Graduation and Imposing Language: A retrospective (part 1)

It's getting to the place where graduation is close enough that it's got me looking forward, but especially looking back, thinking back to the four years I've spent associated with Columbia University in the City of New York, the institution of which I will soon become an alumn. Which seems, at this present moment, somewhat surreal.

I'm not a fan of words, in general, and especially not in situations like this, because I always feel like they add colors and interpretations -- or more accurately, take away colors -- so multi-faceted, impossibly colored experiences just look like one thing. Words add judgments, and what simply was becomes good or bad in their light.

But at the same time, I do want to put words to it. Maybe, as I think I wrote somewhere once, if only just to figure out what I myself think about it.

I think, since there is a lot to be said, I'm going to do this in several parts, at least that would be the plan, so I've somewhat optimistically put "part 1" into the title, though the chances of parts two, three, etc being forthcoming are a bit iffy.

The first thing I think about is the difference between this graduation and my high school graduation. High school. A gymnasium, a class of 72. As valedictorian, I gave a speech that absolutely no one cared about and that I can't even remember myself, then quietly got my diploma and went on my way. I never belonged there and no one made any move to pretend otherwise, least of all myself.

But this time, I'll be one of thousands, probably not distinguishable in any way, in light blue like everyone else. And thrilled to be there, proud of what I've done.

Though there has been a lot of water under the bridge -- so much I think the bridge itself has probably been destroyed and remade a few times -- I think that the only thing that hasn't changed is that my focus is still forward. But when I left high school, I just wanted to get away. Now, I'm just excited for the next step. One is past-centric, the other future. It makes a big difference.

I arrived at Columbia with that fresh out of high school 'gotta save the world' attitude, the kind of young, invincible thing drilled into you, because you're the next generation and dammit, you gotta do something worthwhile. I had a strong extraordinary complex, the kind of outsider mentality that carried over from high school -- okay-to-be-a-loner-cuz-you'll-save-the-world. Like I said, extraordinary complex. I had all sorts of visions (delusions?) of grandeur and hell, I was barely 18 years old. I've always been a bit ahead of myself and as such, I don't let myself be young, but I was. Naive and inexperienced and well, you can't really expect much else, could you?

I've read her journals; I know what she thought. I think I understand why she thought them, though not always. I assume I'd recognize her if we met. But I'm not sure she'd recognize me, and when I read her words, I don't relate to them. We are separated by only four years, but much more time, and more than a few lifetimes.

Perhaps in a further post, I'll take a more detailed look at the years.

But right now, I can just think of this:

She was such a cold little girl. For one thing, she thought she could never fall in love. Since then, I've been in love twice, each equally magnificent and heartbreaking and dramatic, and neither of which I care to go into detail except to say that -- as cliché as it may be -- I was fundamentally and permanently changed by the experience.

She thought she was such an outsider. Since then, I've learned how to be beloved, and how to belong somewhere, how to let myself be at home.

She thought she was so old. Now, I think I'm so young.

However ---

I can look back and point out everything she wasn't, and everything she thought because she was young, and she didn't know better, and all her arrogance and melodrama, but that would be forgetting one very crucial thing --

She had the courage to jump and become who I am today -- certainly not a finished product or perfect or whatever it may be -- but someone I'm proud of. There's a song in Cirque du Soleil's Quidam that says "Someone I am is waiting for my courage/the one I want, the one I will become will catch me."


So whatever else she might have done, she had the courage to jump, and trust that I would catch her.

For that, I have to thank her.

The Aftermath: Paris the 2e Tour

I believe I mentioned, some time ago, that I was returning to Paris, and had some anxieties about it. I just looked through my recent posts and realized that I said nothing further, and yet one week ago, I returned from a ten day trip to the one city in the world that has managed to completely and utter capture my heart.

Well. Time to fix that.

I have trouble describing it in few words, but I think the main things are simple enough. The main anxiety was that returning to the place of such an incredible and life changing experience was bound to be a letdown, or strange, or that somehow my memory was rose-colored and I would not feel the same perfect peace and belonging as I did in living there. That I would feel the same terrifying unknowing that I did in returning to the USA after 11 months away, the same uncanny displacement that you can do nothing about but turn in circles until you find yourself (which didn't happen until December).

On this account, I shouldn't have worried. The second I arrived, I felt as though I had never left. Friends greeted me as though I had left the day before. The signs, the metros, everything. I only realized the sirens were different when one of my dancers pointed it out.

French people always ask me why in the world I would live in Paris when I could live in New York. I say, it's less stressful, and they say, well Paris is stressful too. I think it's not quite that, then -- the real fact of the matter is that Paris has an energy that I feel better in -- ça me correspond mieux.

