Well this could mean any number of things. Vagina. Yes, I have one, and it is regretably unfrequented. By anyone other than me, that is.
Vortex. I'm informed this is an inpenetrable, unavoidable force given off by ruthless women whose goal in life is to lure men into their caged lair; zap them with their beauty, wit, and charm; and watch as they drop, still fuming with confusion to the floor. No, this topic certainly has potential, but it's not the word to which I am referring.
Vermin? Gross. Vision? Nah. Vendetta? Not yet. No, the V-word I would like to address is the big 'un--V. I. R. G. I. N.
Gasp! She said it.
That's right, the big V. A virgin. That's me. I'm twenty-four years old and I have never had sex. And let me tell you, in this society as it exists today, that might just make me an anomally.
My friends have been having sex since they were fourteen and fifteen years old. In fact, I remember hearing that two kids were sleeping together in the fifth grade, which meant they must have been ten or eleven. Now, this easily could have been a vicious rumor, but somehow in my memory it seems possible.
When I was ten, however, my "boyfriend" and I were teasing eachother at recess, passing notes, and MAYBE sitting together at lunch. I was ecstatic when he gave me a plastic candycane filled with Hershey's kisses for Christmas.
Back then, my hair was frizzy and I wore my bangs in a poof. I had big, bright colored socks that I pulled up high over my tight-rolled jeans. Man, was I fashionable. I was more concerned with rollerblading down my street, playing with my dog, and terrorizing the boy across the street than with carnal exploration. This was a time of sleepover parties where we ate junk food while watching "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and playing "Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board." Those were the days we convinced eachother the house was haunted and then couldn't fall asleep all night. It was a time of crank calls and midnight capture the flag, of imaginary adventures and outrageous dreams.
What was sex? Damned if I knew. And at the time, I didn't care.
Since then, I've been flirting with perpetual lonliness, emptiness. Too scared to accept happiness. Too damaged to let it in. I find it almost impossible to believe someone might see past the skin level to the me inside. Nobody did in Tolland, nobody did at UNH, or on Semester at Sea. So why would anyone now, or ever for that matter? But here I tell only half the story.
I wouldn't let anyone try. I've been on the defensive since highschool, and then I wonder why I've never loved or been loved. It's a cop out to say all guys are scumbags and are only interested in sex. Obscene generalities like that are just my way of feeling better about myself and my place in life. My imaginative brain waves have worked overtime looking for every possibility of my being hurt and used. The blame is ultimately always on the other. But really this is all my fault.
I've let sterotypes and impressions others held about me infiltrate my self-perception, and it's from that point of penetration that my psychoses originate.
Maybe it was that list the boys made in high school: the one labeling me "Best Boobs"--not most beautiful, intelligent, or interesting. Or maybe it was that summer day during downtime at play rehearsal when Rallo and Hayes first grabbed my breast, and not knowing this was grossly inappropriate, I just squealed and squirmed away: thus setting the precident for sexual harrassment that would last entirely too long and that would strongly affect how I thought about and interacted with men thereafter.
This also directly relates to the falling out I had with one of my best friends. It's not that I was one of those girls who exploited her body to get what she wanted (in fact, those girls pissed me off), but I kept quiet and smiled when someone made a comment or gave me attention because of my body. But at the same time, I never thought of myself as beautiful. Apparently, I was "hot," not "pretty." I don't think I ever actually believed any of those things. I'm not sure what I thought of myself, but I doubt that it was even mildly attractive.
It didn't help that by nature, I'm what they call a "huggy" person; and because of this, I fell easily into the "flirt" category, which was the threat for Sara when she and Tim got together. No amount of talking and truth-telling could break that label, that perception she had of me. It didn't matter that any number of our friends were just as flirty--it was me and my body that was the threat. I became the enemy, the one she had to watch out for. I went from best friend to favorite one to hate. In just one moment.
So from the ashes of hurt and betrayal rose an unfamiliar version of myself: one that held back, one that lost some of the spark and personality, one that could barely convince herself that it would all work out in the end.
Of course, if not for this happening, I might've taken longer to realize the qualities of true friends. Friends that don't try to fit you into a nice, neat little box so they don't have to be confused or surprised about the way you're acting. Friends who place a mirror before you so that you can finally recognize and accept the reflection you see, for yourself, not for anyone else or by anyone else's standards. The ones that make you feel at ease to be silly and odd and real. The ones that you can talk to about the world, politics, spirituality, and various other "big" issues, and then turn around and have a sugar packet fight in the middle of class, or plot and execute a water balloon ambush together.
