My New Job

“You can’t always get what you want

But if you try sometimes, you just might find

You get what you need.” 

– Jagger & Richards (who may or may not have gotten what they need)

What I wanted when I was young was to work as a performing dancer. I had lots of encouragement from teachers, and in fact I had everything it took, except being completely healthy.  Besides, my piano kept calling to me.

What I wanted next was to work in music academia, just like my Dad. But that’s for people who go in one direction, not two (or more). How could I just be a musician, without dance? It’s all the same thing, to me.

Next I wanted to make my own way, taking roads less traveled to combine music and dance.  I know that thoughtful movement makes musicians better musicians, and getting music in their bodies makes dancers better dancers.

Along the way, dance kept coming back to me.

For instance, I’ve choreographed the theory of dark matter in the universe for a Unitarian Church, “The King and I” for a high school, and “Iphegenia at Aulis” for a Classical Theatre group in Georgetown. I’ve danced “The Arabian” in Nutcracker, a cha-cha for the Unitarians, and ballet for children’s audiences dressed as a lamb (minus the wool – this lamb was practically naked). I’ve taught modern to ballerinas, ballet to brats, and ballroom to some of the oddest people on earth at Arthur Murray’s on 5^th Avenue.

Anyway, lately I decided it was time for a “real job.” Of course, this occurred to me right at the age when most people are thinking of retiring.

Maybe I’d go for that job in academia after all, joining the ranks of safe, comfortable friends -- as junior faculty, after getting my Ph.D, starting by writing a cookie-cutter essay for the geniuses of the GRE (grrr…).

Maybe I’d be an arts administrator, and sit at a desk wearing fabulous clothes every day – but my background doesn’t count as real work for jobs like that. (Plus there’s the whole shoes and pantyhose thing.)

Maybe I’d start my own school, which would put me in one place instead of five – but since I’ve been driving around the region, my footholds of students and supporters are also scattered all over the place, hours apart. (“Well, if you bring little Johnny after rush hour, it should only take two hours each way. You could be back home in time for the 11:00 news!”)

Then it fell into my lap – School Director of a small non-profit contemporary dance organization. So close to home I could walk, so my 15-year-old Honda should survive. No pantyhose or shoes! No getting fat, bored, or overly comfortable. No getting health insurance either – but I’m sure once I get the school’s finances up into the multi-millions, that will be no problem. (Note to self: play lottery.)

I’m taking over in June, and start teaching in August. That should give me plenty of time to get back my 20-year-old body, right? Okay, maybe the 30-year-old one? I’ll settle for one that can plie without sounding like a percussion ensemble.

Stay tuned!

Birthday. Happy?

So yesterday was my birthday. You can fill in all the complaints about getting older yourself. EVERYbody complains about it. In fact, half the birthday cards you see in stores are one joke: "Haha, You're getting really OLD!"

(To the people who send me cards: Thank you for knowing not to send me cards reminding me that my body is going downhill, I'm not adorably young anymore, and soon I'm going to die.)

I like the saying that "it beats the alternative." You're lucky if you get to grow old. Like people walking a labyrinth, being young or old is simply a matter of being in different places on our journeys. 

But of course that's not comfort enough. There must be reasons it's all for the best to be where I am on the journey in 2011. Hmm...

1. There's Facebook, where lots of people -- many I haven't seen since I was adorably young -- wish me Happy Birthday. That wasn't possible before, and in the future people might be too busy playing with holograms (or something) to bother. That, or the polarization of rich and poor will have friends living without running water, let alone Facebook. Well, yay!

2. I am forever younger than Vivien Leigh and Eleanor Powell. I adored them as a teenager, but now I can look at their beautiful young selves and think, "Yeah but I'm still younger." Any day now, that's going to work for me.

3. In years past, people my age were on the verge of retirement. I'll probably never be able to retire. But that's great, because I'll stay active! And that will keep me healthy and happy, right?....  Right?

4. I'm a baby-boomer. I have lots of company. There's no way a whole generation of us could be thrown under the bus without adequate care in our old age... right?

5. Okay, well if the younger generations aren't able and willing to sustain the Social Security and Medicare we've paid into, think of this: they LOVE our fashions. Save everything. Our "how could I have worn this" is their "vintage." As long as eBay survives, so will I.

6. Now dark chocolate and red wine are good for me. (Take that, Vivien!)

7. Someday there will be a cure for wrinkles and pimples. But I get to have both. It says, "I'm not too young, and I'm not too old." For what, I don't know. It sounds good, though.

8. When shopping for clothes, there are distinct departments suited to one's age. An immediate reaction of, "Cute!!" interrupted by the realization that I'm not 17 anymore propels me into the next department. There I see "career" clothes, where fantasies of being chic and smart in some high-power position are interrupted by the realization that I work in bare feet most of the time. Off I go to the next department where the clothes are hideous, shapeless, but often 70% off. By the time I hold up a square-shaped t-shirt with daisies on it thinking, "Well this one isn't so bad," it's just time to go. This is all for the best because I save lots of money, which I may need later when I can only afford to eat cat food.

9. Besides, in generations past, women wore the only thing worse than pantyhose: stockings with garter belts. (I'm old enough to have experienced that horror.) And in the future everybody will be wearing those stretchy outfits like in Star Trek and Lost in Space, I'm sure -- and they look itchy. Ugly daisy t-shirts are better.

10. I remember the COOL disco dancing, not the John Travolta Wonder Bread disco dancing! The hip, funky street hustle was apparently such a rare, fleeting phenomenon that nobody else seems to remember it. (Somebody please tell me I'm not making it up.)

Yes indeed, 2011 is a great year to be on the edge of retirement age without being able to retire while wearing daisy t-shirts and dining on red wine, dark chocolate and cat food. There was never a better time.