It’s two in the morning, and I’m in Springfield, Missouri. After spending the morning packing and getting ready, I drove here this afternoon to practice with my friend Matt for our upcoming dance routine. Matt and I met at the ballroom where he teaches–The Savoy–about five and worked for a couple hours, mostly on our lifts and jumps, as well as one move that I told Matt I would practice this last week but didn’t. (As our performance is tomorrow, I think I’m just going to end up faking it. It’ll be fine, I promise, I’m a professional.) Anyway, then we went out with our friends Anne and Andy for sushi followed by frozen custard. Then we all came back to the ballroom, where Matt and I worked some more.
Y’all, sushi and frozen custard are not the thing to eat before dancing.
Considering the fact that Matt and I just started this routine two weeks ago and have only rehearsed two other times before today, things are coming along well. That being said, we ended up cutting one of our lifts tonight because not only did we think the move didn’t look good enough, but we also kept hurting each other trying to do the damn thing better. Oh well–we replaced it with something less challenging but just as fun, a trick I can practically do in my sleep. And whereas my inner perfectionist wishes we could have nailed that first move, I’m reminding myself that we’re doing this whole thing FOR FUN and NOT for perfection.
Here’s a picture of ANOTHER move we’ve been working on.
Sometime after midnight, Matt and I called it quits. Our bodies pretty much insisted on it. “Stop,” the said. “We’ve had enough. Just who do you think you are, anyway–Superman?” But then instead of going to bed, we decided to run to Walmart to buy undershirts for our costumes so our routine shirts don’t end up with giant sweat stains on them. The only problem was that we left the ballroom DURING a tornado warning. Y’all, this is why men die before women–we do stupid things like running errands in the middle of a thunderstorm. Anyway, we were fine, seriously. (To quote Matt, “I didn’t see a tornado anywhere.”) However, we did get soaked running from our car into Walmart. And get this shit. The manager, who was standing at the front door with two cops when we ran up, told us that the store was closed until the tornado warning was over. “You’re welcome to wait here in our shelter for the next thirty minutes,” he said.
“Do you want to wait here?” Matt said.
Picturing myself locked in a backroom with a bunch of strangers for half an hour, I said, “NO I DON’T WANT TO WAIT HERE!”
So back we ran to our car, then back we drove to the ballroom, which is where I am now (without an undershirt, I might add). Hopefully I can get some rest, then tomorrow Matt and I can go back to Walmart, run through our routine a few final times here at the ballroom, then perform it tomorrow night (back in Arkansas). I’ll let you know how it goes.
Now all I can think about is how everything hurts and how badly I want to go to bed.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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All great heroes, at some point, surrender to the unknown.
Last night my friend Bonnie and I went to a swing dance with live rockabilly music in Fayetteville, and my friend Matt from Springfield drove in to meet us. Y’all, it was a screamin’ good time. We danced our butts off. Personally, I barely sat down. At the end of the band’s first set, I was so drenched in sweat that I could have easily won a wet t-shirt contest. That’s the only downside to a night of hard swing dancing–all the perspiration and consequent body odors. (It’s disgusting.) That being said, you sure do burn a lot of calories, so maybe it all evens out.
After the dance was over and there was room on the floor, Matt and I decided work on some aerials (dance stunts). This was all my idea, since I’ve recently realized what fun it is to be tossed is the air, and Matt’s one of the only leaders I know willing to toss me. (I’m not exactly petite.) I say “toss,” which makes it sound like the follower is a sack of potatoes that the leader simply heaves over his shoulder. But that’s not how aerials work. When done right, both the leader (base) and the follower (flyer) exert equal amounts of effort. Anyway, Matt and I worked until we were both worn out, mostly on a move called The Lamp Post, in which the follower goes up and around the leader’s head.
Here’s a video of our “work in progress.”
One thing I forgot to mention is that last night’s dance was held at a gymnastics studio. So get this shit. After all that jumping around on the dance floor, I got to jump around on some honest-to-god trampolines. Y’all, my sister and I used to have a trampoline when were growing up, and last night I felt like a kid again–flying high into the air, flipping forward, flipping back. I even got to jump into a foam pit! I can’t tell you how much fun it was. That being said, I was sucking air after only a few minutes of jumping, and I’m not quite sure how I used to bounce around like that for hours.
