful imaginings. Art is all around us, in advertisements, in architecture, in design, in fashion, in the street performer at the corner. Support it- you partake in it.

And if you can't do that little bit to help me out- because of whatever bullshit excuse you've got about small government and how great the free market is- and you can't donate to a not for profit because you're only making twice what I make, at least stop and thank a teacher. Let me start- thanks to my ballet teacher Nick Pupillo who inspires me as a teacher and dancer. Thanks to Jessie Murphy and Brian Murphy who work everyday to better the lives of the students in their communities. Thanks to Susanne Arens for working so hard to ensure your kids are being challenged and inspired. Thanks to Lori and Tim who let me play 4 days a week in their studio, and thanks to all the teachers who inspire me as a teacher and as a human.

I love my job. Now, to bed so I can do it all again tomorrow.

Ice Queen

This is my cave of ice.
It is safe like a fortress.
Here, in the ice, I dipped my scalding flaming heart.
Here, in the ice my emotional inflammation soothed
and my love numbed.
Here, in the ice, I put out some of the fire in my soul.

My color used to be burnt orange like the heat of a cinder.
What color am I now? Am I finally yellow like I wished?
A bright joyful color, but a weak flame, dimly lighting the room?

I am not the bright, hot-headed girl I was.
I am not the eternal flame that couldn't go out.
Some of that flame finally burned all there was to burn.

I am calmer. I believe I am happier. I know I am older.

Maybe I am not me anymore, now that I don't react with an instant fiery passion
But instead present my ice-encrusted self to speak on my behalf.

The girl I was is in an ice block and the ice block is in this woman's chest.
Whoever she is.

The Heavens, the Weather

I'm just another victim of seasonal depression
spirits sailing on the spring breeze brushing through my bedroom windows,
lying in my underwear on the floor, feeling the air on my skin for the first time in months.
Renewed optimism revives me as I perk up the same way my plants have:
drooping leaves spreading to the sun, soaking in the healing rays.

Is it just the weather that has lifted my spirits?
Or is it that the ebb and flow of life is in my favor?

Living in a sunny attic on a quiet street,
spending my days playing with little ones,
dancing, rehearsing, writing, reading, creating.
The stars have aligned in my favor for the moment.

How can I hold onto the heavens and the weather?
Lock this euphoria in a jar and refuse to let it out?
Trap my contentment?

Or must I move to sunny California, or dusty Arizona, and never let my branches wilt in the winter's cold.
Or must I hold onto my successes somehow and keep pushing my life safely forward?

Memories of misery terrify me.
Let's lasso the sun and stop the time from turning.
I am unusually happy.
I am nerve-wrackingly pleased.`

Summer in March

Today I began my day with a cup of coffee on the porch beside Cat and Plants.

1 ballet class and 2 jobs later I ended it in the same place with a glass of wine beside Cat and Plants. 

Life is what I want it to be.

An unusually political rant

Today I want to pay homage to the women in the media who inspire me everyday. Warning: if reading this you think it's a bitchy rant against men, you may be a closeted misogynist.

Growing up, I went through a lot of phases. There was the phase where I wanted to be short and petite like the other girls. There was the phase where I probably had an un-diagnosed eating disorder. That was during the phase where I hated my body, and sometimes myself. There was the phase where I hated everything in my wardrobe and couldn't figure out how to dress like the other girls. There was the phase where I thought putting out empowered me as a woman.

Those aren't the sort of phases I want my daughters to go through. I want them to struggle with: should I be a politician or CEO? Or maybe I'd be happier as a kindergarten teacher. On that note, I'm going to be a great mom so maybe I won't want to be a teacher if I have kids to take care of at home...


And that's why I'm glad for so many powerful amazing women who inspire the hell out of me everyday. I'm a little ashamed my path to understanding my femininity in a male-"dominated" (in quotes to remove the power from the word as this is not an essay to disempower my sex) world took so long, but only because I've always known who I was. It just took me a long time to learn how to reconcile who I am with what society expects me to be. And as smart as I am, it's a little sad.

That's why I want to note a few women who I am grateful can be role models for women struggling with this very topic. Let's start with Ellen. It's recently been a point of, well, hilarity, that nearly every time I receive a text after dinner that starts: "what are you doing?" my answer involves "Ellen...You Tube...."

Here is a woman who is pretty, funny, rich, powerful, famous, and married to a gorgeous specimen of a woman. She also happens to be openly gay, smart, kind, and inspiring. When she came out she lost her job and couldn't get work for quite some time. Even today JC Penny's decision to name her their spokeswoman resulted in a ferocious and ignorant backlash from women who feel that as a gay woman she has nothing in common with them and their values. And STILL her message, everyday on her show, is "be kind to each other." Kindness which she demonstrates and inspires in others. With as much as she's worth of course there's no reason she shouldn't be donating to charity, but she gives not just money but also time and goodwill. After everything she went through she has come to the conclusion that kindness is what she wants to stand for. She's a marvelous woman.

