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After being exposed to a variety of different languages and cultures during my 4 years in undergrad at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (Go Heels!), 7 of which I've utilized above (can you name all 7?), I have encountered a much different transition than those to which I had become accustomed. There were some similarities between the start of this adventure and the start of the many others I had taken throughout college: the stress-induced insomnia the night before, filled with frantic cramming of socks in new-found suitcase pockets, the shoving of home-cooked food down my throat (most of it voluntary, but somewhat force-fed by Roberta "You'll Surely Starve in A Week Without This Food" Thomason), the tears and double-embrace, because one hug just won't be enough, the promises of regular contact and detailed updates. But this time I was not traveling to a Communist, UXO-ridden foreign land or a country on the verge of revolution; this time, I was traveling to a place I had been many times before, a place which was the center of many of my dreams. This time, I was going to New York City.
Let's set the scene. It is around 9:00pm on August 3, 2012, and I'm sitting at a mall in Durham, North Carolina, savoring the taste of my double-chocolate brownie 2-scoop ice cream in a cup, because it lasts longer that way. They ran out of Rocky Road, but my spirit is only slightly dampened. I have my shorts on my lap, having recently changed out of my work-out clothing in the mall restroom. I'm silent, a rarity in my everyday life, but a state I have come to appreciate. I am reflecting on my day of preparation for the Big Move. My recently-bought (much to my parents' dismay) bus ticket downloaded on my iPhone (R.I.P.), my suitcases jammed into Dad's blue hybrid car, my face sweaty, mostly because I did not plan enough time to shower after my final class with David Alan, an instructor with whom I have gotten very close. But some of that face-sweat comes from adrenaline, produced by a mix of nervousness, uncertainty, pleasure, worry, excitement for the little-known road ahead. I think about the decision I've made, after the hours of thought and discussion, and the myriad of twists and turns in the past year that have led me to this place. I am about to move to the Big Apple, not to work on Wall Street like I had projected in high school or for a Marketing Firm in Midtown like I had told my friends when declaring my major Sophomore Year. And I wasn't working for a Non-Profit, Social Entrepreneur, the Peace Corps, or Student Affairs office, all of which I had looked at when starting job applications during the Fall of my last year of college. I am moving to Empire City to pursue a career in Ballet.
How did this come about, you ask? Rewind even farther back to the Summer of 2011, right before the legendary senior year at UNC. My last post was written at the end of my summer travelling throughout South America, Spain, and Morocco, and I had enjoyed a fairly calm and expected junior year, complete with stress about extra-curriculars, stress about my social life, and stress about grades, mixed with late-night trips to Cookout to grab a strawberry banana milkshake, dance parties lasting 'til dawn, and deep conversations on a blanket in the Quad. Y'know, the usual. I had started an internship researching water purification techniques and serving as a development intern for a non-profit located in the Penyem village of The Gambia, in West Africa. I will be the first to admit the I was not well-suited for the job. It was completely self-directed with few mandatory checkpoints, no minimum number of hours a day or week, and it was all done virtually, through Skype or e-mail. Add civil unrest and an aborted trip to meet the locals for whom I was working, and I was a mess. I hated doing something I was not good at - in the past, if there was even a hint I would not succeed at a hobby or a task, I would do what any good leader does: delegate, or switch to something else (only half joking). This time, I just had to suck it up and realize that my selfish wish of meeting impoverished Africans and giving them water was littered with white privilege and my desire to feel important and "good." The thing is, I am bad at doing good when it doesn't make me feel great. While chugging through my self-made misery, interrupted intermittently by calls to friends staying in Chapel Hill (my good friend Rana Alkhaldi as the main culprit) with any excuse to procrastinate, I knew I needed a pick-me-up, something I wasn't awful at, but something that was new and exciting. I had recently stopped singing in a formal group, I had already done the marathon thing, and the new language I was going to tackle was Mandinka, the official language of The Gambia, but that was out of the question because I had no reason to learn it anymore. I was watching Hulu one night on my hand-made bed, constructed by my grandfather Laughlin, and I came across the show So You Think You Can Dance. I had taken dance classes in elementary and middle school, but the only moves I remembered were plie and fondu(e), because it was also the name of a food. Cheesy, I know. The happiness they showed and the height of their jumps and leaps on the show astounded me, and it convinced me that this could be a great outlet to let off frustration and focus my thoughts, one that could be a change from my usual outlet of long-distance running. I looked up dance studios around the Chapel Hill area, and the Chapel Hill Ballet School caught my eye - it was close to my house, housed