What do you do?

Originally posted on OnStage Dance Company website blog:

What do I do?

I dance.

And I travel. And I work. And cook. And eat. And teach. And fail. And laugh. And write. And sometimes run. And sometimes not. And I explore. And get lost. Very often. And also trip. And I love. And create. And I procrastinate, unfortunately, more than I’d like to admit.

Oh, and I read.

And recently I read a book entitled The Geography of Bliss and I want to tell you a little something about it. No, it is not a self-help read, although maybe, in a way, I suppose it is. The book follows NPR correspondent Eric Weiner as he travels the world in search of the happiest place on Earth. Despite the adage, I often judge books by their covers, and the world map folded into a paper airplane ready to launch, pictured on the front of this memoir, drew me immediately to the outdoor sale rack of a locally-owned bookshop. I have a small but aggressive strand of wanderlust, and when I can’t be traipsing the globe, displacing myself into different landscapes and cultures, I enjoy living vicariously– this time, through self-proclaimed grump Eric Weiner.

The book was really good; you should read it! But, I digress. As he travels from one country to the next, West to East and back again, Weiner explores positive psychology from all angles and landscapes—unpacking the different ways we define happiness and seek it; how we quantify it, and how it manifests in ways beyond measure. In addressing some of these differences, he notes that each country has a “cocktail party question”—a simple, one-sentence query which, based on that population’s priorities and interests “unlocks a motherlode of information about the person you’ve just met.” In Switzerland, he observes, it is “where [what town] are you from?” In Britain, “What school did you attend?” I think in Ecuador the question would probably be “What do your parents do for a living?” and in Thailand, perhaps “How much money do you make?” or “Can you eat spicy?”

Take any or all of these with a grain of salt, of course, but I really think that Weiner may have hit the nail on the head for the good ole U.S. of A:

What do you do?

Truly. Have you noticed? This itty bitty sentence– these four, one-syllable words, strung together with upward inflection– are inserted into nearly every new encounter. I know what you’re thinking– harmless, right? Perhaps, but speaking as someone who is in a state of professional “transition” (as I like to call it), and was un[der]employed for the better part of last year, let me tell you that I have developed a strong aversion to the cocktail party question. What do I do? Is this what I want to be doing? Does it bring me pride? Fulfillment?  Self-worth? Is what I do to pay (or not) the bills really what makes me “me”? I’ll spare you the nitty-gritty, but suffice it to say that, for me, 2013 was largely a minor existential crisis.

So what does this disjointed mess of a blog post have to do with OnStage Dance Company?

I danced my entire life—from “animal crackers in my soup” at age three, up through college, after which point other goals, adventures, jobs, passions, pursuits, and probably excuses let the performance-based dance that I love fall to the wayside. I don’t regret any of these goals, adventures, jobs, ect. The past five years have been challenging and remarkable. But dancing is part of the very fibers of who I am.

I’ve never been the best dancer in any group of which I’ve ever been a part; my technique certainly leaves plenty to be desired. But when people see me dancing, I believe that they can see my love for it. I believe that this love shines out my fingertips and toes and elbows and eyeballs, and that they understand something that is more fundamental to who I am than waiting tables or answering telephones could ever be. Dance is expression in its most rudimentary form—requiring no tools, no instruments outside from your own body and mind. It is celebratory. It is poetic. It is collaborative and it is athletic. It is the most satisfying mix of creativity and endorphins.

Dancing again, for the first time in years, was part of an effort to shift my focus from what I did not know to what I do. I’m still searching for a better sense of geography– of my own place and purpose in this world– but in the meantime I’ve managed to accept this uncertainty and turn toward those things that I know bring me happiness. Dancing with OnStage this past season was an opportunity to stretch my body and soul in a way I hadn’t in some time, and to meet a wonderful community of people who share that passion. Dancing and friends. These are things that make sense to me. These are things that bring me bliss.

