Today after a 90-minute solo rehearsal, I came down with a case of the crazies. Kind of a hopeless, helpless feeling that comes from being unsure of my choreography and feeling terribly disappointed in how I look performing it.
It’s not that I haven’t practiced enough. No, I know the dance well. This is just what I do before every performance.
I’m not an obsessive perfectionist in real life. My apartment gets cluttered, my work space is a mess, and I’m an Olympic-class daydreamer who puts off real-life duties when fantasies are more engaging. But in my flamenco world, I’m a compulsive nut. Give me a choreography, especially a solo piece, and it becomes the focus of every waking thought. I want it to be perfect.
This is impossible for many reasons. First, I’m still a student with a lot to learn. Second, I can’t physically dance the way I’d like to because I’m not yet fully conditioned to do so. Finally, I’m not a flamenca fembot; I’m human and sh!t happens. I need to learn to deal with that.
But still I panic. I freak out. I might even cry just a little bit, sometimes. Then I retire to my couch for awhile to try to pull myself together before I head off to the next rehearsal.
I know, alegrias is supposed to be happy. It will be again tomorrow, I think. I just need to sleep it off. Goodnight.
Married to the Dance 