On Dreaming
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a fiercely passionate dreamer. A bunhead to the core, my bedroom walls were plastered with magazine clippings of Wendy Whelan, Suzanne Farrell, and Margot Fonteyn. I simply couldn’t imagine anything less than being Odette, encouraging myself “a dream is just a dream until you make it come true.” Hyper-aware of my anatomical limitations, I worked as hard as my pre-teen body would allow. Screw playing it safe and relying on my straight A’s to point me towards a stable career. A precocious perfectionist as early as age 13, “settling” was never in my vocabulary.
Initially, my unshakable drive came from my ballet teachers not so secretly favoring the other girls who had “better” bodies. By simultaneously ignoring me and praising the others (none of whom did become professional dancers), they ingrained in me a deep desire to prove my worth. Desperate to prove them wrong, passion became my fuel. Instead of hearing their insults, I listened to myself and kept dreaming.
I dreamed my way to boarding school at age 16 where I finally had to face my gymnastics-shaped thighs, stubbornly inflexible hips and hideous cankles. Loathe as I was to admit I would never have a ballerina’s body without starving myself and breaking my own feet, I had no choice. Too practical (and too Italian) to consider starving myself, I knew that if I really wanted to be a dancer, I had to find another way. No problem, I could adjust my dream to reflect my reality. Lucky for me, that was also the year I learned what it’s like to have supportive dance teachers. It was refreshing (if not a little unnerving) to finally have teachers who applauded my work ethic, pointed out my strengths, and truly appreciated my talent. Suddenly, this pink-tights-hairnet-wearing-bunhead turned into a Modern Dancer.
With my hair down and feet bare, I found I didn’t miss the tutus and pointe shoes. The New Dream was a reality within 5 years of landing in NYC. I danced with so many small companies in so many small black box theaters in front of audiences of as few as 4 people. The little girl who dreamed of performing her 32 fouettés at the New York State Theater may have been disappointed, but she could get over it. Adult Wendy was A Professional Freelance Modern Dancer! I happily hustled, holding as many as 6 jobs at one time, supporting myself in the big city, auditioning, taking class, Being a Dancer.
Over an 18 year career, I’ve embraced every obstacle, discovered new hobbies and interests from circus to rock climbing, battled my way back from injury multiple times, traveled the world, started a business, all while still taking class and performing. And then 3 weeks ago, I broke my foot for the second time in less than 2 years. I could very easily sit here and say it was just a fluke. And in many ways, it was. I jump really high and I land really hard. But if I’m being honest with myself, I knew instantly my left foot was trying to tell me something. I’ve learned a lot of lessons from my past injuries, but they were often pretty simple: I’m not yet ready to quit dancing. I need to strengthen my hamstrings. I love circus, but I love dancing more.
Maybe its age, maybe its wisdom, but I had a hunch this lesson would be BIG. And indeed it was. During a particularly challenging moment of self-reflection while awaiting surgery last week, I realized that these 2 breaks happened during eerily similar moments in my career: Moments when I’d been feeling deeply melancholy about myself as a dancer, questioning my talent and my worth, utterly desperate to be dancing full time. Moments when I was constantly putting disclaimers all over my career: “yeah, I dance in the Metropolitan Opera House, but it’s only one opera each year.” “Yes, I’ve danced with the Mark Morris Dance Group, but it’s only three weeks a year.” “Yeah, I’m in really great shape, and dancing really well, but I only get to dance because I take ballet class. I’m barely a professional dancer.” I was so subconsciously consumed by the fact that I hadn't reached that one little dream that I was ignoring the ACTUAL DREAM that was my ACTUAL LIFE. What was my problem?!
After all this time, unbeknownst to me, I was still being ruled by Bunhead Wendy petulantly refusing to let go of her dream. She was judging me, hard, and I felt like I had failed. The truth is, I am grateful for all I’ve accomplished, the incredible people I’ve had the privilege of performing with. I’ve had a hell of a career up to this point, and I don’t plan on quitting any time soon. I LOVE my life. I really sincerely do. As embarrassed as I am to admit that it took me breaking my foot (twice!) to learn this, I don’t know that I would've made the connection otherwise: I have to allow myself to mourn the loss of my childhood dream in order to fully embrace this new dream that I have created.
Dreams are fickle. And they have to be fickle in order to keep up with life’s fluctuations. Dreaming will simultaneously ground you and keep your head in the clouds, a magical combination that gives you purpose and freedom and drive and joy. And to save you all the trouble of breaking your foot, I will leave you with this: Dream. And dream big. And then face reality and see if you can still dance towards that same dream. And then rewrite your dream. And rewrite it again. And again. And again. Not every dream will come true. But that doesn’t mean you’re a failure. I have to say that again, as much for myself as for you. If your dream doesn’t come true, that does not mean you have failed. Chances are, all the fighting and learning and overcoming obstacles and striving and ambition and passion and joy will teach you so much more than simply achieving that one single dream ever could.