classes that I could take as a Phys. Ed. credit at UNC, and offered a scholarship program for boys wanting to dance with parents that approved (because let's be honest, in North Carolina, that number is about 13). So I started taking classes on Tuesday nights. Then Tuesday/Thursday classes. When school started, I arranged my schedule to enroll in the classes offered through UNC, and attended the boys classes on Fridays. One day, an instructor pulled me aside and asked me to come the following Saturday, and I arrived, jumped a little, and received a call the following week that I had been cast as the Wolf in Chapel Hill Dance Theater's production of Peter and the Wolf. From there, dance took up more and more of my time, and while I still enjoyed extra-curricular activities like UNC Dance Marathon (FTK!), the Campus Y, Interactive Theatre Carolina, and others, ballet became a central source of happiness and desire to work, literally, to the best of my physical ability. After a brief trip to The City for New Year's, Laurie, my UNC ballet instructor, urged me to audition for a summer intensive, to have an unforgettable experience before heading off into the real world of 9-to-5 desk jobs. The Joffrey Ballet School happened to be holding auditions in Raleigh one Saturday afternoon, and despite some confusion and feeling of being extremely out of my element, I found myself waiting anxiously for the promised letter 2 weeks after my audition. In the letter was not only an acceptance to the summer program, but also an invitation to the Joffrey Trainee Program, a Pre-Professional year-round full-time program aimed at preparing dancers for roles in nationally-acclaimed companies. I talked to everyone and their mother (including mine), visited NYC again for Spring Break, talked to a mentor/friend Terry Bowman while I was there, and on May 13, 2012, when seemingly everyone else read out their plans of joining Forbes 500 companies at the Kenan-Flagler Business School graduation ceremony, I stood with my Carolina blue gown on, detailing my plans to become a professional ballet dancer.
Now it is October 20, a chilly Saturday evening, and I am about to leave for one of my 4 part-time jobs, a resident that has too-fully embodied the mantra of the City that Never Sleeps. My leotard is about to go in the wash and my dance belt is drying on my door handle (Note: a dance belt is like a jock strap, but tighter and much more uncomfortable. I'll leave you to do more research if you would like), my ballet shoes on queue for me to get around to sewing on new elastics. I usually wake up at 7:00am (who am I kidding... I press snooze and sleep for 15 more minutes) and take the L-train in my 40-minute commute to my home-away-from-home, where I sluggishly warm up from 8:30-9. After two 1.5 hour-long technique, variation, coaching or pas-de-deux classes, I chug what's left of my two water bottles and chow down on the previous night's leftovers - hopefully with some hors d'oeuvres that I took home from a catering gig or dark chocolate from a package mailed to me by a friend. From 1-5pm are Repertoire classes, Kinetics, Dance History, Nutrition, Anatomy, Character, Modern, Contemporary, or Jazz, (I placed out of Music class in order to take another Contemporary class, SCORE!), then a free night-time Adult technique class or a quick-change and deodorant application, and off to work. I have started to follow somewhat of a routine and have found time to go out, to meet up with friends visiting for the weekend, or to grab a drink at a favorite Happy Hour place. Weekends consist of Core & Conditioning classes, work, Craigslist volunteering adventures, and Central Park snoozing, and I couldn't be happier. It is absolutely nothing like I had imagined life would be after college, but it is the right place for me, for now. I am living with a sense of urgency, yet fulfillment, with a perfect blend of consistency and spontaneity, with a lot of eustress and little distress. I feel like Master Wayne, and my Catwoman's spandex is in the form of a leotard and pink tights instead of a black pantsuit, and I am the ruler of my part of Empire City. And I feel good.
Until next time,
Will
Pictures:
SPARKNOTES VERSION:
1. Since I last wrote, I had a calm-ish junior year, a difficult 2011 summer, and a crazy fun senior year.
2. I moved to New York to become a ballet dancer.
3. I have 4 part-time jobs and school, but also make time for fun.
4. I love my life here, and feel so, so good.
5. Until next time! Feel free to comment/e-mail/Facebook/tweet/carrier-pidgeon me!
I am super proud of you, miss you a ton, and wish I could see you in your new element! Hopefully I will get to visit you there... Love you so much WillTo!
ReplyDelete-CarCas
WILL!! I'm so glad you're doing awesome in New York!! I miss you so come back to visit sometime!!!!
ReplyDelete-google thinks im "kidsforobama" and I have no idea why....so guess who this is
Absolutely no clue. Who is this?
DeleteWill! Hey man. It's Kyle Doty from our old Apex/Cary running days. I have to say that I am so proud of you for chasing your dreams. UNC seriously shaped you into such a great and loving person. I wanna keep updated on all your progress in dance. I'll definitely be following on twitter and the blog. If you ever make it out to San Francisco, look me up. Have a great rest of the weekend. Peace!
ReplyDeleteKyle, how are you?!? Thanks, I really treasure my time spent at UNC, and thank you for looking out for me and being so kind and friendly that first year! I just might take you up on that SF offer!
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