I know that this story is not unique. I know that these are the questions of many-a-20-something-year-old, and it is unnerving, though also strangely comforting, to realize that these also may be the same questions of so many older and wiser than me. For the time being, I am following my bliss, and I think that that is a good strategy. Even as the uncertainty moves aside to make way for stronger, clearer goals, I hope to always remain committed to a more holistic definition of “self” than what I do to pay the bills.

I’ve never been a whiz at math, but I do know that the sum is always greater than its parts, and I believe that I am greater for the arts.

Faster, Higher, Stronger

Anyone who knows me knows that my attention span for athletic events– any athletic events– is pretty short (read: nonexistent), and my understanding of athletics, even less (read: negative existent). My uncle loves to tell the story of the time when I sat by him at a Hartford Whaler’s hockey game and earnestly asked why a player was sent to the penalty box for “stick holding”… aren’t they all holding sticks?  And it wasn’t but three or four years ago that I turned to my older sister while watching a Red Sox game from her couch to declare that the “back-catcher”‘s pants looked far too tight, and he should really loosen his belt.  Once she understood that I was referring to the umpire, it was a hot second before all other members of my immediate family caught wind of my idiotic remark (thank you, texting).  And, lest I forget… perhaps not just a testament to my lack of sports sense, but common sense too… the time, MANY YEARS AGO, when I asked how many quarters were in a football game.  Good one, Christine.

But, the Olympics I can get behind.  There’s something special about an event that can incite so much patriotism and camaraderie… even I have to jump on the bandwagon.  Politics and religion and Sox versus Yankees and everything that we feud about are set aside, and so long as we’re all tuned into NBC, we’re all on the same team. Team USA.  I always laugh at those guys who get so invested in their team that they won’t change their underwear or brush their teeth until the championship is through.  Honestly, do you really think that your ugly, patchy, grody whiskers are so divine that you’ll squander a Superbowl victory if you so much as give ’em a trim?  Yes, I do realize that this is often done in jest, but then I have to wonder: is it really?  Some part of them, I think, really believes it.

Well, this is a shout out to all you grody bearded fellas with the foul-smelling breath!  This is to say, that while I will continue to wash my underwear, I can kind of almost see where you’re coming from. Because when those Olympians stand up on that podium, the American flag triumphantly billowing behind them and the Star-Spangled Banner sounding out of my television set, a part of me truly believes that I have a claim to some of that gold hanging around their necks.  And when they’re blubbering into the reporter’s microphone that “this one’s for you, America!”, some part of me really does swell with pride.  You’re welcome, Michael Phelps!  You are welcome.

So, yesterday morning I suddenly got very excited for the big event, and was quickly disappointed to find that the Internet had failed me.  Alas, I’d been able to find next to zero coverage on YouTube so early in the morn, and no satisfactory streaming sites.  I’m going to keep hunting, but, as chance would have it, I did manage front row seats to Suphan’s own little version of the Olympics this past week.  And, while perhaps it was no London 2012 Opening Ceremony, the students at Sa-Nguan Ying did put on quite the impressive show!

Imagine the curiously Thai love-child of the Olympic Games and a U.S. Field Day, at a Lady Gaga concert, and that was the Sa’Nguan Ying Sport Festival.  Schools and universities all over the country shut down for this annual spectacle of color, choreography, competition, and camaraderie.  And it was awesome.

The students were divided into teams and assigned a color, around which the older kids led the littles in designing costumes, banners, chants, and cheers.  On the first day of the Sport Festival, the kids paraded from the market in the city-center to school, banging drums, twirling batons, and pushing home-fashioned floats down the street as cars, motorbikes, and tuk-tuks weaved in and out.  Yes, remember that this is Thailand, people… no streets were shut down in the making of this parade. Instead, the children and motorbikes shared the road peacefully as one.

They looked so grown up… It was hard to believe these are our kids!

Some of the older girls donned traditional Thai dress, poofy princess gowns, or Gaga-inspired warrior dresses, while the M1’s and 2’s charged into battle with cardboard swords and pompoms in hand.

Eyeballs and the Earths seemed to be reoccurring themes, but I’ll have to ask my kids for more on that on Monday.

After the parade, the students stood in groups behind their team banner while the National Anthem was played, opening remarks made, and the torch– yes, the torch– was lit.

