There are a few times in your life that really put you to the test—a test of strength, of will-power, of character. They always stand out as a crux, the hardest point of any experience. I have many of these particular moments speckled throughout my life. Some stick out more than others, and some I consider the best and most cherished moments of my life.
I seem to have inherited a fear of heights, and ever since I was little, I have been very fond of the ground…and being on it. It was a strange twist of fate when I started dating a climber a few years ago, whose vacations consisted of nothing but climbing trips. Rock Town, Horse Pens, Albuquerque…he went all over and I, like the trooper that I am, went along. I always managed to stay close enough to my beloved ground, never straying farther than fifteen, twenty feet up.
But it was only inevitable when my climber boyfriend would suggest something a bit higher, and by a bit higher, I mean a good 100 feet higher. That’s right, I was to brave a 100-foot route with only me and my harness. Okay, so he was down at the bottom feeding the rope and making sure I didn’t plummet to my death, but it sure felt like I was alone—alone with my fear that is. I did my best to psych myself up before I made my first move, and as I carried on, the frozen “fly on the wall” reaction didn’t surface until I was just past my comfort distance of fifteen, twenty feet. But with the help of my streaming tears and the voice from below telling me, “I’m not letting you come down”, I mustered up the courage to squelch that fear long enough to make it to the top and all the way back down again, still very much crying. But I did it.
That was one hell of an experience. Come to think of it, there are many standout moments that involve my fear of heights. But it hasn’t always been the vertical plain that has been a test of who I am. Personal relationships can be a test to you every day. I never realized the intensity of a connection you can have with someone else until you have to break it. This doesn’t need total explanation nor do I want to do that within this format, but one of the most significant turning points in my life was the dissolution of an epic relationship. It was one of the hardest, most selfish things I ever had to do, but within that transition, I found a better version of who I was.
A certain thing happened this morning that really triggered the thought of all of this, with one memory sticking out in particular. My best friend Brittany, who I grew up dancing with, was called to fill in a part during “Snow” scene of the Community Nutcracker due to another dancer’s illness. This is a part that she and I have danced for many years when we were actively involved with the production. She filled in beautifully as a veteran dancer would. But it unlatched a flood gate of my experience in the same situation.
The 2000 Community Nutcracker was on its final performance of the year, the Saturday night Gala performance where the sponsors and their families come, along with a rather grand audience, to take in the holiday classic. It was and is the most important performance, the lasting impression. It was my first year as a member, and I had been cast as an angel—a fairly unassuming part that begins the second act. I had just begun to dance at my current studio the year before this, so I was quite the new girl that no one had really figured out yet, including my dance teacher and one of the choreographers of the production, Mark Spivak. During the few prior months of rehearsal, I had sat in on Snow practices, not even as an understudy, but as a curious bystander waiting around after our normal Saturday morning classes. Note: I was not even an understudy.
The night of the Gala performance became particularly interesting the moment Mark ran up the dressing room stairs yelling for me. Apparently a girl from the Snow corps injured her hip quite terribly while warming up, taking her out of the performance, with no understudies in sight. In Mark’s mind, I was the next in line. I hesitantly nodded yes to his question of “Can you do it?” I wasn’t really sure at the time, but “no” was not the answer to that question.
I donned the girl’s costume, which was about five inches too short, and went over choreography in about a five-square-foot space in the stairwell of the basement. Had I not been so hopped up on adrenaline, I’m not sure I would have stepped foot on stage. But I felt I had the hopes of my fellow dancers and my new dance teacher resting rather heavily on my shoulders. I had to prove that I was worthy of doing this. I had to prove that I could do it at all. Did I look like a several-weeks rehearsed Snow dancer? Probably not to the trained eye, but I felt like I pulled it off. The final curtain of the act came to a rest on the stage, and with fake snow clogging my fake eyelashes, I walked to the side stage to see nearly the full second act cast corralled around clapping, with Mark at the forefront. With a big, proud smile on his face, he said “Come to papa” and hugged me for a good while.
I love that moment. If I could carve that moment in a little piece of stone I would and I would carry it around in my pocket. It is still one of my favorite memories and it sticks out as one of those tests, that I could make it through. Ahhh…it kind-of makes me want to get my tights and pointe shoes and jump in the performance. But two years without having danced on pointe? No…nope that’s just crazy. I’ll leave that to Brittany.
kat.berry.