First is the intro of the music and the slight anticipatory sway of my body.
First is the blank page and the eager word choice.
Suddenly, there is an intense looseness of my movements to the beat, and the feeling of fluidity sets in.
Suddenly, there is a spark of clear thought, and all distractions are mute.
I’m in synch with the sounds. Every pirouette, every move. All with explosive grace and erratic control.
I’m in synch with knowing exactly what I want to say. Every word, every point. All with no regard or doubt.
Now nothing exists but my body across the stage.
Now nothing exists but my mind on the page.
The entanglement of song and dance is about to end. I could keep going, but the rush of the conclusive crescendo satisfies me.
The entanglement of mind and screen is about to end. I could keep going, but my mind is purged, and I am proud.
Dance is writing. Writing is a dance.
A few ideas in question form were provided to me in the comments of last Friday’s post in attempt to give me blog fuel. A few of them got my engine revving.
Aneroidocean asked a particularly meaty question: Why did you decide to be a business student? What’s your ultimate goal? If you want to go normal “career” type thing and not start your own business eventually tell us that. If the career type job is just in order to get your loans paid off and then start your own business, tell us about that.
Well, I decided to enter the world of exciting business in mid 2007. I took the leap from Performing Arts to Marketing. I basically played pin the tail on the major. The only hole I had in my blindfold was the knowledge that my father had a business degree, and he seemed to have done just swell in his life.
Throughout college, I always had an idea fermenting in the back of my mind about opening my own business. As a teenager, and up until the day I quit dancing, I was sure and determined that I was going to open my own dance studio to teach, choreograph, and mold young dancers. I also wanted a big space in which to do cartwheels, but that’s beside the point. And cartwheels are gymnastics anyway, not dance. So, with my supreme logic, I concluded that I could converge the two schools of thought (performing arts and business) to open that studio.
Then reality decided to tap me on the left shoulder while standing on my right side so I wouldn’t see where it was coming from.
I went through the motions and graduated. I gave up on dance, because there wasn’t time for it all. I became complacent. My aspirations for opening my own studio had turned into aspirations for an easy job with sufficient pay. I somehow became content with the idea of being a suit. Or should I say a woman’s pantsuit. I also imagined I would find ample use for one of these in the near future (thanks for the idea Rich):
So there I was, all ready to do the normal job thing. I applied for Marketing jobs here and there and nothing was snagging. So, I went with the first job that gave me an interview even though it had nothing to do with Marketing. It didn’t matter. Firstly, I was still experiencing the no-more-school-for-me-ever-in-life-yay euphoria. Secondly, like I said, the vision of my own business let alone a dance studio was long gone from my head. Give me some pencil skirts and some data entry, and I was all good.
Until I wasn’t. Somewhere after that, I snapped out of it and into a drastically different mindset. I want to see my own ideas brought to fruition. I want to build something that is all mine. Sort of like this blog, but on a much bigger scale. Feel me?
So, to fully answer the latter part of Aneroidocean’s question, yes, I do hope to eventually have my own business. It may not be filled with ballet bars and stage moms, but it will be something of pride. Luckily for me, my college was paid for via scholarships and TOPS, so I don’t have to lug around the weight of student loan debt. I have nothing stopping me from choosing exactly what I want to do, and I am no longer scared of the waters. I’m next in line for the diver’s block.
Investors interested in funding my success can send money to 555 Thisisnotascam Ln. NY, NY 55555.
And now… a V-V-V-VLOG. Maddie Cochere asked what I keep in my closet last week. Let’s just say I found a few interesting things.
- Interview Part II- Ronn’s Take on Marketing, Business and the Dance Community (2pointesocial.com)
- Dance Studios in the US Industry Market Research Report Now Available from IBISWorld (prweb.com)
- Newest Digital Marketer Blog Post Examines Latest Virality Case Study (prweb.com)
If you follow my blog regularly, you know I don’t get serious too often. Ever, really. A lot of bloggers are naturals at this stuff, but it is actually a real challenge for me to write about something serious, especially when it is about me. Humor is safe for me, while anything outside of that realm makes me feel extremely vulnerable. But, with everything going on during the week of a Becca on Fire, I not only have a little extra confidence in my fingertips, but I also feel that it is the perfect opportunity to open up a bit to my readers. So, here goes my attempt to inspire.
Before I began writing this post, I sat with a blinking cursor on the left side of my screen and the “about me” page of my blog on the right side of the screen.
I’m only good at funny. That’s what I do. It is easy to be funny. For me. Shit, this is going to be more of a challenge than I thought. I can’t even inspire Jack to poop inside the litter box, so what can I possibly have to write about inspiration? Oh well, just write.
After all of that staring, I noticed something about how I describe myself. Take a look at my “about me” page. I begin by proudly acknowledging a very important part of what makes me Becca. I was a dancer.
For seventeen years, I was first and foremost, a dancer. Make that a great dancer. A passion that consumes you for such a long period of time is hard to shake and even harder to accept that you must shake, which was apparent by the blurb I’d written. So, I guess I should more accurately say that what I was looking at was a statement about what used to make me Becca.
