My Life of Pi

When I was younger, I danced in a professional dance company for 5 years.  The artistic director of the company, had been my professor in college and she mentored me through my early years of creating choreography.  She was like a mother to me in many ways.  She guided me, she gave me feedback, she gave me opportunity, she took me under her wing.  I felt special.  I basked in the glow of feeling loved and appreciated.  My peers and I battled for her attention and often became jealous of each other, but in the end she gave each of us the attention that we needed.

Then, there came a time when I felt like I wasn't growing, where I was stagnant.  I began to fear that I would never amount to anything.  I felt like I was being left behind by my peers whom had ventured off and moved on to "bigger and better things".  I became very unhappy and resentful; doubting my own abilities, and lashing out at my mentor in frustration.   At some point I knew that I had to go off and explore; to find new things to inspire me.  I needed to see if the grass was really greener on the other side.  I told my mentor that I wanted to quit.  It was the hardest thing that I had ever done, because I was so afraid of her reaction.  But to my surprise she embraced me in a warm hug, and told me that she knew that I was ready, and proceeded to help me come up with an audition video.  All of the fears and trepidation, I realized, were of my own imagination.  I am so thankful that I was brave enough to be honest with her.  To communicate with her my feelings.  To this day, we still talk and I look to her for guidance at times.  I consider her a dear friend.

It's amazing, in life, how things come full circle.  

When the idea of Red Bucket Dance Theatre started to come to fruition, many mistakes were made.  I see that now.  There never was a discussion about what each person expected to give and receive from its forming.  Nobody really knew what their roles would be.  Ownership seemed very vague and ambiguous.  We all had a stake in it and we all thought it was ours.  I think that there wasn't a level head among us to keep communication clear and focused.  Amazing things can happen when you have a group of very creative people together.  But there always seemed to be too many cooks in the kitchen; too many sensitive people.  It felt like riding a raft down the Colorado River for the first time, but blindfolded.  At times it was thrilling, but at times it was too much.  I do take pride in the art that was created.  I think that a great deal of it was beautiful.  But in the end...just like a good marriage, you have to have a solid relationship built on trust and communication.  There are outside forces that you come up against that you have to weather together. And whatever personal demons haunt each of you, you have to trust that the other person has your back. 

I recently watched the movie "Life of Pi".  It is an amazing film directed by one of my favorite directors, Ang Lee.  Every single frame of his films could be a beautiful painting by itself.  The film was a thrilling adventure, ripe with metaphors.  There came a moment in the film, that has haunted me since: the carnivorous island.   It is the beautiful place that seems to be like heaven, filled with amazing creatures, and a safe haven to explore.  But underneath, you sense that it is dangerous; that at any moment you could be eaten alive.  Just like Red Bucket Dance Theatre.  It pains me to say that.  I almost feel like I should hit the delete button and erase those last few sentences.  But I'm trying really hard to be truthful. And to communicate.  Something I haven't been able to do lately.  Because we are all suppose to pretend that everything will be okay and that "we'll all be friends again".  In the end, I felt like I was talking and no one was listening.  That I somehow appeared like a grotesque creature that spoke a language that they didn't understand, and that they made fun of.  That I was tolerated, but resented.  I had been eaten from the inside out.

I understand now.  Just like my former college professor that mentored me, that they began to resent my presence.  They looked at me and only saw my flaws.  They needed to grow and to explore, and they felt stagnant and controlled.  But unlike the me from long ago, they couldn't communicate those feelings.  And that's where I find myself now.  Very aware.  But very hurt that they couldn't be honest with me. 

There was so much thrown at me, through this experience.  Students that I had mentored for many years and got to know on a personal basis, won't speak to me now for various reasons.  Some of them weren't in the company, and resented that they weren't included.  Some have since moved on to other things and feel that they are above me now; only gracing me with their presence when they have to see me.  Some experienced that ride down the Colorado River with me and feel too raw and vulnerable to keep me as friends.  And some don't really care either way.  I understand.  I am very aware.

I am not angry or hurt for people feeling these things.  I understand every one of those feelings.  I am hurt by them not trusting me enough to speak their thoughts to me.  What did I do wrong as a teacher, mentor, friend that they don't want to share their feelings with me?  Why don't they think I would want them to succeed?  Why don't they think I want them to grow and learn?  Why have they judged me so harshly?  Why must every one tiptoe around me like a diseased person and isolate me further?  This is what torments me and keeps me feeling lost and alone.

I hate the fact that I care too deeply about things that no one else seems to even ponder.  

I hate that it makes me appear needy.

I am learning to just ride these waves of emotions and to trust in them.  To trust in myself.  And that my feelings are valid.  To let the process of grieving heal me. 

At some point I will let go of the fact that I can't control other people's actions.  What this experience has taught me is that I have to be okay all by myself.  Because in the end, no one else will be there. And some day I'll be able to look at all of this as an amazing adventure filled with beautiful creatures, and that I survived.

Just like the "Life of Pi".  And I'll still call my mentor from long ago, and we'll talk about it.