Adele? Top of the charts? Not your average blonde pop star running around in underwear. A fully clothed, voluptuous WOMAN in every sense of the word who has not followed an already paved road but trampled her way into the music scene with a sound that stands out from the din of the crowd. She's not filling our head with mind numbing beats and ridiculous tabloids. She's gotten to where she is because she's talented and smart and because she taps into our very souls with her words and her sounds. She's not selling us sex and club beats, nor I believe is she wrecking her life with drug and alcohol abuse. She's offering us an understanding into something we couldn't quite put words to before. My students request Adele all the time. I happily oblige.

When I saw Pina I was amazed by some of her female dancers, old enough to be my mother, sometimes topless, still moving with more grace and beauty then I can ever hope to possess. And they looked phenomenal onscreen. Their bodies were the bodies of women who hadn't pumped steroids or silicone into their skin. They were pure beauty.

Millions of women around the world everyday do what these women do. I mean, we could start with Michele Obama (mom-extraordinaire, first lady, gorgeous, annnnd MUSCLES.) Kathryn Bigelow- first woman to receive an academy award for best director. (I don't care if she won "because James Cameron pushed for her." She won. And she's a chick. Suck it.) Uhh...Gabrielle Giffords? The name alone shows the strength our gender possesses. We could also talk about teachers, artists, managers, doctors, directors, producers....my point is: there are women topping the internet who aren't Snookie. And they didn't get there by following trends. They got there by being themselves, knowing themselves, being strong, and NOT succumbing to to the role men (and often other women) have relegated them to.

Recently, women's rights seem to be a topic of conversation again. It infuriated me for quite a bit. I mean, it will infuriate me forever. I'm enraged and horrified by the front row seat abortion takes. Or less controversially yet still at the forefront- BIRTH CONTROL???? Or women in the military...(le sigh.) We don't need to talk about my political opinions. It doesn't matter. What matters? So many other important issues should be on our agendas. There are so many things going on in the world, in our country, in our cities, and even in our neighborhoods that need our attention. And this is what we're wasting our time on? A panel of men sitting around telling women what their rights are. Why? Why, when so many phenomenal women are rocking the world, and so many horrible problems deserve our attention, is this an issue?

In college I was deeply upset that as a female dancer in a female dominated field, men still held a disproportionate number of power positions. Just like today, many women are infuriated and saddened that men are still trying to overturn Roe V. Wade, and limit our access to necessary services provided at places like Planned Parenthood.

You know what ladies, I think we're overreacting. (I mean, of course we're not! The last thing we should do is let men undo centuries of feminist work! But hear me out.)

These issues are on the table because we're winning. A male friend recently informed me that because of some "crisis of masculinity" women shouldn't be in powerful positions in the church. Apparently powerful women are some sort of threat for men? (Original. Really.) I'm not going to deny the validity of said "crisis." I deny that your crisis is going to be solved by cutting us back down. We have some very powerful voices out there who are demonstrating for us what a woman can be. She can be an involved mom and a first-lady. She can be gay. She can be smart. She can direct men onscreen and earn respect doing it. She can dance like a pro 4 months pregnant in an (albeit plagiarized) chart-topping music video. She can run a solid presidential campaign and serve as Secretary of State even after her husband's very public infidelity. She can dance until the day she dies, whether on a small stage in Wuppertaul or at the Superbowl.

I posit that we shouldn't be afraid of these men. The fact is they are afraid of us. And that's why they're fighting so hard to hold onto this issue. They need to control something. The fact is we're not scared. We're angry. And we have a lot to offer the world. (And, just in case we need back-up, we have a lot of angry men on our side too.)

Today, I'm grateful that I've learned what it means to be a woman. Really learned that my gender has no determination on my worth in the world. And I don't just know it because someone told me, or kind of know it and then still dress specifically to find a husband. I know it because I feel it in every ounce of my body. I'm so proud of the strong women around me. And I'm proud that my daughters can grow up with such phenomenal role models.

Bring it boys. We're happy to play ball. There's still a long way for us to go but you may as well give up. Because frankly, we're going to win.

Happy Valentine's Day to All the Naked Hearts

For people like us, who wear our hearts on our sleeves, life is a little harder.

We weren't born with any emotional armor

We are exposed. 

We don't know how else to exist but like this,

With our naked hearts.

For us, we exist to love. 

We follow our hearts into battle, not because we are brave or stupid, but because we are our hearts. 

We experience life through our feelings, so when our feelings enter the war zone of love, we have no choice but to follow. 

Trying to stay behind is futile for

What are we without our big hearts but a shell, 

Hollow, 

Empty. 

And how can we protect ourselves?

We are vulnerable. 

We look at someone and we tell ourselves to keep our distance. 

But like a magnet drawing us close, we are beyond control.

We tell ourselves we'll stay strong. 

But when our muscles shake and our knees buckle, what choice do we have?

Once we've entered the field of battle every word is the stroke of a sword, and every smile is an overhead blow. 

And we were left armorless to die.

We try to slip through the crowd undetected, 

Or we lay still pretending we're dead. 

We may be hurt and bleeding, unable to lift our heads or our arms from exhaustion or pain, 

But still eventually our bruises heal and our bleeding stops. 

Sometimes we may scar, and our scarring is like an armor. 

Thick and grotesque, it protects us for a while. 

