Dancing As Fast As I Can

Barbara: Cheesy title maybe, but hey, a girl’s gotta pun. And also it is very apropos.

I’ve posted here before about my sister’s amazing dance festival. She lives in Guelph, which is a small city about 45 minutes outside Toronto. Catrina’s background was in contemporary dance, a dance form I think you’re probably all at least somewhat familiar with (thanks, in part, to shows like So You Think You Can Dance—my fave guilty pleasure). Before that, she was a dancer-choreographer who traveled the world with some prestigious Montreal dance companies. But she fell in love and married and found herself happily settled in Guelph. Fourteen years ago, she and a friend and fellow dancer decided to found a dance festival that would bring contemporary dance artists from around the country (or the world, for that matter) to the intimate setting of their adopted city. It would be a way to bring dance to the locals, as well as giving performers a chance to work outside a major metropolitan city. They knew it might not be easy; they didn’t care. And so the Guelph Contemporary Dance Festival was born!

Janet and Catrina (how cute are they?)

Catrina and Janet have nurtured and built an amazing celebration of dance. It's been so successful, in fact, that it developed beyond the Festival to a year-round hub of all things dance-related: camps, workshops, fundraisers, one-off performances, etc, etc. But the Festival! Oh, the Festival. It is now four days of some of the best contemporary dance artists in the country performing all over the city: in the natural theatre of the park; in the concrete jungle of City Square; in studios so small you can see the dancers’ sweat; and on the traditional stage. You become immersed in this walking adventure of dance, moving from locale to locale to watch the artistry. 

Karen Kaeja Bird's Eye View. Photo by Anuta Skrypnychenko.

Wants&Needs Danse performing Chorus Two. Photo by Celia Spenard-Ko.

Zata Omm Dance Projects performing Bodhi Tree Duet. Photo by David Hou.

If you’ve experienced performance like this before then you know what I mean when I say it is moving beyond words. The pure expression of emotion—whether angry, sad, twisted, questioning, joyful, serene—plays through you like your own body is up there moving, or as if the energy of the dancer’s body is keyed into your own and powers it from this higher, connected source. I mean, all dance can do this, but there is something about seeing it in a person who is a mere few feet away and who is conveying their story in a way you have probably never seen before. There is something to the surprise of that.

If you’re in the area, I highly recommend checking it out. You can find all the info here.

If you’re not, let me tell you another reason why I’m sharing this story. For the last several months, I have gone outside my comfort zone and taken on the role of the Festival PR. When their usual PR person went on mat leave and in a serendipitous moment wherein I expressed an interest in this kind of work and my sister a need for someone to do it, we just looked at each other and realized that it would be stupid (and kinda rude to Serendipity) to ignore it. After all, it wasn’t a full-time job, it might only be for this year, and it would teach me many invaluable lessons. 

And what an adventure it’s been.

What am I most proud of? Probably the blog that I conceived and started, that I now oversee, organizing the contributors, mostly dancers, giving them a showcase, and inviting them to translate their movement into words (which they do remarkably well!). 

I have absolutely loved being part of this unique and special organization: it is inspired, supportive, curious and creative. I have loved (for the most part) the work that I need to do for them. I have loved seeing a dynamic venture from the inside and bringing my own ideas and thoughts to them.

But—and this is only a mild “but”, a truthful “but”—I am also a perfectionist, especially when it comes to my own work, and there have been many moments along the way of doubt and fear. Doubt that I could do it, fear that I would forget something vital. This is the last week before the weekend of performances, so trust me when I say the heart is pumping and the mind is whirring. I am, on the one hand, confident, on the other, insecure. Angel/Devil are having their way with me. And if I feel like this, I can’t imagine how my sister and her company partner must have felt over the years as they developed a nascent idea into a full-fledged extravaganza.

So I am here to confirm once again that if you want to try something new, go for it, go on that adventure (and tell us about it!), and don’t be held back by stupid insecurities and fears. On Friday I will head down to Guelph, my work mostly done (well, except for the fun meeting of people), and maybe the whirring will slow down a bit and I can soak up the sheer beauty of this magical weekend. That’s when my heart will slow down and fill up the way it always does when I see something truly AWE-some.

My niece! 

Deb: Barbara, you have poured your heart and soul into this and I know what it has meant to you. I also know very well your professional ethic and how goal-oriented you are. But more than that, I am sure of your heart commitment in every single thing you do. I cannot believe I have never experienced this. Next year I am going!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Perspective

Deb: Mom and I spent the night in the emergency ward. She lost control of her electric wheelchair and rammed into her chest of drawers, splitting her legs open. She required several stitches in both legs. The doctor was further concerned that infection would set in, given that they could not suture the whole thing due to large pieces of skin that had come away from the leg. This was a very serious concern given the fact that her leg was already compromised from her gangrene a few months ago and still on a slow mend.