The other thing about the trip was that it was so deeply and incredibly encouraging. The idea to come back for the April festival at Paris 7 started out as a mere possibility, a dream, and for a year it was all I thought about. Everything I did revolved around making it happen. I had dancers leave and a real dearth of funding until the last minute, but then suddenly we were there, and it was real. What had been a dream was reality, and it was exactly as I had wanted it to be.

Well, if I could do that -- suddenly it seems very possible to make other dreams come true. Of course, with time -- but I have time, my god I have so much time.

It was interesting -- people kept telling me how incredible it was that I did this, that I got a group from Columbia to Paris for the festival, and it allowed me to step back and be proud, because inside of it --

Honestly, it wasn't anything amazing. It was nothing more or less than something I had to do. Not doing it was not an option and therefore I had to find a way. Simple.

But either way, I know now, it's possible. You just have to be completely obsessed, and I am.

That's why, for the past week, I have not been depressed like I thought I might be after leaving Paris. I was missing it terribly on Tuesday, sure, but the pervasive energy has been so positive and exciting -- because I know I'm going back. I know it will be just as wonderful, and that I can make all my dreams come true.

You just have to give me a few years.

Everything is Always Perfect (Even when it's not)

I've mentioned this a few times to some of my friends, who always, being very sweet, open-minded people, nod and smile and say, sure, they suppose. But I thought it deserves a more in-depth look here -- at least so I can explain myself. It is, I admit, a sort of strange thing to say, in a world and a life so obviously UN-perfect.

The essence of it is this: I don't mean 'perfect' as in "perfection", or "utopian". These words suggest strange, vacant, vapid places of idyllic beauty, filled with vacant, vapidly happy people stumbling around in a daze on golden streets. No, I don't mean paradise.

I mean perfect as in the idea that everything is always exactly as it should be at any given time, as it must be, because it could not possibly be any other way.

This is not to be confused with the idea of "fate", which is a whole different animal. A cold and unfeeling universe unfolding with no chance of redemption or fixing what has already been given to you to break does not sound like my idea of a picnic. No, the universe is dynamic and changing and changes as we choose and create the realities we want to live in.

But at any given moment, everything is exactly as it needs to be. Perfect. Even if it's not perfect.

It's not an easy philosophy, but it's the only way to make sense of the world for me, especially because it demands a certain loss of judgment. Good and bad distinctions are the world's favorite way of speaking, and I just can't deal with it. I honestly don't believe in "good" or "bad" -- I believe things can be constructive or destructive. Construction leads to life, joy, creation. Destruction is pain, despair, and fear. One is certainly more desirable, but I am loath to use the word "better." I simply try to live my life in the most constructive and creation-oriented way possible, for myself and for those around me.

Getting back to the topic, if everything is always as it should be, then it's very hard to call things good or bad. They simply are. They are exactly what they are and nothing more or less. In that way,  you can just deal with things without the halo of connotations and judgments we carry around life in.

Sure, it requires a lot of patience, and trust, and I freely admit to not always following the philosophy as much as I'd like to. But I do try.

"Whether or not it is clear to you, the universe is unfolding exactly as it should."

Being Alive (Have you?)

On a number of programs and bios for various productions, I've started adding a silly little line, something I've been thinking about for several years. It's always among my life goals, and it's simple enough:

I would like to be the most alive person you've ever met.

What does that mean, anyway?

Honestly? I have no idea. I know what I think it means right now and what it used to mean, but it's a puzzle that I'm always chewing on in some shape or form. What does it mean, really, to be alive, and do you know anyone who has?

I know that I was alive in Paris. I think it's the closest I've ever been, at least. Thinking back, I remember so much of it being a haze, kind of like each moment was its own perfect eternity and I was perfectly inside each as it became the next. No brilliant flashes of light but light.

You know people who are alive. They sparkle, don't they? They explode outwards, they glow. They're stunning. I want to be them.

I was talking to a very good friend the other day, and she said that for me, it could be hard to do that, because I do too much. She said, hard to be alive when all you do is run around.

She knows me too well. It is indeed my challenge, and particularly epidemic to my life at Columbia. The energy here is do more, be more, and NYC is no different. I pick up energy very easily and then it gets into my blood and my bones and suddenly it's all I do, all I think about. Success, competition. For some people, it's nurture. For me, it's poison.

Step back. Do less, and be more. It was the only thing I could do in Paris, and I did it well. It's interesting to note that when I was in that state, I had incredible - almost scarily so - power to create and craft my life. I guess when you're in the Now, creation and reaction happen at the same time. Thoughts and intentions are not much different from reality.

