Letting Go of Some of the Past!
When I found out I would be writing for Dancer, my jaw about hit the floor! I was startled by the offer, but also very honored to have been chosen to express myself through such a presence in the dance world. This task, although new and exciting, has proved to be quite difficult because I am learning ever so slowly about the journalism process.
Magazines are not made over night! It takes two months preparation to edit, compile, and complete before the real thing is ready to be sent out which means that this article was written in July. So now, a glimpse into the middle of my last summer as a child.
You cannot possibly understand what the July before you go to college feels like. It feels like I am stuck smack in the middle of my past and my future, like there is no turning back and the future will never arrive. July feels like a pointe shoe with no shank or a full-length ballet with no coda. It feels like a pirouette with no spot or a stage with no wings. I feel stuck, anxiously awaiting the big day when I will officially be a Barnard College student, dancing, studying, and surviving alone in New York City.
Getting ready for college, however, has helped July go by a little more quickly and the process has been exciting and enlightening. The first part of my process has been going through my disaster of a room that holds everything that has ever belonged to me. My room, not only full of stuff like clothes and books, contains almost every memory of my childhood. I have begun throwing away piles of old papers, stacks of outgrown clothes, and towers of ancient knickknacks, but every object that I toss is replaced by a pang
of nostalgia. The hardest part about leaving for college, I have discovered, is not deciding what to take, what to throw away, and what to leave behind. It's learning to let go of the past and accept the fact that July will become August and August will quickly become the rest of my life. Scary and exhilarating!
One of my objectives this July has been to spend as much time as possible with the people I really care for. From the time I began filling out my applications, my family was there with me, giving me the courage and the fortitude to really go for what I wanted most. When I was accepted to Barnard College through the early decision process, my parents knew there was no turning back. My mom, although excited and proud, worried most about my leaving for New York City, uncertain about city's future post September 11. I assured both of my parents that this was everything I had ever dreamed of and nothing could stand in my way. Going so far from home is another thing I have always wanted, but it wasn't until just recently that I realized how much my life is going to change. And it hasn't completely hit me that I will have to say good-bye to my parents.
This is not just a vacation or a field trip. This is for real and I am really going to miss them.
I will miss not only certain people, but also certain places that have been a major part of my life. When I walk through my ballet studio, I stop in the middle of the wide marley floor and look at myself in the mirror, like I have done millions of times in class. As I stand there, I try to picture myself in some other dance studio, keeping the image of myself the same, but mentally changing my surroundings. Sometimes I see myself in an old, rugged place with unsteady barres, the ones you can't pull too hard during fast jetes or grande battements. And sometimes I see myself in a brand new, state-of-the-art studio that stands four floors high and contains autographed pictures of the dance world's current famous faces. But no matter where I picture myself, I feel slightly uncomfortable and out of place. The dance studio is a dancer's second home and once this kind of bond forms between a person and a place, the attachment lasts for life. I have no doubt,
however, that after some time in New York City, I will develop this same bond with my new dance studio, my new second home, at Barnard College. I also have no doubt that I will never forget my ballet school in South Florida, the place where I learned so much more than how to dance.
July. The middle of my last summer as a child, the month in which my past remains but a memory and the future has yet to arrive. The stagnant month, locked in place by the fear of letting go and the fear of accepting change. The month that hides the truth, not allowing me to understand what good-bye will feel like. The month that haunts my imagination, forcing me to picture myself in unseen places and experiences. For me, it seems that the July before college is a time of uncertainty and unanswered questions about the person I am, the person I want to be, and the person I have yet to become.
Although right now it feels like July will never end, July will become August and August will quickly become the rest of my life. Scary and exhilarating! •