A Dream Begins…
It didn’t start out as a bad dream… It started out as the definition of a good spark… One that came from a bad situation which inadvertently created my dream… my nightmare… and my incredible journey.
When I was eleven I was accepted into one of the most prestigious modern dance companies in the nation and, to my luck, it was in NY. What dancer doesn’t dream of stepping into the “Big Apple” to see what all of the fuss is about? My mom booked our trip, secured an inexpensive apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, (Yes, they do exist), and then I had to break the news to my dance director that I wasn’t staying in FL for my home studio’s summer ballet program. While the latter doesn’t seem like much of a challenge it took quite some courage as I was incredibly scrawny at the time and she was petrified I would get hurt. I carefully crafted a letter to her and then I actually laminated it to make sure she knew I had written it and that both she and my mom could make no changes (FYI, lamination has also been a great tool with my letters to Santa Claus… I am convinced of that;). My director was amused and gave me the “go ahead,” provided that I work hard on spring semester core strength to avoid injury. Great! I began Pilates and registered in a local modern Horton dance class. The class was meant for older (and stronger) high school/college kids. I needed more core to keep up. My mom enrolled me in aerial silks to build more core to better do the Pilates which helped greatly to focus on Horton. This seems like a lot of blah, blah, blah but it sets up the story, I promise. I had become a core locomotive. Nothing was going to stop my vision of a summer in NY. Dancing, shopping, Broadway, eating (I had heard of an ATM that dispenses renowned cupcakes, NY must be heaven reincarnated)!
Then the unthinkable happened. My father came home early from his hospital job. He had a freak accident at work, sat down in a chair for a meeting, the chair broke and crashed into cabinets behind him and just like that he broke his neck in two places. He didn’t know his neck was broken, he just thought the head ache and neck/shoulder pain were more like a whiplash. We were only in the ER a matter of minutes when they inquired who his neurosurgeon was. His surgery was a bit more challenging than the doc thought. Coming home meant he had to sleep in his lazy boy chair at a 45 degree angle and on his back so the new pins and screws would have a chance to set. The problem lies with when you are in your deep sleep and roll over on your side unknowingly you can offset the pins and become paralyzed. That was the first real hurdle of this journey. Do we still go to NY? My mom and I both slept on couch in case he needed us, in case he rolled, in case… Of anything. He ended up with the complication of double pneumonia so back to hospital we went and now we talked seriously about whether we should pull the trip. A lovely surgeon overheard our conversation and said that he had danced with Judith Jameson back at Harvard. His experience was so grand that he personally took to over seeing my dad to get him on his feet and to take care of himself over summer. This would allow the dream to formulate.
We landed in NY. It is everything people say and I knew instantly I would call it home one day. The noise, the lights, the sounds, the smells, the traffic, the hustle on the streets; All of these things were exciting to me. So showing up on the first day for my dance intensive felt like this is what I had worked for… Only, I had worked a bit too hard. I was 11 and they immediately placed me in the 15 year old class due to my new-found strength and knowledge of Horton. Yay! I came home beaming. But I hadn’t considered that the 15 year olds did not like an 11 year old NON competition ballet dancer in their group. I got pushed around like a rag doll the first week. (Getting to the point, I promise). By Fri, I had to literally take a stand to hold my place at barre and at center. Elbowing, purposely being tripped, I had eaten my lunch in a corner by myself every single day to that point. I had never had trouble making friends before so this was all foreign to me.
My mom booked a weekend trip up north to see the famous dance retreat, Jacob’s Pillow. It was magnificent. The trees, the outdoor stage, the people who were excited that you came… It was a welcome break from the emotional turmoil of feeling not wanted in my dance class. We wandered into the Pillow’s store out of curiosity. There it was… The beginning of my dream. A breathtaking calendar by some guy I had never heard of… Jordan Matter. His pictures were all at or near Jacob’s Pillow. The dancers beyond all reason talented. I bought the calendar with my own money so I could hang it in my room in FL.. Back on the train to NY, back to this new physical bullying, Jacob’s Pillow was so dreamy I really didn’t want to leave.
Monday was most severe. I guess it was going from a weekend with such serene peace to the beginning of a week with such intense and utter unacceptance. I ate lunch alone, I stood in class alone. I felt so much dread over being pushed around that my mom wanted to say something to the program leader. I begged her not to because I didn’t want them kicked out of the program… I just wanted to be accepted.
I begged my mom to let it play out on stage. She reluctantly agreed. It did. I got a small solo that I got to choreograph with my own Haiku (A very short poem) and my hard work had earned me a highlight in our dance with the other girls who had also earned their solos. I would later become friends with many of “those girls.” They have become some of my favorite dancers to follow and I now respect them very much.