Next came the cheerleading competition. But Thai cheerleading, I learned, is far more theatrical than any I’ve seen stateside.  In a word, it was a production. While the kids danced and cheered in funky and elaborate costumes, equipped with sets and props, their color teammates in the stands had their own choreography to perform, waving flags and fans and pompoms, while others chanted and amp-ed up the crowd with their drum beats.  Every kid in the school had a role to play, and each one carried out their duty with heaps of enthusiasm!

And, finally it was onto the football and basketball tourneys.  On Day 2 of the Sport Festival I watched my M4 boys face my M5 boys in a bball match.  Torn between my babies, I found myself cheering for both teams.

In the end, M4 was no match for Nai and his jump shot

Luckily, this won’t be a problem during the Olympics.  The US has my allegiance, of course, but still, it doesn’t feel right rooting against Thailand, which has been my home for nearly 10 months.  So, I’ve decided that since a Muay Thai gym here in town has welcomed the other farang and myself to work out with them for free, and because it is a super bad ass National Sport, Thailand can share my support in the Olympic boxing ring, and the U.S. can have the lot of it everywhere else.

And, of course, I’ll be cheering for Donn Cabral, the baby brother of an old high school friend, as he represents Team USA in the Steeplechase.  If Michael Phelps and his 12,000 calorie diet can win this anti-athlete’s attention, you better believe that I’ll be tuning in to see Donny kill it on the track.  Still, finding a place to watch the Games while I am weekending on the tropical island paradise of Ko Tao next Friday might prove difficult…

… I’m crying you a river as we speak. 🙂

You’re already doing it

To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest.  Otherwise you are doomed to a routine traverse, the kind known to yachtsmen who play with their boats at sea… cruising, it is called.  Voyaging belongs to seamen, and to the wanderers of the world who cannot, or will not, fit in.  If you are contemplating a voyage  and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change.  Only then will you know what the sea is all about.

“I’ve always wanted to sail to the south seas, but I can’t afford it.”  What these men can’t afford is not to go.  They are enmeshed in the cancerous discipline of security.  And in the worship of security we fling our lives beneath the wheels of routine– and before we know it our lives are gone. 

What does a man need– really need?  A few pounds of food each day, heat and shelter, six feet to lie down in– and some form of working activity that will yield a sense of accomplishment.  That’s all– in the material sense, and we know it.  But we are brainwashed by our economic system until we end up in a tomb beneath a pyramid of time payments, mortgages, preposterous gadgetry, playthings that divert our attention for the sheer idiocy of the charade.  The years thunder by, the dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience.  Before we know it, the tomb is sealed.  Where, then, lies the answer?  In choice.  Which shall it be: bankruptcy of purse or bankruptcy of life?

 -Sterling Hayden

A veteran teacher and globe-trotter at the high school I teach at printed this quote, from Sterling Hayden’s The Wanderer.   He slipped it to me in the hallway last September, shortly after my return from my summer adventure in Ecuador.  It remained posted to the cork bulletin by my desk until today, and my friend’s words still sing in my ears.  “Some people figure it out too late,” he said “but you’re already there.  You’re already doing it.”

There isn’t anything wrong with the quote-unquote routine traverse.  I come from a family that was always able to provide for me.  This is the reason that I am not shackled by college loans or buried beneath the pyramid of time payments, and they are the safety net that I know would catch me if somehow my vessel were to sink.  And I know that I want a family of my own someday, and that I want to give my children the same opportunity to boldly pursue their dreams.

Still, I feel that pull of the south seas, and I know that, right now, I cannot afford not to go.  Security someday, yes.  But right now I am young and I am free and I fear that if I do not set sail, my dreams will follow in the wake of expectation my entire life.

This week I gave my official resignation at work.  I’ve heard that I am crazy to quit my job in this economy, but I think that I might be crazier not to.  The time to go after your dreams is always “now,”  and as my wise friend has assured me, I’m already doing it.  So, goodbye Boston, cya lata stable income, and good night old woman whispering “hush.”  Hello to my adventure.