Also, I must have done something to my lower back, as I could barely walk out of the building. It’s better today, but my body has still been “talking to me” nonstop. At one point this afternoon I could have sworn I heard it say, “Who do you think you are jumping around like that–Tinker Bell?! Did you forget that we’re almost forty damn years old?”
“Um, yes–yes, I did,” I replied as I grabbed my hip with one hand and reached for the muscle relaxers with the other. “But thank you for so clearly reminding me of our age.”
Since Matt and Bonnie and I stayed late after the dance AND THEN went to dinner, I didn’t end up going to bed until four in the morning. And whereas I slept in today, I still haven’t quite recovered. Also, my body has been acting weird. This evening I helped my parents set up their television and other living room electronics, since they recently got a new TV stand. Y’all, I was up and down, up and down, just like on the trampoline last night, and I got light-headed. This sometimes happens when I eat a Paleo diet, so I ended up saying, Fuck it–I need more carbs, and eating two hard-shell tacos with cheese for dinner. (They were delicious.)
Here’s a picture of my parents’ new TV stand. Since we hid the electronics inside one of the cabinets, I had the hardest time filling up the shelves in the middle (intended for electronics) with appropriately sized knickknacks. I literally had to beg, borrow, and steal from the rest of the house in order for this to come together. But alas, it finally did.
Now it’s 3:30 in the morning, and my brain is shutting down. Also, my allergies are kicking in. My eyes won’t stop watering. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that cheese. Or maybe God shouldn’t have made the pollen count so high in Arkansas. Either way, I’m about to pop a couple antihistamines, maybe some Ibuprofen, and pass out. Last night when I was dancing I thought, I feel like myself again. But clearly I’m not over the hump. In addition to the allergies, my skin is doing all these crazy things, my energy level is still up and down like an aerial. And yet as frustrated as I am with my health, I’m also beyond thankful for these happy, childlike moments when I find myself dancing or jumping on a trampoline, even soaring over someone’s head. In these moments, I have no complaints. So maybe it all evens out. I fret about what will happen next, but I look at my parents’ TV stand and think, Don’t worry, Marcus. Everything else is coming together too.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Sometimes you have to go back before you can go forward.
The last twenty-four hours have been packed with dance, which means I’m currently out of Ibuprofen. Seriously, maybe I should take up knitting or–even better–watching TV. Those activities would surely be easier on my body. Speaking of my body–if anyone with any authority is reading this–I’d like to request a different model for my next lifetime.
Last night I drove to Tulsa to meet my friend Matt (from Springfield) to Lindy Hop. (There’s a weekly swing dance in Tulsa.) When I got to the dance, I immediately spotted three of the coolest people I know–Gregg, Rita, and Marina–at the same table. (Birds of feather.) Gregg and Rita and I used to travel to Lindy Hop dances together, and they’ve watched me grow as a dancer, brought me hot tea and Happy Meal toys when I’ve had the flu, and heard me snore (and we’re still friends). They’re also one of the few people who still call me “Sparkles,” which I think is kind of cute. (But that doesn’t mean YOU can do it.) As for Marina, she’s who I want to be when I grow up. I mean, anyone in their nineties who wears a t-shirt that says, “I’m awesome–deal with it” is a role-model for me.
I left the dance early to eat with Gregg and Rita, who were meeting their son and some of his friends. Afterwards I drove to Springfield (which Matt had done about an hour earlier) and met Matt to eat again. Sometime about three or four in the morning I met my friends Anne and Andy (like the Raggedy dolls) at their dance studio/home in downtown, said hello, and proceeded to crash on a futon in their guest room and immediately enter into a coma.
When I woke up this morning, I honestly didn’t know where I was. My alarm was going off, and I think the muscle relaxer I took last night was still in effect. But I finally figured it out. (I know where I am now.) I’d come to Springfield to work with Matt (and Anne and Andy) on aerials. Even better, my former dance partner Janie had agreed to help out.
