Biting Your Own Teeth

According to Pinterest (I know, I know) Alan Watts said, “Trying to define yourself is like trying to bite your own teeth.”

I have written about defining and labeling at several points over the years on this blog as well as for Dance Advantage.

I am in the midst of change with my relationship to dance and the proportions of focus through which I see and do. I think I write that every summer.

In my graduate study, I explored a movement curriculum as a method to alleviate symptoms of PTSD. Over the years, my teaching has taken principles of that work and implemented it into the structure of my classes as I worked with at-risk youth and others. I am finding myself currently drawn back into that world as I embark on some projects this summer. More on that to come.

This year, Daria Halprin’s book The Expressive Body in Life, Art, and Therapy: Working with Movement, Metaphor, and Meaning has never been far out of reach.  It has been influential and it brought me to this (page 64) about dance therapy pioneer Mary Starks Whitehouse, “She first called her approach movement in-depth and later authentic movement. She remarked that a significant turning point was the day when she realized that rather than teaching dance, she was teaching people. More than theory or philosophy, the inner life of the mover was of primary interest to Whitehouse. For her, movement was a way of becoming conscious more than a way to “act out”.” And here I am.

I have many friends navigating the waters of change right now: people leaving classrooms, leaving traditions, leaving fields, leaving relationships, leaving countries.

Change equals movement.

Once upon a time, I wanted to use my teaching to produce dancers. Then it was to also produce thinkers. Now it is also to help guide people to the knowledge they already hold. Do you see it? It is and, and. Not either/or.

Movement changes what we think and how we think it. What we think changes how we move.

I am observing the consciousness surfacing through my own movements. I am curious about the consciousness of inner life for these friends of mine as they move. I am finding the more I drop the labels and definitions, defense and offense, I am able to honor more of who I am rather and what I offer. My inner life is more thoroughly realized. I wonder if they are feeling the same.

I have spent years, decades actually, defining.            I want to stop.

I think the challenge of change hasn’t been about the change itself- the tasks, the environment, the affiliations. It has been about the shift in definition. If I am this now, does it mean that I am no longer that? No. At least not in my situations. It is altering the proportions, gaining more dimension by accumulating “ands”.

How are you moving these days? What is surfacing? What are you accumulating?

Something in the way she moves…..

There is something in the way my daughter moves that elicits strong physical memories of my childhood.

Both of my kids are highly kinesthetic. My son, perpetually fighting imagined villains, never stops darting, kicking, rolling, falling, and slicing- much to my annoyance (grungey floors in public places) and sometimes embarrassment (totally wrong moment as deemed by socially acceptable behavior).

G is incredibly silly but also incredibly intense. He is a thinker. A deep thinker. Yet, he enters and exits movement without much of a plan and with a total sense of confidence in the process of moving. Whatever happens- it will be good. Moving allows G to free himself in a way his mind won’t always let him do. And as such, sometimes he enters a “state” while moving that can make it hard for him to hear or process the world around him (hence the annoyance of falling, crawling, or rolling on disgusting surfaces in public places). He isn’t naughty, he is committed. He is living. In fact, if he thought he was doing anything wrong, he would be sad and maybe even a little worried. So when we talk about it before it happens, on our way into a store or whatever, he often says, “But I am sorry. I will try to remember but what if I can’t help it.” And then the sound effects resume, I sigh, and then say, “keep trying, kiddo”.

I also know that he doesn’t do this all of the time. He does this when he feels safe- emotionally, physically- like when he is with my husband or me, or a few others. He doesn’t do this in his classroom; he waits until the right time- recess or after school.

H on the other hand, is aware of everything in her environment when she is moving. She uses movement for problem-solving and for interpreting the world around her. She doesn’t trace new objects with her hands- she does it with her feet and sometimes her whole body. She is a climber, and her movement is controlled, precise, owned. She, in spite of being 2, knows her body well. She makes me hear my mother’s voice in my head telling me, with a sigh, to “put your legs down-it isn’t lady-like.” I now realize, given the tone of her voice and the presence of the sigh, talking to me must have been a lot like talking to G, even if the movement was different.

While I understand G’s relationship to movement, H’s relationship very much mirrors my own. Movement heightens her awareness. I was the dancer that noticed when the light cues were called at different times in spite of complex movement phrases and other performance stimuli. I was the dancer that could process outside of rehearsal hiccups that were interfering with the dance, even if the problem wasn’t near me spatially or obvious to me visually. When I sensed my way through the dance outside of rehearsal, the answers would come to me. Movement truly is how I interact with the world.

Beyond the front door……
I realize movement, and body, also determine much of how I relate to others and consequently how they relate to me. It isn’t a golden rule by any means, but I think I am noticing that even though the person I am with and I have a common verbal language, if we have drastically different movement/body experiences we have a hard time connecting. It goes beyond topics and moves into how we understand the world in addition to how we perceive it. I am often left feeling like I have no idea what to “say”.

It makes me watchful of how my kids interact with others and how people interact with them. It also makes me wonder about the social norms and how much movement impacts personal impressions beyond mere body language (posturing and facial expression) and levels of energy. I think about the labels that are often doled out and how sometimes it seems to be a matter of relationship to movement. No new revelations there, of course, but I feel for the kids (people) that don’t have an adult or someone in their life that understands and can advocate.

