We Are Artists, Creating in the Moment

That day the theater was more of a cracked-out dance gymnasium rather than a sanctuary to sit and indulge in a piece of soul-shifting performance art. It was dance competition weekend and that last of the year for my crew of miniature music box ballerinas and hip-hop princesses. I find at these competitions that my hands become laced with not only a sticky mixture of hairspray and glitter but with a strange combination of anxiety and excitement.  This is their world and they live for it. And I, although a prominent and necessary character, as a classically trained ballet dancer, do not fully understand the thrill of it.

And today was the epitome of this new world. So when the coaches and choreographers were graced with an hour break that afternoon we drifted off to a lonely dressing room beneath the madhouse of a stage, to rejuvenate.

….

“Do something with my hair.” She says exasperated. “Braid it.”

“Okay.” I say, as I sauntered over to do the hair of my co-worker, partner in crime, and woman who had lived in a hair salon for the entirety of her life.

Now, I like braiding hair. Crafting hairstyles is something that makes sense to me. This piece fits here, that one belongs there. There are no big mistakes to doing hair. You can pick and place and try again and envision the path to a great up-do along the way.  But when she said, “You are an artist.”, it really caught me off guard.

“Really, most people only see an end result” she goes on “but you are able to work as you see fit. I can tell by the way you handle each piece of hair.”

And you know what? She was right. I realized at that moment I had no idea where I was going with this hairstyle. I had found myself mesmerized by the task at hand. I was totally lost in it, and it did look fantastic. 

“Perhaps, you missed your calling.” She shakes her head and sighs.

…….

I’ve been thinking about this moment for a significant portion of time now.  What does it mean to be an artist? If art is about what you make of it as your go, then maybe I am an artist.

What else in my life was brewed by improvisation?

My most successful choreography pieces had been crafted in the moment and out of necessity. Put on the music, feel the rhythm and let it become you. I find my body will tell me what I must do to make sense. I rarely know how it will end until, well the end. And sometimes, the endings feel the most genius of all, because....

To Be Continued. 

Read the end at The Duck and The Owl. 

The Duck and The Owl

http://theduckandtheowl.wordpress.com/

I have two marvelous friends who have started to write an equally marvelous blog! 

This is a blog for everyone who loves pop culture, travel, current events and living a joyful life. 

Travel to The Duck and The Owl, to meet a couple exceptional birdies.  

Oh, and don't forget to check out Tenley Tuesdays on The Duck and The Owl too, where I will be writing about, well, whatever moves me at the moment.  I'm so excited to be sharing a bit of this wonderful adventure with my besties. 

Wooden Nickels

"Don't take any wooden nickels. They won't buy you anything."

Coming Home

This past weekend I went home to the smallness of my hometown.  And I mean smallness quite literally. It is so minute that it would be nearly impossible to actually pinpoint on a map. Nearly everything about it is small, even some minds.  However, as I grow older I tend to find myself convincing myself that quaintness can also be charming. And after all, I did live a fairly fortunate childhood.

So anyway, a few days ago I found myself driving through familiar highways, streetlights, run-down family businesses, and well, it is Wisconsin... so spring snow as well. No matter how many years pass between the years I've lived elsewhere, these streets feel like coming home. They are paved with my adolescent dreams and elementary ideals. All the hopes I ever had, were seeded and planted here in the smallness of these streets.

At Home

At home, I come home to embarrassing school pictures, appliances from the 70's, the smell of pine, and my parents. My dad is recently retired and has a newfound love of bird-watching. His eyes look tired lately but the mischief behind them is still very prevalent. He is an 8 year boy at heart, which is probably why he is such an incredible uncle to my 4 year old cousins. He is also exceptional at hide and seek, handwriting, hiking, biking, and knowing every baseball fact known to man. He is the most tenderhearted and sensitive man I know and although in high school his worrying drove me absolutely bonkers, at least now am I understanding of his concern.

My mother is a business woman. She has bold strength in her profession and watching her has taught me the resilience of womankind. She used to travel a lot when I was growing up and therefore was my window to culture. She had seen Japan, Scotland, and England and at the time I was still wishing for a simple glance of out-of-town. She is driven, practical, and usually gives great advice. She doesn't know how beautiful she actually is or that 'mom jeans' aren't a part of the parenting dress code. She always strives to give her family the best. And between you and me, she always has given the best.