A plastic surgeon was called in to see her and gave instructions to the nurse regards bathing and dressing the wound and gave us an appointment for follow-up in two days, at which point they would do a skin graft.

We had arrived in the emergency room at 8:30pm and finally left at 5:30am. The care was attentive and thorough and Mom was grateful and said so to each person who helped her. But as the hours wore on her patience wore out. She just wanted to go home and became increasingly frustrated. She had never had stitches in her life and was frightened. Add to that the fact that the doctor could not properly “freeze” the compromised leg and said that she would certainly feel the sutures as they were administered, which sadly she did. She was a trouper though, squeezing my hand and bearing up the best she could. When she cried or called out, she would apologize to the doctor who told her, “Mrs. McGrath you have every reason to express your pain and many people could not bear up what you are going through, so yell away.” Bless his heart.  

After she was stitched, they came to transfer her to another part of the emergency department as this one was closing down given the lateness of the hour and the fairly slow night in the waiting room.  The orderly who was wheeling her received an emergency call. He started to run down the hall and, turning to me over his shoulder, said, "Stay with your Mom, I will be right back." In seconds he came running back towards us toting a large white cooler marked “Human Blood” and ran through the large heavy doors right in front of us marked “Trauma”.

Strangely enough I had not even noticed we were in front of the trauma ward as I had been chatting with Mom, trying to keep her mind off the stitches, the possible infection, and her mounting panic around the even slight possibility that she should wind up back in the hospital for an extended stay as she had done in November.

Suddenly the trauma doors swung open and my heart jumped into my mouth. There were people on stretchers, blood everywhere, police rushing about, doctors suiting up, nurses running in, voices calling out and the flash of metal, sharp against the bright overhead lights. My mouth was dry and open, my eyes wide. My heart was beating like it wanted to escape me. Suddenly a nurse, shocked that we were standing there, pulled a bloody gloved hand across a curtain. All that was left were the sounds. Sounds like I had never heard in my life.  And it seemed ... well, it seemed like TV. I had never been that close to anything like that and I was overwhelmed with the reality of it.

As our orderly returned, rushing us away from what we should not have seen,  I sputtered out, "Is ... everyone ... okay?” He said with sadness, "It's not good.” “Was it a car accident?” “Yes ... it’s bad." As we rounded the corner, I began to wonder if I had even seen what I know I had seen. It happened so fast. Maybe it wasn't real. After all I had horrible insomnia the night before and after all it was well after 2am at this point and I was punchy. But I was reminded that it was all too real as people were still running by us towards the trauma room and I could still hear the ching of their I.D. tags which were opening the heavy doors, admitting them to that horrific scene.

As we walked quickly on, the pounding in my ears was abating and it was just starting to seem like a bad dream when we came upon the "Family Quiet Room", which was filled with crying frantic family and friends who were waiting for word about the accident.

The accident that was bad.

They were waiting to find out about their loved ones who were receiving all that care from the people with the chinging I.D. tags. They were waiting and praying for good news from the event our orderly had described  as...

It doesn’t look good.

We walked by them in what seemed like slow-motion, offering weak smiles and glances of hope. Some of them looked back and my eyes locked with their visible panic. As our silence thickened, our orderly Gregory stopped abruptly and turned to us. He looked my Mom in the face, smiled a broad smile and said, “Mrs. McGrath, aren’t you lucky!” My mother, kind of shocked by this odd chirpy statement amidst this scene, faltered a little but said, “Yes ... yes, I am ... I know I am.” He continued, “I work here every day and I see all sorts of horrible things. But what stays with me is the kindness, the humanness. I don’t know exactly what is going to happen to the people in that room, but I know they are receiving the strength of skill and the best of the human spirit and that is all any of us can do. That is why we are here, Mrs. McGrath. You are here having your own trauma and I am not belittling that one bit. But you are here with your daughter who loves you and who you love. Terrible things happen. But it’s love. To love and be loved and to know it. That is what I am grateful for every day I wake up, every day I get to work here, and every night I lay my head on the pillow.”

He wheeled us into my Mom’s E.R. room, “You are lucky. Good luck, Mrs. McGrath,” and he left.

