I Was Wrong.

“It takes time for change to happen, but this proves it’s possible.”

Hi! Welcome to a new week Word Nerds and new friends.

I haven’t had many new buddies here in awhile (I am not really one for marketing myself, so that’s on me? It feels kinda sales-pitchy to do so?), but I did have one amazingly kind new person join as a supportive readier with the following words (which hopefully they don’t mind if I share anonymously, since kind words are often listed here publicly):

“Since I'm struggling with chronic pain as well, I find your work very inspirational and it motivates me to keep going."

Even just one Word Nerd who thinks this is worth it is better than a 100 people who are just part of an algorithm river. I feel like the luckiest (cue “The Luckiest” by Ben Folds, naturally).

I am back to writing in the moment, as “myself” (more linear, not ahead of time)- BUT I’ll be very honest: These words I’m writing right now feel like they’re being written slowly, and fallibly, by alien hands. I had my most recent cervical surgery to help save the nerves in my hands, hopefully- so I know it’ll only get better from here… But right now, it’s like the charging chord is slightly out of the outlet. My hands are messing up while typing twice as much, which (for a speed-typer like myself, personally) is utterly bizarre. I feel like I’m thumping my head against a wall to write this right now (thumbing my thumbs against a wall? Help me with the metaphor)

Anyways, given that…

This week’s Every Weekday Writing promise and posts are ALSO brought to you by a person who wrote a lot of rambling words while living the Hunter S.T experience in the hospital recently, and is finally sharing some of them (after editing them enormously to make them vaguely more lucid).

So, if you’re trying to follow this like a novella timeline: No, I am not back in the hospital. Yes, the words you’re about to read this week were (mostly) written in the hospital (not the ones below). Yes, the words you’re reading at this very moment are written at this very moment by fallible me- shaky weird hand nerves and all.

I will be having another surgery in a couple of weeks, so I have a big surprise planned here on Substack for that downtime to say THANK YOU to anyone who’s cared and shared and tolerated the spam and supported….

Which I will share with you oh-so-super soon….

But not yet.

[Malevolent laugh]

THANK YOU…

And talk to you soon!

I have a hard time looking back.

I always have and I probably always will.

I used to look upon nostalgia with the sort of cynical arrogance that only a 20-something-could do. I thought that performers who posted about something they’d done in the past were purely those who weren’t moving forward. As if it would be admitting defeat - like there was nothing to come, because you’re admiring what you’d once done.

I was wrong.

Terribly, embarrassingly wrong. Recently, I’ve witnessed the bravery and depth it takes to look back no matter how far forward you’re continuing to “reach” as a performer or creative, because to do so… is simply to be an appreciative person.

I am trying - hard - to learn the graciousness and humility it takes to look back on what you’ve done and it’s ripples and impact, and not worry that doing so will somehow undo the worth of your future. We aren’t the value of our ego in the present (my ego is sad to admit)… We are - and always will be - what we are thankful for in every given day.

This week, I was reminded of this by Michele Wiles of @balletnext (yes, the ABT Principal hero Michele Wiles), when she shared with me something shocking in the most beautiful way:

“I have a Deaf dancer coming to my summer intensive because of our ballet. Her told me she researched programs and came across the work we did. It is touching to see the impact we are still making.”

She sent me a link to new press about the subject.

I had goosebumps and felt bewildered that our work could still be… working, in exactly the way we’d once dreamed.

“It’s been 7 years since the premiere of ‘Follin’”, Michele expanded, saying: “It takes time for change to happen, but this proves it’s possible.”

If Michele hadn’t listened to a stranger who had a dream, this dream wouldn’t be making new ones for future generations almost a decade later. If the other ballerinas hadn’t accepted me into their ranks for that time - friends I still cherish like the most elegant and bold Violetta, who I’ll admire and protect forever (try me)- I wouldn’t have learned so much about sisterhood, individuality and subway sushi.

I can still remember standing backstage before our first show, feeling air trapped in my lungs, knowing Follin was in the audience for opening night with my parents (my hard of hearing daughter, for those who don’t know that about her and her journey through deafness, Deaf schools and feeling misfit), and Michele looked at me and quietly said: “Let’s do it for the little ones.”

My nerves changed to exuberance, and I took the stage focusing on all the little Deaf kiddos who might one day want to dance. Now, that same sentiment continues through Michele’s work.

“Ballets come and go,” she said, “But this one had a REAL impact.”

Sometimes the most right thing you can be in life… is wrong.

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