I brought my coveted calendar home but couldn’t bring myself to tear off the cellophane because it just felt too pretty, almost sacred so I placed the still wrapped calendar in my window where I could enjoy the cover picture every day. I was later fortunate to audition for two ballet programs over the next two years and enjoy NY equally as much as I had the first year, (minus the then mean girls).
On my third summer in NY the real magic of my dream began to form… Along with the real nightmare. I was going to have the chance to do a dance shoot with one of the most renowned dance photographers in the nation… You guessed it, Jordan Matter. By now I was abundantly aware of his book, Dancers Among Us. He had become a hero to me. I had never unwrapped my calendar from two years prior. I had hoped when he had heard that story it would be endearing to him… But reality is that I probably looked like a star struck geek… Nothing knew to that statement in my life. Awkward is my middle name. We set out to shoot. Magic. For those who are unaware, Jordan is not an average photographer. He is bold, adventurous, he loves a challenge. We ended up at a beautiful museum. We preplanned a pose, I ran out and threw it, the guard promptly asked us to leave. My mom asked, “Why?” The guard said, “Because she is wearing that.” My mom said, “So you cannot wear a pretty dress to a nice museum?” Guard said, “She can wear a pretty dress but she can’t be shot with a fancy camera by that man doing what she just did.” Jordan, “Can I use my iPhone?” Mom, “So she can wear a pretty dress but not express joy in front of such beautiful artwork while her dad catches one of the most magical moments she has ever felt in a museum? What about everyone else’s fancy cameras?” The guard sighed, we left, quite victorious, with bootleg shot in tow, hoping the guard wouldn’t call the cops or worse, have to retire early and be checked into a funny farm.
We ended the shoot with the “rain shot.” By the time I was doing this series, I felt a flood of emotions. Strength came from adrenaline. My pointe shoes were nothing more than wet pudding and I didn’t care. I felt like I was shooting for every girl who has ever been misunderstood, for every girl who had every been bullied, belittled, dismissed as nothing because they didn’t fit society’s version of perfection, for any girl who had been made to feel like social media is the core of ego and emotional strength. It isn’t.
Just prior to meeting Jordan in NY, I had performed an aerial silk piece in Maine about suicide that was incredibly emotional. A most beautiful woman, Jill Johnson-Mann, had seen my routine and asked if I had ever considered modeling. My dream burst into reality when later that week she walked me straight into the arms of lead scout, Erin Scimeca (Signed Mgmt) where I then signed a three year development contract with one of the best agencies in the nation. My journey was unfolding into a most exciting adventure. It feels like the story should maybe end there… A perfectly dreamy and most perfect scenario.
But then I woke up to a burst bubble of a bad dream. While my shoot had an overall positive response, I began to have my rose colored glasses removed when I learned that social media bullying can be just as horrifying as being physically bullied in person. I will refrain from most of the names used on me as they are not suited for younger children’s minds, my mind included, sigh. But, amongst the profanity, I was also deemed too fat (note; when tucked into a hug wearing wet jean shorts, it creates ripples in your skin that weren’t there because of extra pounds. When I stood up, for a different pose, same said people then called me anorexic). Both poses were within 20 minutes of each other, the people who were critical were both grown women and neither comment was valid. That was my first eye opener. Since then, I have had vicious boys call me horrific names and rage about my chest size via text (They received 3 weeks of suspension from school). I have also had grown men jump in and critique me by body type, chest size, and over all appearance. This is where it began to feel like I would never wake up from this bad dream. What did any of these people hope to accomplish by being so malicious?
The reality of social media is that it is a most amazing public platform if you need to be “discovered” in anyway… But it also comes with the dehumanization of people who put their lives on public display. Your life in pics gets copied, posted by other people, not always tagged properly, your name gets tagged to other people you don’t know who are wishing to get discovered, or worse… You end up on horrid sites that are inappropriate for underage girls to appear on by adults you once trusted but ultimately they are trying to boost their names and social media numbers, (Yes, that really happened, my pics were fully clothed and appropriate but most others on said site were not). People have become desensitized with technology. They forget there is a soul in the subject of the picture. Many adults forget that the pics are of impressionable young men and women whose hope of being discovered is really a hope of acceptance. I have learned great life lessons from waking up to this and from this bad dream… And fighting to find the positive within it certainly has not come without great effort. It is now a magical journey… You see… People can be brutal hiding behind their phones on social media… not just kids… But grown men and women as well. You take people’s bullets of hateful words and turn them into a sculpture that is yourself and what your emotion has shaped you to be, not what their cruel words and intentions meant you to be.Just do you. Just be you. No matter who you are or who you wish to be, you are your own perfect body, your own perfect mind, your own perfect dream. Enjoy your adventure.
