Remember My Love for Dance

The other night a friend of mine asked me for tips on how to go about rewriting things.

I was honored that he even asked me. So, you know, I gave my advice, which wasn't a whole lot, but enough to get him started; although it was difficult to come up with advice because I'd never thought about how I rewrite- I just rewrite. Then I read his work which he graciously passed onto me. I'd read the first half, which I thoroughly enjoyed, so I was excited to read the second half. After reading it, I came up with much more advice and encouragement.

At first I simply hoped I was giving encouraging advice; he confirmed this hope by gladly and appreciatively accepting them. Yay. I can officially give good writing advice.




I took my third belly dance class tonight. I enjoy it a lot. More than I thought I would, but every time before class: I can't tell you how much I try to convince myself not to take the class; just to focus on something else. But then I take the class, anyway, because I'm like, "What the hell! It's free for me anyway, and besides, I don't want to disappoint the teacher."

During these classes, I am constantly told to "Smile!" or "Stop thinking!"

Smiling is not foreign to me. Hardly. I smile all the time.

No, not thinking is foreign to me. I don't know how not to think. In fact, when I'm told "Stop thinking!" I immediately consider, "What exactly does not thinking entail? Wait, I have to keep my pelvis in neutral position. Oh, -swear words- I'm thinking! I have to stop thinking."

I cannot stop thinking. Especially tonight when we had to freestyle.

BAH!

When I was younger I used to dance all the time. All. The. Time. To put it in perspective: I danced then as much as I think now. Dancing was my form of release- I switched it out for writing in middle school after moving to a new school. I used to love dance. I used to freestyle all the time. I don't know if I was very good at it, but my younger self didn't care.

I informed my teacher of this, and she responded: "Well, you just have to remember your love for dance!"

Too true.

Now, I don't exactly expect to be Shakira if I ever get better at this belly dance-thing, but dancing is my instructor's form of release, as much as writing is my form of release. The way she doesn't think about dancing is the very same I don't think about writing--she just dances; I just write.

So, how do I regain, or at this point, transfer my "Stop thinking!" habits of writing to dance?

Well, for one thing, I ought to be less self-conscious. How many times have you heard that, right? But honestly, of all the worries that my appearance causes me, no one else thinks a quarter of those worries: I freak myself, and no one cares, and rightly so! They either respect me enough, or ignore me enough to think I look all right.

"Oh! I'll look like a fool."

"Shut up, Justine. Kick of your Sunday shoes and go wild."

I mean, I am the person that randomly breaks out into the Macarena on a busy street in Manhattan. I already don't care when dancing the Macarena (although, that also requires absolutely no skill, only a good, steady memory of 90's music), so I need to apply that attitude to the dance studio class. Somehow.

On the surface, writing and dancing don't really have anything in common. But if I enjoy exercising my brain, ought I not also enjoy exercising my body?

And for the record, not thinking in dance class is just another way of saying, "Hey! Be who you are. Stop freaking out that you're doing it wrong, besides you're supposed to make mistakes anyway. We'll help you along."




And, if I can remember my love for dance, I'll be able to better empathize with potential students who are, or want to be, dancers. Win-win!

To reread, or not to reread? That's hardly a question! Reread!

So, yesterday was a pretty full day for me. Not because I was running all over the place trying to accomplish fifty different things simultaneously, I just had no time to myself. I haven't had an entire day to myself for a while now. I miss those lonesome hours. Regardless, my full day yesterday, I had a few great conversations, all which challenged me, forcing me to reconsider some of my beliefs, my standards and morals. (Now, don't mistake me. 'Reconsider' does not mean 'completely dismiss'. Thanks.)

The conversations I had yesterday reminded me of many of the books I've read, some of which I couldn't quote perfectly. I couldn't even remember the names of the characters I was trying to describe. This bothered me greatly: if I can't remember names of characters, or the exact words of the quotation I might as well just pull the words out of my butt! I might be using these examples out of context, and I hate doing that. I hate manipulating words to me what I want them to mean. I can't just throw away the author's/writer's intent--I'd be a traitor. Every author/writer entrusts his readers to take into account his intent (except, maybe, for deconstructionists). Who am I to impose my thought?

side note: I am not suggesting that I couldn't 'correct' someone's thinking--were I able to do that in the first place--but I like to think I allow the author/writer to think his own thoughts. Only when I understood the author/writer would I feel able, or ready, to offer a rebuttal, or reinforcement.

So!- because of this, I really ought to reread the book's that've, so far, influenced my thinking. I ought to read the books that influenced those books. I really need to read more. I really need to reread. I need to memorize.