I am blessed to have this particular set of parents. We are pretty well suited and I hope to never take them for granted.

Wooden Nickels

One of the few pictures I have. 

I see the active love my parents have for their parents too. My grandpa, for instance,  is epitome of 'ailing with grace' and my father is consistent with his visits, phone calls, and "I love you"s.  So this past weekend I went home to play cards with family and my grandfather who is now tangled in a touch of alzheimers.

Every Christmas eve I find myself on my grandpa's house, counting ornaments, and in a flurry of other grandchildren. (My grandpa had 14 kids, so our family tree might seem a bit overgrown to some folks.)

Now, perhaps due to loving over-analysis, I've decided that his advice is actually quite relevant. Sure, fake money isn't as prevalent in the sense it used to be, but fake people certainly are. 

For You

We are living amidst a society of fake. It is becoming extremely challenging to be a real shiny silver nickel in this world full of wooden ones. Photoshop, over processed foods, banned literature, and unrealistic television programs all taint our reality. What's real and what is fake? Isn't is a battle to know sometimes? Even personalities can be faked. 

But, listen to grandpa's advice. "They won't buy you anything." Being untrue to yourself won't get you anywhere and surrounding yourself with fake friendships won't benefit you either.  My family is in many ways my silver nickel, and so is the smallness of my hometown. Coming home reminds me of who I used to be, how much I've grown, and what parts of my life I need to rekindle. It reminds me to not lose sight of who I once was. Yes, my past doesn't define me but it did help shape me in to the woman I am today. And I am learning to fall in love with who I am. 

My wish is that you learn to love yourself.  Let's strive to be truly be ourselves in this plastic world. Let us expose ourselves to reality. Let our childhood ambitions become valid again. Our true selves are worth more any phony version could ever be. We are worthy and worthwhile. No need to change or fake it to fit someone else's standard. 

Permission to Wander

Preface:

Recently, I've been feeling stuck, placid, and uncertain.  I feel like I'm here, there, and nowhere at all. I'm in the midst of a tug-of-war with my dreams and I'm not certain what will conquer in the end. It's big ideas vs. reality. The big ideas keep evolving and pushing and reality keeps pulling me down...
down...
down.

I'm not really sure what I want anymore or even, what I need. I've been struggling with myself about myself. Typically, when I do this it's over some petty perfectionist flaw but this time it's different. I'm struggling with my life's goals.  I'm 24, a semi-recent college grad, and not at all where I imagined myself to be at this point in life. Don't get me wrong, I know I am blessed beyond reason, but that doesn't change the trapped feelings I possess. I know I have the ability to change life at anytime, but it is scary to put on those "big-girl decision pants" sometimes.  I have to decide what to do and I've been leaning on my friends a lot lately.

Part One:

I am lucky enough to have a supply of good friends. I know that wherever certain friends reside (no matter the inches or miles between) we can have pillow-talk anytime. And with everything that's consuming my thoughts lately, I'm finding myself nestled in their advice and encouragement. I've learned that the world will shut you down, turn you down, and flip you upside down (roller coaster style). The world is unpredictable and so are many friendships. Yet, true ones will last and those friends who are meant to be in your life, those who enhance your life, will remain. 

My advice to you: find the few good ones-- the ones who make you cry of laugher or can unleash your creative spirit and keep them. Then, let the other friends go. Let those that enrich you little run free to find their true besties.

I have a small number of best friends. A couple are old high school friends (who go gaga for the nostalgia of small town life and the arts), some are my camp soul mates (and I mean soul mates --who are so creative and caring), some are college friends (who have seen me post crazy nights on the town and still love me) and a few newfound, yet, extraordinary.

The exceptional gal of interest for this post has been my best friend since college. In fact, we were roommates.  She has guided me through breakups, exams, dance team tryouts, cooking experiments, and job searching. She has literally held my hand during life's uppiest ups and downiest downs. She was by my side when my grandpa died, shared a dorm room when that one boy who shall not be named broke my heart, and she was there smiling at me on my graduation day. I love her. She is the sister I always begged my parents for and because she is that sister, she drives me absolutely nuts sometimes. I push her and she pushes me right back. I can be red mad at her and miss her at the same time. We are family and you may never understand, but that's okay. Our friendship has had its rocky patches and been to some severely desolate places. But family never leaves and she was always there in my heart even when I stupidly wished she wasn't. The truth of it is... she makes me a stronger person and deserving her friendship is one of my greatest achievements. So, it's no wonder when fronted with my quarter life crisis she knew exactly what to say...

