Yesterday was my final private rehearsal before the major dress rehearsal on Monday this week for my piece in “Nightmare on Pole Street.” I got out of bed early, drank some coffee, ate some ancient grain cereal topped with sunflower seeds and a banana, grabbed my costume bag and headed off to the studio. I got inside, turned on the lights just the way I like them, set up my eight different props, warmed up, gripped up, and turned on my song.
The first few notes of “Cola” by Lana del Rey moved through the stereo, and as I entered my “stage”, EVERYTHING WENT WRONG. My feet didn’t belong to my body anymore. My exhaustively rehearsed dance suddenly seemed brand new. I FELL out of tricks I’ve been doing with perfect proficiency for — literally — years. I jammed my toe on the ground falling out of one of these tricks on spin pole and ripped off my toenail polish all over Mel’s beautiful floor in the Longmont studio. Nothing short of total fail, really.
I threw in the towel after my fourth time through, when I realized I wasn’t able to pull together a practice piece that was even worthy of filming. After that, the self deprecation started. As we tend to do in our society when things aren’t going our way, I whined about it on Facebook.
And I couldn’t believe the reaction. I wasn’t asking for sympathy; I just put it out there that I was feeling crummy and that things weren’t going the way I wanted them to go. I received so much support from so many wonderful people in all areas of my life. Even today, I am seeing new comments from my friends with reassurances, love, and reminders that I am worthy of self respect.
Even though I didn’t get the rehearsal I wanted yesterday, I am warmed by the people in my life who love me for who I am. I only hope I can return the favor someday.