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!