A statement of intention

When I started writing here, I was at an inflection point in my dance journey. A student of dance and passionate about Kuchipudi for many years, I was trying to convince myself that firstly, I had the satta to be a dancer; secondly, I was trying to convince myself that the ideas I’d cultivated about dance after years of listening, watching, thinking, teaching, and dancing, were meaningful enough to be shared; and thirdly, I was getting back into the habit of writing, and training myself to crank out thoughtful posts specifically about dance to both synthesize the information I was learning in my Masters coursework and also prepare myself for the marathon that would be writing my masters’ thesis. I was dipping my toes into the water, longingly looking at those already in the water, but scared.

Given that preparation for my thesis was the impetus, I tried to challenge myself to write weekly - often staying up far too late on Thursday nights to have a post go up Friday morning. It did its job - this was a space to road test my ideas and concepts and see how clearly I was able to communicate, and the feedback I was getting from fellow dancers would encourage me to incorporate more nuance into my perspectives.

This past year was an unusual year, and this space - originally intended to start crystallizing and sharing the concepts that had come together for my thesis, instead became a place for me to process big things I’ve been grappling with - death, racism, the pandemic, helplessness, the responsibility of artists and citizens.

I’m at another inflection point in this moment. I have completed my masters, and in the process, found a community of incredible strong dancers who have welcomed me and encouraged me, and then pushed me out of my comfort zone. I’m neck deep in the water now. It’s time to take a deep breath and fully immerse myself.

I don’t think I’ll set myself to a schedule to write, for now. When something moves me - like the festival this weekend, I’ll write. Instead, the schedule I’m setting myself, the intention I’ve set for my time, is dancing.

On paper, things are great. I’m a full time professional in corporate America. I am a wife, a mother of two, a dance teacher. I have spent too many years feeling like I’m stuck in the mud as a dancer, in that dreaded zone of “potential”.

So, I’m going to dance. I’m going to dance daily. I’m going to be kind to myself as I dance, instead of tearing myself down with harsh self-criticism. But I will not let up, and if it’s a choice between writing and dancing, I’m choosing dancing.

I’ve been recording myself practice over the last few weeks, and it’s a daily exercise not to plunge into depression, demotivation, and self-criticism, since I’m reckoning with the fact that I now have a very weak core, and between two pregnancies and accompanying sciatica, one of my legs is noticeably weaker and harder to control than before. But my body did an incredible thing then, and of course, it will have some signs of what it has been through, and that means I need to be kind to it, not dismissive.

Besides, dance is important to me. Therefore I will do what I have to do.

It’s in some ways easier to stay at the end of the pool or to keep my ahead above water and maintain the status quo - this whole concept of “potential” with a ready, perfectly acceptable excuse of why I haven’t achieved more (see career, motherhood, etc. etc.). But (and I’m changing metaphors now) I was relistening to the words of Valarie Kaur recently, and she was talking about revolutionary love as a form of labor. I’m roughly paraphrasing, but she said “It hurts and you’re tired. But if you stop breathing, you die. If you stop pushing, you die.”

That put a shifted my entire perspective from (“safely”) being in the shallows of the water, to a different context - if I don’t breathe - that is, if I’m not kind to my body and my mind, my physical and mental health suffers. If I don’t push - if I don’t throw every iota I’ve got into dance, my soul suffers. So I have to breathe. And I have to push. And I’ve got a community of incredible women, incredible dancers, alongside me.

I’m not sure when I’ll write again. It’ll be when I have something to work through, or something to say.

But I practiced yesterday, I practiced today, before writing this. and I’ll be right here tomorrow, practicing again.

Valarie Kaur’s speech on revolutionary love, a call to action in the face of racism and white supremacy where she talked about breathing and pushing. Not at all “on topic”, but absolutely mandatory viewing, because this is a continuing struggle, and as artists and as global citizens, we must take part - New Year’s Eve 2017.

Cover photo - a beautiful piece of art for me created by artist, dance lover, and one of the kindest souls I’ve had the privilege of meeting, Sandhya Kiran aunty.