Until last week it had been months, maybe even over a year, since I had danced. And I don’t mean demonstrating something for a class or putting some choreography together for a recital, but rather being truly, deeply inside of my own body with the intention of exploring and creating something of substance, of meaning, of depth.
The truth is – I was burned the fuck out. After years on end of just having to produce, of often having to bend my ideas and my work to meet particular expectations or needs or trends for the sake of business, of strapping myself to so many responsibilities and commitments that I could not afford myself the time or space to even begin to patiently attend to the precarious development of a new idea I. WAS. DONE.
The last 6 months have been interesting. I passed on the school that was, until that point, my life’s work, and I began the transition into whatever comes next. And instead of repeating my lifetime of overlapping phrasing and jumping fully and immediately into something new, I decided to finally offer myself the time, space, and trust that I have so desperately needed. Time to dig deep. Time to reflect. Time to observe. Time to become what had been stalled for so long.
My refrain, especially, from posting my work and artistic musings publicly was intentional. For a bit there I wasn’t even sure I could continue to call myself a dancer. My sphere of focus seemed all at once to somehow expand and narrow to the exclusion of things I previously thought to be a part of who I once was.
And now… Now I feel bare, honest, stripped to what is essential, to what is real. I feel the finality of old patterns falling away and catch glimpses of what seems to now be rapidly approaching. My body is a bit rusty and my legs are still finding their way back beneath me, but I trust that they will find their way, just as I am finding mine.