Oh, geez. I have to memorize now.

Excuse me while I pull out my index cards.

From Ideas to Stories

Lately, I've been thinking a lot of ideas. A lot.

A few weeks ago, July 4th actually, I was with friends out in Chelsea, and jotted this down on my iPhone: "I like thinking many ideas, but I don't know that I'd put many of them into practice, or sincerely believe in those thoughts/ideas. I think of too many [ideas] to indiscriminately accept all of them [as Truth]."

So, I've had all these ideas, but I've yet to bring them to light. Mostly because I don't know how to bring them to light. My ideas are incomplete, and the only way to make them complete, or somewhere near completion, I would have to write them down, or speak them aloud. I hate doing that. I hate speaking before I'm really sure of what I mean; what I really believe.

Of what have I been thinking?

For starters, beginning sentences with prepositions is a great grammar-release!

Okay, okay, okay.

My thoughts have generally leaned towards the state of humanity.

"Oh, how perfectly vague."

"I know."

But if I become any more specific I promise you, I will go back to the state of humanity, which I am sure, as we all observe, is in a constant state of flux and discontent. Those who are content are so because they know what it is to be discontent.

Hello, Humanity. I'm glad to greet you like an old friend.

But since I don't want to overthink, or rethink, or drag on for too long, I've decided it best to illustrate any ideas or thoughts I have with stories. I don't know why it took me so long to acknowledge this. Every other author and writer has!

Whatever made me think I was better at writing essays than writing vignettes or extended metaphors?

Of all that I've thought this past month I am confident in that idea: that the best way to portray the 'state of humanity' is to illustrate it. To gather up its many images, smells, tastes, words, and feelings, not into some neat little box and leave it there, but for the neat little box to be opened!

Like Pandora's box! But without all the sickness and sin, and horrible things--they're already in the world. Ooh, we don't need more of that.

I know that we learn from our mistakes both in and out of our control, but that does not make me wish bad times upon even the worst of my enemies, and even then, I have no enemies. I live life as though all were friends: yes, it is denial, and yet confirmation that these friends, like my thoughts, though I entertain them, are no less real, or lost, or hungry, or wishful, than I am.

I may not re-open Pandora's Box, but I'll label it for you.

Blind Spot: I'm a Coward.

I have this horrible fear of being greatly disliked by people I admire: celebrity or non-celebrity; friend or enemy, I am probably terrified of disappointing you. 

We've talked and talked and talked, getting to know each other pretty well, when suddenly we come to a slight disagreement, or a hot topic, or a minor offense and I will probably back down faster than a squirrel underneath a car wheel. Unless the disagreement/topic/offense concerns anything literary, I'll probably go down fighting you, but morally or politically, I am pretty wishy-washy. 

No, I don't sleep around or go around murdering people, but I will think so hard about what my opinion should be that I won't allow myself to make one.

I tinker. I don't complete.

Last night I discovered how self-conscious I am about the ideas I entertain. I don't really like sharing them because, frankly, ideas/beliefs, really shouldn't be as fickle as this: a young woman's heart. I have no problem sharing my emotions--everyone knows those are pretty fickle, due to a liberal amount of hormones--but ideas!- ideas are supposed to be stronger! Ideas are supposed to be solid! Ideas are supposed to be firmer; supposed to uphold the fickle emotions, which would explain why I often qualify any verbalized belief with: "Not that I've really this through-. This is an undeveloped opinion but..."

Strike you as confident, because it doesn't strike me as confident.

Sometimes I'm so afraid to be right. When am I right? The people I admire would even admit that they aren't right all the time, so how could I ever say that I'm right?! I'm sure behind every 'right' statement is a blind spot. I must be missing something I have yet to think through. I'll have to take a few more days to develop my ideas. My beliefs.

But then I never get around to developing them.

I'm spineless. I'm afraid to have an opinion. 

I blog; have Facebook and am afraid to have an opinion. 

I'm not looking for the perfect idea. In fact, I get frustrated when someone's a know-it-all. Besides, who likes know-it-alls?! No one, that's who.

But, I guess, kind of like walking, I got'a crawl and trip a few times before I can really keep a steady pace. I might have to jog, might have to run, might have to stop altogether; but really. It's all about developing. Really, it's all about wanting to continue developing. 

Ah, I can't be afraid to share my ideas/beliefs with you.

God did not make me to be a coward! 

Maybe not always Live. Laugh. Love. but sometimes Bolder. Kinder.

It takes guts to be bold and kind. Anyone can be bold. Pray that I might also be kind.