Before anyone ever put the notion in my head that making a profession of performing arts was “impractical,” I never thought twice about any other course for my life. I entered college as a dance major, was an important member of the college dance team, and had every intention of performing until my age got the best of me (at which point I planned to teach). Everyone knew me as the dancer even if they didn’t know me at all. That is how integral it was to my identity.
After about a year in college, I began to realize that the performing arts program I was in was not up to par with my experience level. This is not a case of my comedic ego either, the program was simply a joke. A cop-out for lazy freshmen who would rather mock an art form than write an essay. On top of that, my parents continually dropped not-so-subtle hints that I may want to consider a different calling. Something more lucrative.
It infuriated me that they didn’t get it. Get me. It infuriated me even more that I pretty much had no other option but to drop the program because of its lack in advancement. It was holding me back as a dancer. It infuriated me, because everyone would think I gave up on my passion to become an office drone (at the thought of which nauseated me).
Before I knew it, I was a performing arts drop-out and a month from being another indifferent graduate of the school of business. What happened? I over analyzed every incoming external influence telling me to cash out before I lost big, that’s what happened. That, stirred together with my own doubts and insecurities as a dancer. I didn’t want to start over at a new university, but I also couldn’t stay enrolled in the Ballet 101 classes that I took when I was three years old.
I had become the one thing that I had almost forgotten I’d sworn not to be, Miss play-it-safe. Sure, I’d find a job. That job would pay well enough for me to live as comfortably as I always have. People would see me as “successful”, but I wouldn’t stop thinking, “Is this it?”. I would eventually become that forty-year-old woman still bragging about how many pirouettes she could do twenty years ago while shamefully dodging conversation about her soul draining day job.
So, back to my “about me” page. Obviously, even five years since I have laced a pointe shoe, I am still coming to terms with “dancer” no longer being my main identifier. While I still have strong emotions associated with that time in my life, l do not regret the way everything panned out. I’ll tell you why. Then you can forget that I ever wrote anything so comically disappointing and go back to envisioning me in my underwear.
You see, had I not experienced this loss, I wouldn’t be here writing this. That’s right, I am tying this into writing, because that wasn’t predictable at all. The fact of it all, is that I could have made a career out of dance, but then I would have never known the dispassionate alternative that I experienced for several years after stepping out of that studio for the last time.
It is my strong belief that I would have eventually become complacent and dropped my dancing career out of pure inability to truly appreciate my love for it. I have been writing again for almost a year now, and because of this, I have the appreciation for writing that I never knew how to have for dance. And now I know what it is like to lose it.
So, while I no longer see dance in my future, what I do see in my future is a passion that is equally as important to me in a different way. Think of it in terms of relationships. You love and you lose. Those losses teach you to appreciate love for what it is. You then find love again in places that you never expected. You become enthralled again when you thought you never would. This time, you know to hold on to it. You know not to abandon it or take it for granted. And you won’t.
- A Red-Headed Woman (clownonfire.wordpress.com)
In lieu of Mother’s Day this past Sunday…
It always bewilders me just how much (with every inch of my soul) I deeply believed that my mother was always so wrong. Although I’d always heard the adage, “mom knows best,” I convinced myself every time that her conservative old world thinking and new world culture bias was preventing her from thinking clearly. It is perfectly fine to give out my address over the internet. I don’t need a more practical degree. Love is all that matters in a relationship.
False. What isn’t false is that the proverb is true for a reason. My mother, along with all the other moms of the world, has a special secret weapon. Guess what? She has lived many more years than her offspring. She has lived, failed, learned, and gone to figure it out a little better the next time. Now, I am not saying that everything moms say is the holy grail of advice, or that when she tells you cats make better friends than humans, that you should clean out the pound of all things feline. I also understand not all moms are created equally. I am simply acknowledging that they know stuff. More stuff than I do at least. Either way, these are just a few of the ways I had to face the dreadful and horribly humbling thought revelation… my mom was right. Read the rest of this entry
Promised mortifying childhood photo delivered in 3, 2,…
[Elementary School Choir circa 1998]
There I am. On the right. I’ll allow you time to compose yourself.
There was more than one surprise lurking in my inbox yesterday. The second surprise was a notification from Facebook informing me that my friend had posted this charming little photo of me from our fifth grade yearbook. What an action shot huh? While she didn’t take this particular photo herself, she does happen to be a photographer. She is in the inauguration of her photography career, and she takes some stunning photos. She has sense of humor on her as well. You can check her out here if interested.
Back to the performance. With my frizzy curls, bucked teeth, and what appears to be copious amounts of lip stick, I was obviously feeling no shame. In fact, these younger years seem to be the ones in which I was the boldest I’ve ever been. Today I won’t sing in front of anyone. Although I love to sing, if ever I am caught open mouthed, my lips immediately become negative and positive ended magnets. What happened between then and now? Well, I have a hunch about what halted my youthful audacity. Read the rest of this entry