It's becoming more and more clear to me that if it weren't for this phase, this pathway of experience, I might not have truly appreciated the next male entrances into my life. There were qualities in them that the guys I went for, or that went for me, never had. Physicality was removed; intellect, humor, and spirituality were on the forefront. I loved the way we laughed. The way he treated me like a lady and one of his buddies simultaneously. The way we had such a hard time saying goodbye. The way I never felt pressured. Instead I felt wanted, needed, comfortable, and immediately missed when I was gone.
But these qualities and possibilities, in two separate boys, were thwarted either by timing, circumstance, or distance.
And now I feel like I'm back at square one. How do I date with this baggage weighing me down? I'd like to put back together my fractured self. I'd like to find someone with whom I can both be the person I know I am beneath my skin and be proud of the body I have. I want to bring back the physicality into my relationships. With the right person, I think I'm more than ready.
But I fear that this V-word is taking on a life of it's own. I suppose, as with everything else, I'm going to have to prove to myself and to the next man that I am not defined by this. I am so much more. I have so much to offer. And with some patience and some affection on his part, I'll be willing to give him everything I have to give. I just have to find him.
Sigh. Therein lies the problem.
Friday, March 16, 2007
....om....
I bear the sanskrit symbol, Om, around my neck with quasi-confidence. I know that it helps me; it helps me define my beliefs. But sometimes it feels like I can't explain to the curious exactly what it means. Instead, then, I try to explain exactly what it means to me. And even that is a challenge.
How do you put your heart, your spirit, your soul into words? How do you slap a name or a label on something so integral to your nature? Putting anything--individuality, relationships, emotions, beliefs, dreams, desires--so neatly and precisely into boxes of cognizance is an insult to its complexity. It is an insult to its very existence.
And yet the thing that makes us so uniquely human is our capacity and inclination to communicate the impossible. As the young boy is told that he is "too small, too slow" to keep up and follows along anyway, we are drawn to a challenge. I too am inclined to try and claim my aptitude. I want to at least begin to verbalize that evanescent stuff beneath my skin. Maybe then I can confidently move about with body, mind, and soul coexisting peacefully. Maybe then I can feel truly...me.
Here are some brief (if trite) definitions from the oh-so-wise-and-convenient Web:
___________________________________________________________
Om –noun - Hinduism.
A mantric word thought to be a complete expression of Brahman and interpreted as having three sounds representing Brahma or creation, Vishnu or preservation, and Siva or destruction, or as consisting of the same three sounds, representing waking, dreams, and deep sleep, along with the following silence, which is fulfillment.
Om - Skt.,=yes, so be it - for Hindus and Buddhists, a mystic word or mantra. Om is regarded as the syllable of the supreme Reality and is sometimes called "the mother of mantras." It is often found at the beginning of prayers, mantras, and scriptures as a word of invocation and adoration. In Hinduism its three Sanskrit phonemes (transliterated a, u, and m) symbolize the triad of Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver, and Shiva the destroyer, or the three levels of consciousness: waking, dreaming, and deep sleep. In Buddhism it is often understood as symbolizing the true "empty" character of reality, as that truth has been communicated by various historical Buddhas, celestial Buddhas, and, directly, by the true character of reality itself (see sunyata).
* Creation (Brahma)- Preservation (Vishnu)- Destruction (Shiva) into Brahman
* Waking- Dreaming- Dreamless Sleep into Turiya (transcendental fourth state of consciousness)
* Rajas (activity, heat, fire) - Tamas (dullness, ignorance, darkness) - Sattva (purity, light, serenity/shanti) into Brahman
* Body, Speech and Mind into Oneness
___________________________________________________________
I like this idea of threes, of using the combination of opposite forces to find a fourth and higher force. It is a paradox. And in paradoxes, especially lately, I find more clarity than confusion. There is rarely a right or wrong, a black or white, a yes or no, a "my way" or the "highway." Things don't work that way. Change those conjunctions from the restrictive "or" to the inclusive "and"; then, maybe, we're getting closer to the truth.
Amidst mass chaos, violence, destruction, and confusion, there is still peace. Each person has it within them to find their own serenity, their own strength. By whittling down all the complications in life to a deep, cleansing breath--to a silent mantra, Om--I find moments of silence, of clarity. I know I am not enlightened. I know I am not perfect. I know I have a lot of growing to do: personally, emotionally, and spiritually. But I also know that with a point of entrance into the vast ocean of existence, I can navigate confidently through my life.
Om does this for me and wearing the symbol around my neck is a reminder: all human beings have the same guiding light inside. We are all connected in this way, and instead of waving our flags of religious extremism, of patriotism, of terrorism, of any other -ism, we should take a moment to recognize this bond.
Humanity. We are a family--dysfunctional, yes--but a family nonetheless.
