Monday, March 3, 2014

T-minus Two Weeks and Counting.

I'm starting to get a little nervous about the even that I'm dancing in. Granted, it's only two and a half minutes, and I'm only leading for a minute fifteen, approximately, and the rest of the time, I'll be in the chorus and doing some backup-dancing for the rest of the performance, AND we get to close the show, so at least it's not "LOL FIRST".

I know, it's not a big deal, and I've invited a bunch of people for support. Though I haven't performed in front of an audience since my senior year of high school, I've put myself out there artistically. I've gotten paintings in shows, and I've published two novels.

Perhaps it's because dance is an active medium.  No art is created until the dancers move, and the audience is watching a piece of art being created, from inception to completion. The dancers are vulnerable, open, and in the moment. Whereas, the process of creating something visual or textual is largely hidden, and the audience is presented with the final result.

I guess I'm just mentally masturbating for a bit, to get past the fact that I am FUCKING EXCITED AND TERRIFIED.  Excitified?  Tercited? Something. I don't know.

Eight months ago, I could not dance. I could not fathom dancing in front of people, showing my stomach, being vulnerable in front of a crowd, opening myself for judgment. I did not want to perform. I did not want to show my belly in class. I didn't get the Egyptian, my hips wouldn't shimmy or taksim (because of tight hip flexors and plantar fasciitis, which got diagnosed after I started dancing), my body waves and Arabics looked dumb. I could pivot bump, because I have hips, but that was the only move I could reasonably do, but not for too long, because my left leg did not like having all the weight on it.

Now... I may not be an expert dancer (it's only been eight months!), but I have a pair of pantaloons that are my go-to comfy pants for around the house. I'm the proud owner of one choli, a coin bra, another set of pantaloons, two turkish vests, a panel skirt, and two 25 yard skirts, a pair of Sorayan Nefertiti Zills, my dance shoes, and Rokedet, the One Belt. Not to mention the hair flowers, accessories, and jewelry I've been repurposing from my collection. I do my body waves in the car at stoplights, I shimmy at work and at the grocery store, I practice arm undulations while waiting for customer orders to print out... I'm a dancer. It's changed me, bit by bit, and I wonder what else I might end up challenging.


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