In my teaching, I spend a lot of time thinking and talking about learning styles so that all learners feel welcomed and can access the material I want them to adopt. While I have understood, intellectually, that there are different kinds of kinesthetic learners this summer time with my kids has been especially enlightening.

Hope you are enjoying the movement of summer, too.

Leading Me Here

Ten years ago I was living in NYC. I loved it. Good and bad, I loved every bit of it. Every blade of grass in the Sheep Meadow in Central Park. Every bookstore. Every pretzel cart. Every step stepped where history was made and interesting people walked before.

Ten years ago I was pursuing the life of a dancer. I loved this a little less. I had a hard time finding where I belonged. But I loved the volume of dance, the accessibility to dance, the appreciation of dance. I loved figuring this out.

One day, ten years ago everything turned upside down. My journey back to my apartment on 175th from midtown was the loneliest of my life. I walked with strangers. I could call no one. Thankfully, I had spoken to my family in Michigan before I left the store in which I worked. Black fighter jets flew low overhead. I remember wishing that if I walked long enough, I could walk into my dad’s lovely backyard in Michigan. I visualized it. I thought about stopping in Central Park. I continued on. I eventually made it to my apartment. I entered and closed the door. I put my back to the door, and slid down it in tears. Years later, without the tears, this slide was the first significant image in my graduate thesis solo. The next image represented my world turned upside down. I am in the fetal position. It is the picture in the header of this blog.

Days later, ten years ago, things re-oriented themselves but nothing was the same. Perspective. Now I had it.

Ten years ago, I realized I needed to give back. I needed to teach. But I wasn’t exactly ready yet.

Nine years ago, I moved to LA to be with my love and to dance with one of my best friends.

Eight years ago, my husband and I returned to Michigan so I could attend grad school. I thought earning my MFA and teaching at the college level would be a way to give back. Teaching in higher education seemed the way to reconcile my goals: teaching and giving back.

Six years ago, I completed my degree and interviewed for college jobs. I learned a lot. The position I ended up taking was one in a visual and performing arts magnet high school. Had I seen the posting, I probably wouldn’t have applied for it. It wasn’t what I thought I wanted. As it turned out, it was what I needed.

Four years ago, as I was completing my K-12 certification a glitch surfaced, forcing me to explore “back up” plans in case I was not able to return to my high school gig due to a paperwork error. I accepted a job in higher education, at a liberal arts college.

For three years, I really enjoyed the job. I appreciated the time it allowed me to experiment in teaching and the freedom it provided me to approach my content area from unique angles. The school was small enough change could happen quickly and since I was the entire dance faculty, program meetings were a breeze. My students were nice, polite, responsible. Several were deeply invested in what we were doing. Many, I think, sincerely enjoyed our time together even though they were in my class to fulfill a gen ed requirement. Again, I learned a lot. And then it ended. The College had to make some decisions and they ended up cutting programs. Dance, unfortunately, was one of them.

One year ago, I returned to the high school job I left years ago. Much has changed. I still love the staff. I still enjoy the students. We embraced change and beautiful things emerged. The kids of this district need an outlet and an opportunity. If dance can be a gateway to any of those things, I feel it is my responsibility to help.

One week ago today, I accepted a position teaching at the K-8 visual and performing arts magnet in the same school district. This time, I need the change. I think this position is slightly more stable. This position is more challenging to me since I’ve not taught this age group in public ed before. And boy, is this staff supportive of arts integration! I feel a little guilt over leaving my high school students. We had big plans for this year. But I also know that I made the right choice.

I spent three days last week working with new colleagues on dance integrated lesson plans and performance plans. I need this.

Now, when I think about teaching in higher ed, I enter an internal debate. Is that really what I want? Or is it my ego talking? I think right now it might be my back up plan. Just as I did when I was dancing, I am always looking for my next gig. It doesn’t mean I am not committed to the one I have, I just never know when it might end.

Now, as I think about dance, dance training, and related topics, I see things far differently than I did when I was pursuing the life of a dancer. I see the need to support the whole person. I see the necessity in looking at attributes of dance rather than focusing on attributes of the dancing body.

There are times I wonder what all of this has done to my identity as a dancer. Or my reputation. I have spent time wondering how much dancing one needs to do in order to still be considered a dancer. Or is about performing? Is it about daily class? Is it about the dancer’s spirit? How much dancing does a dance writer do?

What I have realized is that I am no longer pursuing a dancer’s life. I am living it. Life changes. It adapts. Even for dancers. Our relationship to dance shifts. The purpose of dance in one’s life morphs. And it is okay.

Ten years ago, if I’d been asked where I would be in ten years I may have said still in NYC and “making it”.

Instead, my house is filled with the noise of superheros flying and falling “like bad guys”, of bad recordings of fake monkeys and elephants from a contraption called “a jump-a-roo”. My dog is asleep on the floor next to me. There are five roses in a vase on the table in front of me that my husband grew and cut for me. Later today, I will spend more time on lesson plans for the kids I meet tomorrow. I have notes to give my very patient dancers for a piece that goes up in two weeks. I’ll make dinner and spend quality time with my family. My life as a dancer has allowed for all of this.

It’s okay.