How do you put your heart, your spirit, your soul into words? How do you slap a name or a label on something so integral to your nature? Putting anything--individuality, relationships, emotions, beliefs, dreams, desires--so neatly and precisely into boxes of cognizance is an insult to its complexity. It is an insult to its very existence.
And yet the thing that makes us so uniquely human is our capacity and inclination to communicate the impossible. As the young boy is told that he is "too small, too slow" to keep up and follows along anyway, we are drawn to a challenge. I too am inclined to try and claim my aptitude. I want to at least begin to verbalize that evanescent stuff beneath my skin. Maybe then I can confidently move about with body, mind, and soul coexisting peacefully. Maybe then I can feel truly...me.
Here are some brief (if trite) definitions from the oh-so-wise-and-convenient Web:
___________________________________________________________
Om –noun - Hinduism.
A mantric word thought to be a complete expression of Brahman and interpreted as having three sounds representing Brahma or creation, Vishnu or preservation, and Siva or destruction, or as consisting of the same three sounds, representing waking, dreams, and deep sleep, along with the following silence, which is fulfillment.
Om - Skt.,=yes, so be it - for Hindus and Buddhists, a mystic word or mantra. Om is regarded as the syllable of the supreme Reality and is sometimes called "the mother of mantras." It is often found at the beginning of prayers, mantras, and scriptures as a word of invocation and adoration. In Hinduism its three Sanskrit phonemes (transliterated a, u, and m) symbolize the triad of Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver, and Shiva the destroyer, or the three levels of consciousness: waking, dreaming, and deep sleep. In Buddhism it is often understood as symbolizing the true "empty" character of reality, as that truth has been communicated by various historical Buddhas, celestial Buddhas, and, directly, by the true character of reality itself (see sunyata).
* Creation (Brahma)- Preservation (Vishnu)- Destruction (Shiva) into Brahman
* Waking- Dreaming- Dreamless Sleep into Turiya (transcendental fourth state of consciousness)
* Rajas (activity, heat, fire) - Tamas (dullness, ignorance, darkness) - Sattva (purity, light, serenity/shanti) into Brahman
* Body, Speech and Mind into Oneness
___________________________________________________________
I like this idea of threes, of using the combination of opposite forces to find a fourth and higher force. It is a paradox. And in paradoxes, especially lately, I find more clarity than confusion. There is rarely a right or wrong, a black or white, a yes or no, a "my way" or the "highway." Things don't work that way. Change those conjunctions from the restrictive "or" to the inclusive "and"; then, maybe, we're getting closer to the truth.
Amidst mass chaos, violence, destruction, and confusion, there is still peace. Each person has it within them to find their own serenity, their own strength. By whittling down all the complications in life to a deep, cleansing breath--to a silent mantra, Om--I find moments of silence, of clarity. I know I am not enlightened. I know I am not perfect. I know I have a lot of growing to do: personally, emotionally, and spiritually. But I also know that with a point of entrance into the vast ocean of existence, I can navigate confidently through my life.
Om does this for me and wearing the symbol around my neck is a reminder: all human beings have the same guiding light inside. We are all connected in this way, and instead of waving our flags of religious extremism, of patriotism, of terrorism, of any other -ism, we should take a moment to recognize this bond.
Humanity. We are a family--dysfunctional, yes--but a family nonetheless.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Director's note: Summer Dance Show
In its third incarnation, the "Dance Thing" has evolved into a new and distinctive entity from the first, but with the ever-pervasive intent for young artists to create and perform something they can proudly call their own. Five summers ago, I didn't realize how central the concept for this "Thing" would become to my life and the way I navigate through it.
As artists and as people just trying to live our lives, we go through a natural process of things. With beginning, middle, and end to each subplot, we find catharsis in having gone through each. But I find comfort and inspiration in the middle--the mess, the confusion, the process. In that space we can truly learn about ourselves, finding purpose and satisfaction.
This show is a tribute to all artists and creators who know that struggle--the bitter trials we gladly face. Let us not rush through the middle of things, because in rushing we'll have missed all the good stuff.
As artists and as people just trying to live our lives, we go through a natural process of things. With beginning, middle, and end to each subplot, we find catharsis in having gone through each. But I find comfort and inspiration in the middle--the mess, the confusion, the process. In that space we can truly learn about ourselves, finding purpose and satisfaction.
This show is a tribute to all artists and creators who know that struggle--the bitter trials we gladly face. Let us not rush through the middle of things, because in rushing we'll have missed all the good stuff.
To my adopted big brother, father, friend...
