Stripping Away

An Inner Dialogue

I began training as a dancer at the age of 15, which is quite late for a girl to begin classical training. As soon as I did my first plié, I was hooked. Obsessed, is the more honest word. It was my dream to move to LA and become a backup dancer for Janet. But alas, I allowed the nay-sayers in my life to deter my dreams.

I went on to pursue a degree in finance but still danced on the side, going to class and choreographing for groups in college. Once I graduated, I went straight back to dance and was teaching ballet, jazz, hip-hop and modern. I loved it. This is also the time I began doing burlesque.

I approached burlesque with the same vigor that I had for classical dancing. My first group, The Sugarbabies, were all trained dancers and I did the choreography. It was common for me to do 10-12 acts in a night, alternating from group dances to solos. I was a quick change beast. Ironically, as I danced more professionally, the less time I had to…dance. My class attendance was sparse, to non-existent for years. And here’s where I get really honest; I felt that my career in burlesque was a cop out. It felt too easy. I wanted to be in the dance world and I wanted to be validated by them. But eventually, I turned my back on the very thing that lit me up so many years ago because it was too painful for me to face, emotionally and physically.

Lately, I have been confronted with this as I am now back in class once a week in New York. I’m dancing in these studios filled with the sweat of the greats. I’m walking in these streets where my idols walked, and my eyes well up when I think about it. But I am not the same. I am not in my late teens and twenties. I am 45. My body, while it is still strong, is not what it once was. Instead of appreciating the life I lived,

I find myself mourning a life that I never lived and didn’t even know that I could.

The other day in class, my inner dialogue was so loud. It went something like this:

• I am too old for this.

• How old are these dancers? 15?

• Ouch, this hurts. It didn’t used to hurt.

• I used to be so much better than this.

• I love dancing.

• I hate dancing.

• I am so grateful for this experience.

• I wish I came here when I was younger.

• I’m so tired. How much longer is class?

• Oh, class is over already?

• Did burlesque get the best of me?

• Oh, I nailed that.

• I really do not understand this choreography.

• I’m so glad I came. That was fun.

It’s a tug-o-war inside my head for at least an hour and a half.

I struggle with my time in burlesque. While I know I contributed a great deal to the art form, I feel that I let my true passion fade away and I favored an ‘easier,’ adjacent version of my dream. Disclaimer: NOTHING ABOUT BURLESQUE IS EASY. I have cried many tears doing this art form. I’ve had really high highs and the lowest of lows. But my heart wanted so much more.

As I am moving towards other career paths and not positioning myself as a glamour queen (I never really was), the grief is real. Difficult and long. I’ve been processing this for at least 5 years, if not 10. And it’s something I’ve been reluctant to talk about. I feel a bit embarrassed. I also feel like if I talk about it publicly, then it’s really real. And if I do that, then no one will ask me to perform again. And maybe I want that…and maybe I don’t.

I realized that one of the reasons why it has been so difficult to let go is because I carried the audience’s experience of me on my shoulders. As well as my students. I know that I’ve had an impact on people and part of me felt that if I stop, or slow down, or shift, then that compromises their experience of me. I know that is absurd and when I found I was carrying that, I put it down. The only experience I am in control of is mine.

I’m looking back at the girl who didn’t believe in herself and I want to tell her to shut out the noise. I want to tell her that you WILL become a dancer. You will have a name and you will be respected in your field. You will have major success and travel the world. That girl wanted so much. I want so much.

So, here I am. Stripping away the last layer of artifice. Trying to reconcile 24 years in an industry where I never quite felt like I belonged. Isn’t that funny? I’m here flaming the last embers of my passion while facing the hard truths that my body is not the same. And what I lack in turn out or flexibility, I make up for in lived experience. I bring maturity to the movement. As I look out in class at the 20 year old dancers (who I know think they are old already), I want to tell them to enjoy it. THIS is the moment.

And now, I say to my younger self, come back to the barre and plié. This is where you belong. It’s time to dance for you now.