Flexing That Creative Muscle

just start writing. say anything. what about ballet?

Just start writing (internal dialogue). I don’t have anything that important to share, but as a writer I feel as though writing is important to my overall wellbeing, even if I avoid it like…the plag…I won’t complete that cliche.

As a writer, as a creative person, the act of creating IS important.

My brain is so flooded with what I could say, with what to focus on, with what may be helpful to any one of you who may read this, with what you would care about or wouldn’t care about, with what I have a deep need to express, with what I can’t seem to make myself write about. Perhaps the time isn’t right? Who knows!

I am impacted by the news and the world around us and what is happening to other people “out there.” I am overwhelmed by what seems to be happening to the “world as we know it.” Someone I follow on some platform called it “psychological warfare.” It resonates as accurately naming the hyper-vigilance, the fatigue, the wish for reprieve and relief that I’ve been experiencing. No wonder I have a deep wish for a settling to occur, a sense of stability once again. And this is from my POV, so I am not discounting the fact that many people have never fully felt that our world was stable or secure for them.

But I am not a journalist, nor a political writer, nor care to make this Substack a place where I try to address the WTF of all that. But I, like many, are hyper-aware of how fucked up it feels and has felt.

My writing and what I share here is not in an attempt to disregard the bigger picture, the bigger world of really fucked up things happening. I am here to write about my personal bubble—the mundane. Which, again, seems pale in comparison, but also necessary.

And on that note:

The other evening I was watching Youtube clips from dogs in doggy daycare to Keto/Carnivore recipes to upcoming winter weather storm updates for the Southeast to Daniel Ping on being your weird self as the key to living your purpose. A clip of Mikail Baryshnikov dancing in Don Quixote presented itself (algorithmically suggested), and I clicked on it. Dancers. Wow. The physique and presence and grace and control is amazing to me.

I am not a highly cultured person as far as the arts are concerned, but I am aware of Baryshnikov as being one of the best male ballet dancers during the 70’s and 80’s. Because I clicked on the one suggested video of him, Youtube suggested more ballet performances for me to watch. Example: Swan Lake and the dance of the “Black Swan” performed by five different dancers over time. Then there were videos about how to properly stretch from physiotherapists who work with professional ballet dancers to how to strengthen and take care of their feet.

After having gotten into Pilates in Brevard for a few years, I learned about the overlap with Pilates folks/instructors and ballet dancers. From my local Pilates studio, there were a few teachers who had been professional dancers who also taught at Brevard’s new dance collective. Even though a lot of the classes are offered for small kids and young students, they offer adult classes, too. Guess what I did?

Yes. Yes. You got it. I signed up for a few ballet classes. 8:30 am. One of the other adult students had an extra pair of new ballet flats with her and gifted them to me. There were about 5 to 6 of us in each class I went to and our teacher was thorough and measured with how she gave instruction so that I could follow along. (as long as I could also watch her…I’m definitely a visual learner). It was challenging both physically and mentally and I loved it.

However, my poor, narrow, injury prone, never ending plantar fasciitis wielding, torn ligament and heel bursitis feet did NOT love the strained pointing, arch cramping, cushionless ballet flats on hardwood floors whilst leaping and jumping and sashaying (the step-together-step glide from the French word Chassé, as in being chased). My feet and achilles and calves were like, “OH, HELL NO.”

Chronic stress fractures and heel pain made running a thing of the past for me and ballet was not showing signs of reviving any hope I had that my Piscean feet (the astrological sign of two fishes, aka a water sign) could endure the demand and impact of another earthen activity like ballet. Only five classes in and I knew that I couldn’t continue no matter how much I enjoyed the full-body movement, the wish to move my limbs with control and grace (a characteristic I don’t naturally embody), and the novelty of relearning the basics—feet positions and French terminology.

I realize this is a weird place to end this post, but until next time…I’ll be back tomorrow or the next day or later and continue on stretching my writing muscle…my meanderings—grateful to be with you in my thoughts and to be able to share the mundane.

In the mess and the magic,

Rachel

A note to my other writer friends: I am an em dash user in my writing. I am not using ChatGPT for my content here, which is known for inserting em dashes. Due to the way my brain works, I use em dashes and parenthesis and commas for all of my thoughts and sub-thoughts and further sub-thoughts. My brain and writing is a bit like the dream within the dream within the dream of the movie Inception.

To all my lovers of books and learning and learning about ourselves…here we are. xo Rachel

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