After three weeks of not posting, I share with you this:
I feel like the following disclaimer should be placed in all dance programs:
CAUTION: You will fall in love
Ordinary people become extraordinary once they hit the stage, and somehow normal people that…
A. you aren’t actually attracted to (with the rare exception every so often)
B. don’t actually mean anything to you
…become incredibly appealing, and all of a sudden…before you’ve even realize it’s happened…
You’re in love.
Raw passion put on display is striking. It’s self-indulgent to a point – for everyone involved – and you can’t help but feel turned on by it. Right?
There’s something about the context of performance that sheds serious light on people that you wouldn’t otherwise be interested in, not even a little bit. (again, there’s always one…)
I have three thoughts after making that statement:
- I can’t even tell you how many shows (movies/concerts/plays) I’ve left convinced that I’m soul mates with one of the performers. I know it’s coming even before I purchase my tickets, I will fall in love with somebody in costume.
- How many people are in love with me after they seen me perform? (…)
- Why does it take a fourth wall to get people loving on one another?
It’s almost something I insist upon when going to see a show. I must walk out fantasizing about one of the performers. Since I was little, Baby-Kap always had big dreams of dating a superstar…now the term superstar is all relative the performance of the week. The problem is, Grown-up Kap still hasn’t figured out that the person she’s fallen in love with on stage isn’t necessarily the same person out of the spotlight.
Here’s the thing to remember…
Performance isn’t real.
The person I see on stage (even the person I portray myself) is not real. It’s an idealized version of some character a choreographer dreamt up one day, even if it’s just a romanticized version of that person themselves. What you’re seeing is an outward demonstration of someone excelling full-heartedly at something that they love. Even better when it’s something you’re interested in as well.
As my girl Stravinsky says, when the lights come back on at the end of a show, it’s like the lights coming on after last call — the rose-colored glasses are fine for a while, but eventually they need to come off.
Reality is waiting, and it doesn’t actually look so bad. Trust me.
Here’s to love.