After breakfast we all met in Anne and Andy’s studio, which is one floor below their home in the same building. (Talk about easy!) The objective today was to work on a move called “Around the Back” (because you go around the back), also known as “The Frankie” (because it’s credited to Frankie Manning, one of the original Lindy Hoppers and probably the most famous). Before we tackled it, we warmed up with some other moves, and at one point I tweaked something in my upper back/low neck area. (Advice–don’t have a car wreck and then, less than a month later, spend three hours throwing another adult through the air.) Anyway, don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I can still feel my toes.
Here’s the move we spent the move we came to work on. Considering it’s been six years since we’ve tried it together (or at all), it went pretty well. Matt did a great job too, even though he wore a headband that made him look like he was doing Jazzercize. And since I just made fun of his headband (which I really have NO room to do), I’ll just go ahead and say that when I followed today and Matt threw me in the air like a sack of potatoes, I squealed in giddy delight.
Okay, y’all, we might have a problem. I just picked up a glass of water to lift to my mouth, and I think I actually heard my arm say, “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Yep. I overdid it.
Anyway, after three hours of that jumping around nonsense, we were all pretty much spent. So Janie took off, and then I taught a couple other private lessons that Matt had lined up for me, but–thank God–neither of them involved lifting, throwing, jumping, or anything else the Good Lord intended only for teenagers and people who don’t eat cake for breakfast. So after that Matt and I joined Anne and Andy upstairs for dinner, and then I took advantage of their heated/vibrating recliner.
I think it’s okay to say that after we hit the two-hour mark this afternoon, Matt started getting frustrated. He was tired and couldn’t get Janie fully “around his back,” even though he’d had some wonderful successes earlier. I mean, thirty to forty-five minutes of aerials should be the limit, since muscles fatigue. And whereas I understand getting frustrated–I’m constantly frustrated that I’m not “better”–today was Matt’s first attempt at “Around the Bak.” Comparatively, I can’t tell you the number of hours–and injuries–Janie and I have logged over the years in order to learn what we know.
So many hours and injuries. So–many–anti-inflammatories.
I always tell people that learning to dance is like learning a new language–it doesn’t happen quickly. And even though I’m still attracted to the idea of the miracle–the instant cure, the overnight transformation–so far most of my successes have come from slow and consistent determination. A little practice here, a little practice there. My therapist told me once that I’m steady like a ship. When I look at the progress I’ve made in over seventeen years of dance or over three years of therapy, I still want to “be better.” But I have to admit–I’ve come a long way.
I didn’t mean for this to turn into a pat-myself-on-the-back session, although my sore muscles could probably use it. (Yours probably could too–pat yourself on the back!) But I think there’s something to recognizing your successes. Even more, I think there’s something to recognizing all the steps you’ve take toward success–all the times you’ve fallen down and gotten back up again. When I first started dancing, over a dozen of my friends started with me. Within six months, they’d all quit. It’s not that I had more talent–I still wouldn’t say that–it’s that I just kept showing up. That’s the only secret I’ve got for us today–for dance, for therapy, for writing a blog–whatever–be interested, work hard (ish), and keep showing up.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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It's enough to sit in, and sometimes drag ass through, the mystery.
It’s four-thirty in the morning, and Daddy is tired. My dancer friend Matt drove down from Springfield yesterday, and we’ve been dancing and (only because this is a blog about honesty) drinking since seven-thirty last night. We met at my friend Bonnie’s house, and we started off Blues dancing, which is slow and easy and not demanding at all. Next we picked it up with a little solo jazz work, choreographing a dance routine for Matt to teach to a rock-a-billy song. Then we worked on Lindy Hop, which if you don’t know, is a swing dance that requires a lot of bouncing, running around, and acting a damn fool. And then–and then–after five hours of all of that, we thought it would be a good idea to work on lifts and aerials, things that required Daddy to jump up in the air and turn himself upside down. That part required A LOT of energy.
In retrospect, we should have done everything in reverse.
The last time Matt and I worked together, I showed him a move called the saxophone. The idea is that the leader steps in front of the follower, basically shoves his hips into “her” pelvis, and slings her around the front of his body, landing her on his opposite leg and simultaneously inverting her. Here’s a video of what it’s supposed to look like. (The video includes two moves. The first is called the pancake. The second is the saxophone.)