Part Two:

"Give yourself permission to wander." 

Conclusion:

Permission to wander. What a freeing statement! I've been thinking about it all day. I am allowed to be uncertain, to not know what to do, and to feel lost. I have permission to try new things without a guarantee of immediate success or happiness. I have the right to change my mind and turn back around. I have given myself consent to decide my calling as I go. I can own these ambiguous feelings and make them mine. I am allowed to mold my existence as I go. I can make mistakes without remorse, because I have permission to wander.

Oh, to not forget.

For you: 

Give yourself permission to wander.  It's a simple and as complex as that. Now, be a good bestie and remind your friends that you will be by their side though all of their meandering, wishing, and wandering. They have permission too.

Tuesdays

Feeling free dancing in the ocean this spring. 

A taste of some freedom is honestly all I’m aching for. A simple touch of the delicious appeal of free-spiritedness and flight. To feel nostalgic for these present days. To miss the people who have spiraled themselves into my daily routine and think of them fondly as I run away wild with my dreams. To say to the most mundane of Tuesdays— “You no longer trap me here!” To perhaps, even scream it, without the slightest sense of shame. I want to truly have no chains. I want to grab life and slap it in the face. I want to slap the ‘reality’ of what ‘they’ say I can accomplish back at it and flash the world with the brightest of my successful scores. The bands with march, the music with play, the parade route will lengthen at the mention of it all. Colored confetti will shoot out of the crowds’ hearts. Hope will return to the masses and Tuesday will no longer just be Tuesday. Tuesdays will be days for daydreaming, whispering, listening, praying, meditating, studying ourselves, and small significant adventures.  On Wednesdays we will dance and shout and lengthen the sonographs of our proud and worthy voices like kites soaring to the heavens. We will hold hands on Thursdays and Fridays and be reassured by this simple human interaction. We will leave fingerprints of ourselves upon others and we will change one another. We will fill each others’ ears and heads with our passions. I want to taste this kind of freedom. I want to get myself out of this cage of everydayness and find something that endearingly inspires me to see the world in greens, blues, and reds. I want the warmth of the sun-kissed future of our generation to finally place itself upon my cheek. I want to discover hope and brand its essence on my chest.  I want my friends to ever be surrounded by peace and joy. A peace and joy that is humble, sincere, and so deserved. I want to lay under the stars and feel the vastness of the earth engulf me. I want to be swallowed by calm and understanding. To drown in the grace and beauty of feeling that I am exactly where I ought to be. I am ready to run dangerous fast to this freedom.

In Defense of Duckie.

  

Andie and Duckie looking pensive and perfect together. 

Thanks to Netflix, I've been spending my free time shamelessly consuming 80's teen flicks. Last night, I indulged in the classic era-iconic movie, Pretty in Pink. Now, first I must admit, I've watched this movie throughout most of my teeny-bopper days and even before my daily obsession of the early 2000's, Gilmore Girls, told me it was cool to love Molly Ringwald and her flawlessly gaudy clothing. I've seen the film play in and out dozens of time, all the while wishing it would end with Andie (the beautiful leading home-made fashionista) and Duckie (her dorky, quirky, slightly effeminate best friend) together. Spoiler alert--- it never does. Never. Andie consistently winds up tongue-tangled with Blane (a pretty 'richie' with tame taste in music), and I remain slightly heartbroken over it.  So, what is it about the underdog that intrigues and pulls at my heartstrings so? What is it about Duckie that makes him the standout character?

Why I will always chose the "Duckie" in real life :

Duckie is shamelessly and genuinely in love and he makes it known to both Andie and the world on a regular basis. He shows his affections in a heart-on-his-sleeve manner and isn't ashamed to the one in a million boy who would devote his life to the happiness of another.  Oh, and he isn't afraid to jam out to a hard-core lip-syncing session, which makes him a golden boy in my book.  He would marry that girl in the blink of an eye if he only had a chance. Duckie is an individual. He is so splendidly unique it makes me question my routine wardrobe and mundane vocabulary. Maybe I should rock a bolo tie and use phrases like 'volcanic ensemble." His individuality makes him entirely unforgettable and his unwavering adoration makes him my prince charming in a patterned vest. 