________,
I sit here trying to figure out how to thank you for the past ten years. I want to be witty and charming. I want to start with a heartfelt, yet quirky story--one that screams US--then I want to pinpoint all the moments you've helped me grow, and I want you in tears by the end. This should be easy. But now I'm in tears.
My catch twenty-two is paradoxical endings. They close one moment and open the next. They mark accomplishments or failures, whichever the case may be. They can tear your heart out, or they can inflate your ego. They can scare the living bajeebers out of you or induce the highest high of hope. At the moment, though, I'm feeling a bit sad.
This happens to me at every endpoint of my life: my gut churns into knots, and my heels dig holes in the ground. I don't want change. Ever. At least not right when it's about to happen.
Don't get me wrong. I love possibility and the unknown. So I guess I really do love change. But in the beginning, I am reluctant to give up the comfort, the safety, and the love I found in the last beginning of my life. That would inevitably mean I risk losing part of what made that time wonderful. And right now, I want to bask in this beginning before it ends.
I've always seen change as final, where people leave the moments which marked my last beginning behind and don't look back. Change has meant saying goodbye and hoping with all my might that the next beginning is as magical as the last. In this case, though, I hope I'm wrong. This change won't mean the end for us. In fact, I have a feeling there are many shows and adventures ahead. I see collaborations between our respective schools. I see other theater projects that we have yet to dream. Amid my uncertainties, one thing is sure: we are not finished.
You are an inspiration to me, and in you I've found more than a director and mentor; I've found a friend. I admire your passion and dedication in every aspect of your life--your marriage, your family, and your career. You've shown me that good men are out there, and that I shouldn't settle. You've shown me that you can always dream; you can always grow. Most importantly, you've shown me that silliness, laughter, and play have a place in life, no matter what your age. This is why I love producing shows with you.
How appropriate that we mark this milestone with our second run of Honk! When we began this journey, I was young, awkward, and had little more to offer the shows than my passion for dance and my capability to bellow "5, 6, 7, 8!" But you took me under your wing, gave me room to mess up (and then fix it), and somewhere amongst the madness I grew up. Well, kind of. And now when I'm unsure of the future, when I doubt myself, "just knowing you are out there," that you believe in me, "will help me to get by."
So let's not raise a glass to the end, but to the beginning of something different. And remember--"Different isn't hateful. Different could be swell. Different is just, well, different."
Thank you for everything.
I sit here trying to figure out how to thank you for the past ten years. I want to be witty and charming. I want to start with a heartfelt, yet quirky story--one that screams US--then I want to pinpoint all the moments you've helped me grow, and I want you in tears by the end. This should be easy. But now I'm in tears.
My catch twenty-two is paradoxical endings. They close one moment and open the next. They mark accomplishments or failures, whichever the case may be. They can tear your heart out, or they can inflate your ego. They can scare the living bajeebers out of you or induce the highest high of hope. At the moment, though, I'm feeling a bit sad.
This happens to me at every endpoint of my life: my gut churns into knots, and my heels dig holes in the ground. I don't want change. Ever. At least not right when it's about to happen.
Don't get me wrong. I love possibility and the unknown. So I guess I really do love change. But in the beginning, I am reluctant to give up the comfort, the safety, and the love I found in the last beginning of my life. That would inevitably mean I risk losing part of what made that time wonderful. And right now, I want to bask in this beginning before it ends.
I've always seen change as final, where people leave the moments which marked my last beginning behind and don't look back. Change has meant saying goodbye and hoping with all my might that the next beginning is as magical as the last. In this case, though, I hope I'm wrong. This change won't mean the end for us. In fact, I have a feeling there are many shows and adventures ahead. I see collaborations between our respective schools. I see other theater projects that we have yet to dream. Amid my uncertainties, one thing is sure: we are not finished.
You are an inspiration to me, and in you I've found more than a director and mentor; I've found a friend. I admire your passion and dedication in every aspect of your life--your marriage, your family, and your career. You've shown me that good men are out there, and that I shouldn't settle. You've shown me that you can always dream; you can always grow. Most importantly, you've shown me that silliness, laughter, and play have a place in life, no matter what your age. This is why I love producing shows with you.
How appropriate that we mark this milestone with our second run of Honk! When we began this journey, I was young, awkward, and had little more to offer the shows than my passion for dance and my capability to bellow "5, 6, 7, 8!" But you took me under your wing, gave me room to mess up (and then fix it), and somewhere amongst the madness I grew up. Well, kind of. And now when I'm unsure of the future, when I doubt myself, "just knowing you are out there," that you believe in me, "will help me to get by."
So let's not raise a glass to the end, but to the beginning of something different. And remember--"Different isn't hateful. Different could be swell. Different is just, well, different."
Thank you for everything.
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