I want to go back to that state, wherever I go, and wherever I live. I mean it when I put that sentence in my life goals, and I mean it seriously. I don't think it's ever something that I can say, okay, I've achieved this, but something to work towards and check and evolve. Find the life in alive, and be there fully.

Sounds like a good time to me.

Poetry Edition: Diamond Dirt

We were like criminals, covering diamonds with dirt. 
Hiding its brilliance, and so the guard should 
laugh to himself, thinking what fools, these two;
coveting dirt as though it were diamonds. 
And yet thinks again, were I to have a bag of gold, 
perhaps I too would cover it, to keep it safe, 
and with this thought blazing, he should spring to his feet, 
racing to where we are no longer, and, 
bitterly disappointed, should laugh to himself, 
thinking what a fancy I've had!; these were nothing but fools, 
and besides, were I to have a sack of diamonds
I'd wear them all on my fingers, and all would hail me, 
mistaking me for a King. 
Such foolish fools!, he should think, such stupid criminals, 
to cover their loot in dirt, and shuffle along 
like the depraved beggars they are, carrying sunshine
and calling it dirt. 

Life, tumbling along

Spring break is over, officially as of tomorrow morning at 9AM.

It seems very strange to me to be going back to school, classes, whatever it is I do on a daily basis. The break was no real break but a full, busy, insane mess of work and studio time, with a few late nights with friends because, sheesh, it's spring break. I spent 30+ hours in the studio and have the general feeling like I need another break from this one.

But it was life. It was life and it was full and now I can't imagine doing anything else. School -- like the midterm I have on wednesday and the fact that I never did write that paper for music hum I wanted to get out of the way -- is secondary, and mildly annoying.

I think they call that senioritis.

I started the week with a 24 hour fast, which I've never done before. I had noticed, some weeks previously, that eating had become an issue -- finding the time to eat, certainly, but I had also lost my desire to. Sure, I did it, because I know I need to, but nothing looked good, tasted good, and never really satisfied. Of course it didn't have to do with food, but the larger problem of nurture. We use food to nurture ourselves, to feed our souls as well as bodies, and I had simply lost that -- very important -- part of my life.

So I decided to stop eating for 24 hours and use the time to meditate about fulfillment and nourishment versus deprivation and figure out where I could find the nurture in my life. I turned off my internet and my phone.

It's funny: the best thing you can do for your appreciation of food is to not eat for a long time. Even just 24 hours.

It was a very, very good thing. It's interesting how in deprivation there's always fulfillment and vice versa -- another thought was that deprivation is now, not forever. It's only a state categorized by now, and has no bearing on any further nows. It's quite encouraging, actually.

In the mean time, life is moving quickly. Less than three weeks until I leave for Paris, and two months until graduation. Strange -- but so exciting. I've worked through all my anxieties about returning to Paris and have reached a state of delirious excitement. I just hope that the next couple weeks fly -- and with my life as crazy as it is, it should.

It's just like the title of this post. Life, tumbling along. Me, caught inside the now as it turns into the next now and the next after that, with 'after' somewhere between a dream and a reality. All I can do is walk in the direction I want to go, and assume that the path will arrange itself under my feet.

Stupid, or Visionary? (We'll find out in a few years)

I'm graduating in May. I think I've probably mentioned that. I certainly talk about it a lot -- I'm sure you've noticed, and can't wait until it happens so you can stop hearing about it.

Well, I talk about it because I can't stop thinking about it. What does it mean to transfer from the world of academics to the Real World? To be a "real person"? To live, to have time, to support yourself with the work you do?

It's a huge, giant, and pretty scary transition. I've spent 21 years in school, being schooled, etc. It's the only thing I know how to do. And now I, along with my classmates and countless others, must enter the world as it is and are somehow expected to live competently.

I'm not unique in going into the arts; however, I am one of few. In today's world, it seems like career suicide. The arts are dying, and the economy is already bad. How do I expect to make it Out There?

Well, how should I know?

I've noticed something that goes on in my head. I get a lot of e-mails about arts administration internships for the summer, most of which seem to be with reputable companies doing interesting work. I also get a lot of advice to go into teaching. And while I understand the reasoning behind both paths, and why it would probably be a Good Idea for me to pursue either or both options---

I don't.

Whyever not? Something in my chest just protests whenever I think about it. I had a dream, sometime last semester, in which I was wailing about not getting to go to a ball -- "I want to dance!" I remember waking up with that cry echoing in my ears.

No--I don't want to produce shows that I should be dancing in/choreographing, and I don't want to teach people to do what I should be doing myself.

Sometimes I think I really should consider it, just as a part-time solution. And then the screaming comes back. No, it says. Do what you want. What you love. And don't make compromises.

I'm either stupid, or a visionary.

I guess we'll find out a few years from now.