Why the "Blanes" don't deserve us:

Blane is handsome, sure. But does he really get you? Could he ever know what really gets your blood flowing or your heart racing. I don't think so. Your taste in movies, music, and how you spend your free time are on two totally different rotating spectrums. And yeah, he could be the best kisser on the block, but is there any substance behind those lips. He has money and generic charm but he also lacks bravery and depth. There are instances and conflicts where Blane has the opportunity to defend Andie's existence to his own friends and yet he can't muster the courage. There is even a point when Blane stops talking to Andie altogether due to some nonsense his horrid side-kick of a friend feeds him. And now it's the end, and the audience is supposed to forgive so easily and fall madly in love with this khaki boy? Enjoy those hot kisses while they last Blane-lovers, I don't foresee a great future here. 

In all honesty, I've had my fair share of kissing and romancing both Blane and Duckie.  And I will always be in defense of the Duckies in the world. What some may deem strange or unfamilar, I find interesting and intriguing. When someone has something that sets them apart, they will forever be remembered. 

Moral of this horribly great 80's flick as seen through my eyes:

Find your something. Find the thing that is truly you, that one thing that makes you completely unique.  Once you find it, don't be ashamed of it. Clasp it tightly by the lapels and never let go. You are simply the best version of you. And your quirks are the most beautiful part. When you are in love. Say it.  Say it with a bravery like Duckie. No matter what happens in the end (even if the one you love doesn't return the affection or isn't meant to be with you) you can be proud  of yourself for displaying courage. Oh, and always, always, stick up for your friends and loved ones. They deserve that simple goodness. 

Truly, nothing makes a kiss greater than when it is from a duck-man who loves you, your scrunchies, mismatched earrings, oh, and of course that Pretty-in-Pink Prom dress.  

Solace in a Coffee Shop

And today, Starbucks is my contemplation destination.

And that's just the thing about life... We are all looking for a way to disappear from the feeling of being lost. We all need some sort of a blending hideaway, one that allows us to be out of our element and oxymoronically comforted at the same time. All so that we may figure out how to be just one glorifying step above the rest.  Yes, we are the generation of shiners. We want brightness and a beauty that is unable to be vanquished or suffer extinction. We want to hold our own and be able to brilliantly and gracefully hold the world on our thriving shoulders at the same time.  Still, there will be a moment when even you, require significant time with your own thoughts and are desperate to figure out this sometimes terrifyingly unpredictable life. And when you finally vanish into the coffee shop, surrounded by eyes preoccupied with quiet technology, the sounds of India Arie, and the ironically soothing taste of caffeine. You will notice yourself drowning in a sea of fellow lost and longing comrades. You will ask yourself what decision you will make this time. Are you a runaway? Are you a fighter? And isn't running away also considered a form of severe fighting in certain circumstance? Which circumstance is this?  Will you stay... stay predictable and potentially yet generically happy or will you run incessantly into the sweeping unknown in the search of... of something, just so that the question "What if I ran?" would no longer haunt your expanding imagination? Take a moment to breathe in your environment. Smell the coffee beans. Close your eyes. No one notices you here. Be content if just for a fleeting moment. And remind yourself to be brave. To be so incredibly brave. Nothing genuinely beautiful can happen by remaining stagnant.  Remind yourself that you are not alone. The women next to you adorned in her purple scarf and indulging in a romance novel- she just wants to disappear from the dread of her cubicle and the unnerving gaze of her boss. The older man in the  fogged glasses looking out the matching fogged and smeared window dreams of a time when he will no longer be alone and his family will be near. And the barista with the sad eyes and smile, she is dreaming and wishing as hard as she can for of her moment of glory to finally come to fruition. Humans are oxymorons. We are all lost, loving it, and looking for a way out. But we are runaways together, even if our thoughts are the only thing running. 

"Slow down you crazy child, you can't be everything you want to be before your time." 
Billy Joel