But scars fade and so too does our protection. 

Are we like a videogame character, unable to die, 

Destined to live death after death?

When at last someone takes our heart into their hands, and protects it for us, then are we safe?

Is this is the only way we are safe, when another has control of our heart?

But what then, if we are betrayed? 

If our protector is wounded?

 If our heart is taken away from us and we are left with none? 

Then at last can we live free of our love that drives us forward, exposed and naked?

Without our hearts we are nothing. 

Either we change or we seek until we at last have recovered our hearts

And are free to die again.

When you are like us, and your heart leads you, you are defenseless.

Be kind to we naked hearts, for once we are cut, we never really stop bleeding.

Bed of My Youth

Last night as I was laying in the dream-awake state, fantasizing about some mundane detail of tomorrow, I woke myself up. Not all the way up, I just startled myself back into a lazy consciousness and for the first time in years I didn't know where I was.

There was a spot of light, or was it my imagination, on the wall beside me. For a moment that spot was the window in my old bedroom on Powell Street. A pink canopy (the canopy Mom and I argued over endlessly, her saying it was too childish, me liking the cocoon it encompassed me within) rests protectively over me as I sleep. The windchime hangs in front of the air vents, jingling in the central air, and the Degas hangs menacingly at the foot of my bed, the figures of ballerinas strange in the night light. I sleep alone with Puff and two pillows in the single bed. My door is never shut because Mom is afraid of carbon monoxide poisoning, and she'll peek in on me and open the door a little wider before she goes to bed late at night. I'm still a child nestled like an egg between Mommy and Daddy, still unable to conceive of a life outside of this bedroom. There is a lifetime of firsts ahead of me, if they can sneak in beneath the lace roof over my head and penetrate my child's sleep. My heart and body are unbroken, untouched as my mother's watchful eyes rest on me, peering through the darkness until she is satisfied I am safe in my sleep.

I woke up knowing I wasn't in my parent's house. I haven't slept in that bed in 8 years- it and my canopy are long gone along with the pink innocence I slept enveloped in. But for a moment last night, in between dreaming and waking, I thought I was in the bed of my childhood in the home of my parents. When I finally broke through the confused haze I remembered the blue attic roof and the wide empty bed I share with the cat, my fears, my tears, and occasionally a man, under a sea foam green duvet. The Degas sat beside me, but its figures have lost their menacing touch in the last ten years. Then I drifted off again, a woman once more, caught up in mundane sometimes innocent fantasies about tomorrow.

Birthday Musings

Well. Here it is. I'm about to turn 26 and in spite of being happy I am in fact nowhere near where I wanted to be at this age. And I just can't help being a little upset about it.

Yes, yes, I KNOW. That's life. I actually do understand that. In spite of all my forward planning, and all my contingency plans, it didn't work out how I wanted it to. Ok fine. It's all fine. So I'm not going to have the performing career I wanted. So instead of being engaged with plans for a family I'm single. So I got a cat not a dog. So I'm still dirt broke. So I'm working 5 jobs that are apparently leading to nowhere. So I haven't left the country since 2009. It's all good, it's just different. But the reason I get so depressed after 3 beers is because plans have been the bread and butter of my existence until now. And now I have no plans, just the moment I'm in. For a woman who writes daily to-do lists, this is not a comfortable situation to find oneself in.

This is as far as I can see: Pray car lasts until Fall 2013. Attend an MFA program somewhere in the continental US. Following degree, pray for a job and a husband. Once a job is acquired, if no husband is to be found, seek other possibilities for obtaining a child.

That's a lot of praying for a Christmas Catholic.

When taking trips I am never content to let the GPS guide me. I can't handle only knowing a turn or two in advance. I want to know the whole trip, from point A to point B, and then I'll deal with the middle details after I've seen the whole route. The problem when turning that trip into a metaphor for life is that life happens in the middle details. It's not that I can't live for the present it's that I want to know the ending before I read the book. I eat dessert first. I always ask people to spoil the ending of movies for me. To date, this has always worked out for me.

But no one has seen this movie yet and no one's serving dessert and there is no map, just road signs. And it's all right. It truly is. And it will all be all right. But for now I'm deeply unsettled and finding it difficult to let go and just let life's current carry me where it will.

It's hard for a control freak to let go. (And before you go judging me for trying to control, understand this: because I'm a control freak I'm great at my job. I just suck at relaxing.)

We were driving from Chicago to Virginia with a Brit in the back seat, no GPS, and crappy Google directions. We ended up driving through bumblefuk Maryland. Rolling hills, tiny corner grocer's.....our English friend was giddy with glee as he got a peek at "real America." And our horribly diverted path ultimately took us to our destination, but we had more fun along the way. And this is how life is. These diversions, road blocks, detours, etc that are put before us are gifts.

This doesn't solve the problem that I have no clue where my ending destination is any more and I'm a little scared.

But I look forward to the wisdom I will acquire when I pass this juncture and learn to accept that worrying about the unknown is a waste of energy. And I look forward to being a more patient, less stressed Christine on January 18 2013.

Happy birthday to me. Let's drink to gray hairs, crow's feet, and the journey.