All the way home that morning I thought of those people we had seen. I don’t know what happened to them and I pray that they pulled through.  But thanks to Gregory I was reminded that they were loved. That they too were lucky.

Barbara: What a story, Deb. My heart was pounding the whole time I was reading it. We haven’t had a chance yet to talk about that night with any real detail and I thank you for sharing this.

There’s nothing so soul-shifting as sudden accident. How everyone is forced to stop in their tracks and cling to the pulsing heart of things, which is the heart of everything: love love love. My heart goes out to those people and the shock they faced that awful night and must probably continue to face now. I also hope and wish for a healthy recovery for your dear Mom, Deb. Love. 

What’s the WORST THAT CAN HAPPEN??!!

Barbara: I was chatting with a friend the other day when it came up that this question haunts many of us on a daily, even minute-ly, basis. We wonder, we worry, we ruminate, we prepare, we stress out, we––in worst-case scenarios ( ;-) )––even sometimes succumb to a zillion nightmare answers to this question. And so, in trying to prepare ourselves for the worst, we become undone by it before it even happens. Or, ironically, our worries trigger that worst-case scenario.

A friend of mine had a vivid, emotionally terrifying nightmare: her best girlfriend was furious with her, crying and screaming, and the crux was that my friend did not like her friend’s new guy. When my friend woke up, all she could think about was the possibility that she and her best friend might actually have this terrible conflict in real life. Her worst fear was losing this friend. So she pondered all the possible reasons a scenario like this might happen, and then of all the possible ways she could avoid it. She spent so much time imagining every possible permutation of events that when she finally did meet her friend’s new boyfriend, she felt fully prepared. No one—NO ONE—would be able to say she didn’t get along with the guy. Sad twist, of course, is that her best friend believed that she was in fact trying to STEAL the boyfriend. The horrible nightmare came true because she’d been working so hard to prevent it!! (Happily, my friend was able to explain this whole mess and all was understood and forgiven.)

My whole life, I’ve tried to emotionally prepare for the worst. I really believed that if I was prepared, it wouldn’t shock me so badly or hurt me so much when it happened. Thing is—and I know we all know this, but it bears repeating––it’s never what you expect that happens (or how). I have never, not once, been able to prepare myself out of a life shock or drama or tragedy.

Deb actually helped me deal with this suffocating habit by sharing a great coping strategy. She was telling me about her dear friends’ struggle with the fact that the husband was dying of cancer. One of this couple’s strategies was to try and avoid immersing themselves in the emotional turmoil of the worst-case scenario. Obviously, a worst-case scenario had presented itself and that scenario was already playing out in the worst possible way. So she and her husband learned that if they imagined the worst, they were in fact living the scenario TWICE—once when they imagined it and then again when it actually happened. They were suffering twice as much, and wasting precious time in the grips of despair. So they decided to safeguard their present by living in it. Now if you take this logic to our often WRONG predictions of the future, then you see that we are also living the worst-case scenario unnecessarily.

Shit happens. We can only strategize when we’ve good and stepped in it (or had it flung in our faces).

Of course, we can all be prepared for bad scenarios in some kinds of concrete way––take that self-defense class, buy that alarm system, watch what you spend, eat healthily, let your friends know you love them—but having an imaginary script written for all the emotional upheavals that will or might take place in our lives only mocks us when nothing turns out the way we advance-screen it in your minds. 

Deb: This has been an ongoing struggle for me through my life, Barb. I am wired for panic. My people are panickers and I have carried on this fine tradition. But over the last years I have really worked on trying not to go to the dark side and I have made large inroads. I still have my moments, of course, but largely I find that my major knee-jerking has ceased. I stop and breath, and I don’t go there twice anymore. 

Contemplating A Dog's Life

Barbara: The post the other day about wee Bairn making her precious way into our lives made me contemplate the other side of a dog’s life. The side where things gets a bit harder. Well, I guess I also got to thinking about this other side because times are a bit … twisted at the moment, for me and pretty much all those around me. And when life gets twisted, we all get a bit dark and twisted with it, don’t we?

Chaplin

My dog, Chaplin, is my own dear, sweet pooch and, as much as I resisted getting a dog, I don’t regret finally making this decision. Not one bit. He, like Bairn, also started off with no fears in the world. Everything was exciting and wonderful. Every person. Every dog. Especially every dog. If you have one, you know that look dogs get when they spot each other—they’re out for their morning walk and suddenly a fellow-species member trots by and the world stops for both of them, like they’re the only two beings alive on this earth. You half-expect some sappy love-song strains to start up, say “Lady in Red”, as they strain to nuzzle and sniff each other. I always used to say, Chaplin is a people-dog, but he’s even more of a dog-dog.