When Matt and I worked before, I just demonstrated the move as a leader, since I’d never done the follower’s part. I mean, I’m thirty-six, and that’s no exactly the age to START putting your ankles above your head, at least on the dance floor. Plus, I weigh a hundred and ninety pounds. (People say, “You wear it well,” like that’s a compliment, but is more like code for, “I didn’t realize you were that fat.”) Anyway, tonight when Matt asked if I wanted to try following the saxophone, I was like–Uh, uh, uh–sure.
So for over an hour, we tried and tried and tried again. I fell down. Matt fell down. Matt dropped me on my back. Matt dropped me on my side. Bonnie recorded over thirty failed attempts. Bonnie’s friend Corban was there, and he recorded probably just as many. (No one recorded the ONE time we got it right.) I’ll spare you most of the carnage, but here’s a video I love that Corban captured in slow motion. All things considered, it’s pretty good, except of course the part at the end when I land on my back.
About one-thirty or two in the morning, we wore out and quit. I mean, sometimes you have to know when you’re licked. I guess I could get frustrated that it “didn’t happen,” but I can’t tell you how good it felt to try something new, to be slung through the air, even if it wasn’t perfect. Now, whether it will feel good in a couple of days is yet to be decided. I’m guessing it won’t.
The last time Matt and I worked on lifts and aerials, we worked on a move called the frog jump. It’s basically just a simple jump where no one turns upside down, but the trick is getting the follower to jump high enough and lift their knees. If the move is done right, the leader can hold the follower still above his shoulder before letting them down.
Even though the frog jump is considered simple, it’s not easy. Everyone has a job to do, and the timing has to be just right. Well, Matt’s been working on the frog jump since the last time I saw him, and he’s made a ton of progress. So we tried it tonight, and check it out.
After Matt and I finished working, Bonnie fed us, and we all hung out in her kitchen for a couple of hours. We talked about getting older but not feeling older, except for the fact that maybe your hips hurt more than they did a decade ago. (Corban, who just graduated high school, didn’t chime in too much on this part of the conversation for some reason.) We talked about dancing. We talked about tattoos. (Corban’s the only one who has one.)
Here’s what I loved about out time in Bonnie’s kitchen. At any point after ten in the evening, Bonnie could have easily kicked us out of her house, but she never did. We only left (about four in the morning) because I wanted to blog and also plan on getting up before noon tomorrow–er–today. (This is so confusing.) But as for Bonnie, she wasn’t in a hurry to end the conversation, to have us leave, to go to bed.
In contrast, I know that so many times as a dancer, I get in a hurry. I start working on a new move and want to “have it,” like now. Even sometimes when I’m working with a talented dancer like Matt, I want him to have it, like now. Not because I’m impatient with him, but because I’m excited. It’s fun to watch those “aha” moments happen. But really, those are pretty rare. More often, successes in dance are hard-earned. They come in pieces. You fall down, you get dropped, your body hurts for a week. But you just keep at it and keep at it, and one day, like nothing, you’re up in the air with no effort at all.
At that point, if it looks easy, it is. There really does come a time when all the effort pays off, everything clicks, and even moves like the saxophone are a breeze. Again, it’s easy–it’s just not always easy to get there.
The journey is worth all the bumps in the road.
I think this is true of many things in life, things that are really worth having. There have been so many times in therapy over the last three years that I’ve thought, I can’t–I can’t have that confrontation, I can’t be honest with that person, I can’t tell them no. But eventually, in every case, I did. Now that I’m on the other side of a lot of drama, life feels easier. Sometimes I wonder what took me so long to get here, but I realize that I was learning something new, and that always takes time.
I guess we all have things we haven’t mastered yet, whether it’s turning ourselves upside down, growing older, or having a tough conversation. And sure, those things can be difficult and scary. You’re going to fall, you’re going to hurt the next day. But I think the journey is worth all the bumps in the road. Besides, I don’t think anyone came to this planet in order to get it right the first time. What would be the point? Rather, I think we came here because this is a place we can learn, a place we can fall down and get back up again, and a place–like Bonnie’s kitchen–where there’s all the time in the world to do just that.
Daddy said.
[I promise I’m not going to start referring to myself as Daddy on a regular basis. It’s probably the American Honey talking.]
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Healing is like the internet at my parents’ house—it takes time.