But that all changed one day when I was walking Chaplin and we passed a large white (leashed) dog who, apropos of nothing, suddenly clamped its jaw around Chaplin’s neck. The master reacted in seconds and all finished okay. But Chaplin was a changed pooch. He was, well, gobsmacked seems the best word. It was like he’d just discovered his best friend was cheating on him.

Now he never looks at dogs the same way, with that innocent joy and heart-bursting love. No, now he growls or retreats shaking behind my legs, or sometimes he even lunges. For what purpose, I don’t know, I hardly see him as the jaws-around-a-neck type. And if the dog is large and white, all the more difficult to soothe him down.

Anyway, all this to say that it makes me wonder if we all aren’t a little doggy in our lives. We too start off sweet and innocent. But if one white dog clamps its steely jaw around our neck, life can change forever after. Yes, it teaches us a valuable lesson that some dogs bite, but it often just ruins dogs for us completely. Suddenly, for no better reason than something bad happened to us one day in the past, we now tend to cower or retreat or lunge out in angry self-defense at even the whiff of large-white-dog-breath.

But should one mean-spirited (or misguided) dog affect everything we try to do from now on? If one person or event or challenge or shock sideswipes us, should we lie in wait every day after for the same thing to happen again? Or can we somehow start fresh, reprogram our brains, and learn to not assume every dog will bite even if we know some certainly will? And in so doing, will we become more accepting, more courageous, and much more present in the moment?

All I know is that for me most, if not all, of my fears and anxieties grip me because of the sheer force of this habit. Ironically, there’s nothing more mundane than a habit, especially a bad one. And habit is a very difficult habit to break. Just ask Chaplin.

Deb: I guess that’s why when I am in a room full of people that love me, I will navigate to the one who doesn’t. Cause I have to sell them on me. Have to make them get the Deb.

I relate to Chaplin on this, but because my brain is bigger (YES, I AM SMARTER THAN THE DOG!), I have found my way around this one. I have really started to succeed in not letting the big dog bully me. I have found more and more that I am making small steps in that direction. My issue is the pendulum. I find myself struggling with the two extremes. I go from “Carpet Girl”––walk all over me––to FUCKYOUYAMEANSPIRITEDBULLYBETTYTHINKYOURPOODOESNTSTINK!

This is my issue. I need to find the middle ground and I am working on it. I can tell you this––and I stand by it 100%––if someone is not worthy of my love and friendship, I move on with no bitterness and no regret. My world and the world at large are too full of sweet pups to choose a bully. I am officially over them.

Chaplin, are you listening? Good dog. Smart Dog.

Are There No Limits To My Limits?

Barbara: I am a chicken-shit. Simple as that. At least that’s how I feel more often than not. If I find myself facing a bit of a physical challenge, something most of you would shrug at, I start to, oh my god, hyperventilate. It’s frickin’ ridiculous.

Let me give you a few examples: Every year I go to my sister’s cottage. It is a little piece of heaven with a beautiful lake. Both my sisters are strong and enthusiastic swimmers and they love the chance to get their exercise out on the water, swimming for miles from one side of the lake to the other and then back again. Now, I love the water and I love swimming, but put me in the open water and my heart starts pounding and my breathing starts to accelerate. I am strong, I know it. When I’m at the gym I can fake-row for 30 minutes without breaking too much of a sweat. I can bike for much longer. I workout; I have some upper-body strength (my husband may mock this claim). But still the open water is freaky for me. It’s not a fear of under-water creatures or even of drowning. But it is this strange hopelessness. It comes over me, taunts me, maligns me: “You can’t do it. You can’t do it.” I’m the Little Engine That Couldn’t.

Last summer, I visited very good friends out in B.C. and one of them offered to take me on what’s called the “Grouse Grind”. The Grind is a famous 3-kilometer hike straight up a mountain near Vancouver. I love hiking and being out in the wilds. The Grind is something I always wanted to do. I was really excited. But as we drove there, my (very fit) friend––who had done the hike many times––described the trail: it is literally thousands of steps straight up. Not a winding, steep trail as I had imagined. But friggin’ stairs. Thousands of them. (Did I say that already?). The maligning voice started taunting with a vengeance: “What are you thinking?” “You’re going to make a fool of yourself.” “Everyone will have to wait for you.” “You’ll be the whiny baby who couldn’t do it.” And sure enough, we hit the trail and my anxiety kicks in and my breath jars and my heart races. It’s hard enough climbing stairs that never end, never mind doing it with a bad ‘tude.

My husband really wanted me to share his passion for scuba diving. So, despite my absolute terror, I finally tried it. I panicked so badly, the instructor had to hold my hand the whole way. The whole way!!

I’m a pretty good downhill skier, but my husband and girls are kick-ass. One year, they challenged me to ski an extreme bowl. I gulped hard and agreed. The bowl started on a 75 degree vertical, then got less steep but more treed. The run is 6 kilometers of pure torture. I cried for the first 3 k. That’s, like, an hour of crying. During which, mind you, I am skiing. I’m succeeding, but not appreciating the fact, get my point?

So what happened? I crossed the lake with my sisters, no problem. Zen happiness. I made it up to the top of Grouse Grind (1 ½ hours of climbing stairs). Pure cathartic adrenalin. I made it to the bottom of the ski hill in one piece. Absolute euphoria. I challenged myself to try scuba diving one more time. Did it, didn’t panic, loved it in fact. My husband was elated. I was elated.

But I still found myself clasping my husband’s face between my hands and very gently but firmly informing him that I would never, ever, ever scuba-dive or extreme ski again. The Grind? Maybe. Swimming my sister’s lake? Quite probably, hyperventilation and all.

What’s the point of this post? Um … I don’t actually know. I’m a wimp and I know it. Not proud of it. But I’m also realizing that I underestimate my own strength and power way too often. And that’s not a good thing.

Well, they do say that knowing your weakness is half the battle, right? And I did once kick a car-jacker in the balls. But that’s for another post….

Deb: First of all, Barb is an excellent downhill skier with beautiful style, but did not learn to ski in the cradle as her husband and kids did and I think that is part of the thing. When it is taught from early childhood, it is like walking or breathing, but when the lesson is learned later it comes with the manual of what could happen “if”. I once told Barb that instead of feeling badly about not doing the extreme ski again, she should be proud as punch that she did it once––and knocked it off her list. After all, is it worth the sickening worry?

I am also a scaredy-cat I am ashamed to say. I have always been a fit, healthy girl and I work out five or six times a week. I just registered for two types of dance classes today. But anything that seems “extreme” to me makes my blood run cold. I don’t even swim in open water of any kind. I figure you know where you stand with a pool. At this point in my life, I want to live as healthily and well as I can, taking no chances. I guess it all depends on what you think is “taking a risk” in your life. If you know in your heart that the fear is healthy then I say GO! But if it is debilitating then maybe you should stay. Risk isn’t always facing mortal danger. I have seen Barb take risks in the most ordinary everyday ways and I have been amazed and in awe of her!

Barbara: Aw, Deb, thanks. Back at ya, by the way. And you’re right, there are lots of ways of “taking chances”. I just wish I could apply that courage a bit more often and with a bit more gusto.

And Human Kindness

Barbara: Since your post, Deb, about the Human Spirit, I’ve been thinking a lot about Human Kindness.

Do you ever wonder if maybe there would be more acts of kindness if people had a set of rules they HAD to follow? You know, a “Human Manual” with instructions to help you cope when things go awry. Something like: if someone collapses in front of you, you 1) approach them 2) find out if they’re okay 3) if they’re not okay, call 911 or get someone else to call. Or something to that effect.

I know this is probably second-nature to the kinds of people who read this blog, but I can’t help having a sort of wild faith in those people you hear about (or see on video surveillance footage) who walk past that guy who’s writhing on the street. What if it’s that they just DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO and not that they don’t have it in their hearts to DO SOMETHING? Maybe for them it’s a terrible moment of panic and impotence instead of apathy. Maybe our fight or flight response also applies to our reactions in the face of other people’s adversity (whether it’s witnessing a crime or hearing that a friend has cancer—and either responding like a mensch or slinking away and ignoring it).

And I think this division between those for whom kindness is easy and those for whom it needs to be learned can be found around the world, regardless of personal history. And KIND people generally outnumber cheek-turning, mean-talking, need-to-consult-a-Human-Manual Apathetics.

Recently, I heard from my cousin who’s peacekeeping in Afghanistan and he told me that the locals there have no desire to fight, but just want to live their lives and feed their children. Most of them go about their days showing respect and hospitality to both “sides”. It reminded me that no matter what our backgrounds, we have so MUCH in common. And our expansive love and kindness can be found even in the least fertile places.  



After all, it’s like that scientist said: there is greater diversity in the DNA of a handful of snails than there is in the entire human race!

We are (or can be) so much better than our press would have us believe.