*The flare up of my chronic insomnia is telling…. That there is something wrong. I take my strongest sleep medication combination and stare at the ceiling as the seconds tick by. It should be working and it’s not. I should be out cold. Instead I am tossing and turning in this overheated bed, irritated. My mind churns like an angry ocean and the only way to settle it is to dive in. To face what needs to be seen no matter the fear. Only then will the peaceful dark of sleep come to me and true rest’s comfort.*
“You’ve got to go back to dance”
I felt my hackles go up. This was not what I wanted to hear. I’d been struggling but there was things I enjoyed. I was figuring it out. I was trying new things. New combinations. It wasn’t… working exactly but… it would! I was sure of it. I’m a diverse artist, surely I could pick another medium I liked and make it work for me. I was proud of what I’d been creating and although it was slow, and I kept running into massive incompatibilities with who I am and what I wanted to do, It was possible. I was sure.
If I wanted something different it meant I had to try new things. It was a learning experience!
“But it’s not working”
I explain again that it’s impossible to go back to dance seriously. I can feel my heart racing as my hands sweat. I list the long list of reasons why I have to move on, why I can’t centre my life around dance, why I was so unhappy, why I want to be more than just a dance instructor.
That I feel lost and out of control. For control, I need to let go of dance. To create change I need to do more, to say more, to be… better.
I could adjust to this new life. Why was he questioning me? After all this time. More importantly why was I listening to him. Caught between a life I was looking for, desperate to accept something anything else, and a dark feeling I not dare look at.
I could be happy!
If only I knew how.
## March 11, 2020
I glanced at my phone again. The event isn’t cancelled and I am booked to teach… So, I guess I am doing this.
On the flight over I thought about the classes we would teach, the training and videos Joshua and I would record beforehand, And the recent move I’d made to AL for access to people to practice with, easier international travel, and importantly- cheap rent. I’d moved to Denver for dance, and This was another move. A serious one. I was doing this. I felt ready. I might even step back into lindy hop, a dance I missed dearly the rare times I did it.
The first step, Steel City.
I got off the plane, turning on my cell phone only to get my first text from Joshua.
“ Ummm” followed by a photo. The event was cancelled.
I called. He asked where I am and I say we just landed, I’m in Norfolk and we don’t know it yet, but much will change in the coming days and weeks. I got a ride to his house, unsure of what was to come but figuring we could still practice and I would just go home and this would blow over. As we all know, it didn’t. A week later I was flying in an empty airport because no one knew what was happening and everything was shutting down. The ATL airport a ghost town, creeped me out to my core. A sign that all was not right in the world in a very serious way.
Not long after BLM become a major talking point for the world, and personally I was pulled over by the police and struggled to recover emotionally. I was already writing about the Black experience and culture, maybe I should talk about that. But I missed teaching dance, and writing was never my main focus. I thought maybe I’d try online classes. The first few workshops, a huge success! It’s… not the same, but could be a good way to get more stable income even once this Covid mess ends. I was hopeful.
## can you hear me?
Everyone was connecting online. The only way to make money safely was online. Social media was the world, and I… hated it. I am a very low tech person. Maybe it was because we were too poor for it, or just my love of the tangibility of life, I struggle with things that don’t exist in the real world. A computer is a portal but always feels one way to me. I put myself into it and get nothing back. A Void.
In high school I asked a friend during free time in the computer lab, “what do you DO on the internet?”
“Listen to music and you can ask google anything you want to know” I find AOL music which I can’t figure out how to use, listening to “teenagers” from the Black parade on repeat because I am not sure how to fix it. Watching my peers do… something online. I had a myspace and a Facebook but always felt like I was missing something. Without my brother help, who was more tech savvy, I couldn’t even set it up. My mom had tried to convince me to join an HTML program for Black kids in the city, but I found the idea so dull. A life of looking at a screen didn’t feel much like a life at all.
I refused to join platforms with infinite scroll because I worried I might not notice when I was just continuing past when I saw anything interesting. Gambling. Hoping for that next moment of satisfaction of finding something I actually liked or was interested in. I dislike or feel nothing so much of the time. But it seemed to only be me, and the world updated to be infinite scrolling on most things. I resented the manipulation to be online more, but it seemed inescapable.
By lockdown, the WORLD seemed to be online. To be “successful” you had to have an online presence one that constantly posts, commenting and being with trends. You had to be interesting and funny and high quality and the creative space seemed to be moving forward without me. I felt stupid, slow and out of touch.
I needed to write faster and promote more. I should be making short form videos and sharing them. I should be creating things that people want so they would pay for them. You have to learn this, and be grateful for the audience you have. Even if you have no idea how to reach them. Even as this goes on less and less people are coming to online workshops. Less and less people sign up for privates. As more and more established dancers create, or promote fancy websites, you simply could never afford. Doing all the work you struggle to do but need to.
What else can you do? Starve?
What value do you even have outside of dance?
### Burnout.
My life is online and I resent it. I hate waking up everyday to sit at a computer. My back and body burns, and I’m trying to balance dwindling resources, covid precautions and my inability to pick good and safe housemates. My chronic pain has flared up and I’m fighting with the doctors. Now. I have to move. But to where?
A part of me says, fuck it. I’ll move to the foothills for some peace and simplicity. I move in with a friend instead. Just for a few months. I pace the neighborhood. Bored and going through the motions. Nothing was right and nothing felt good. I took the work that shows up and struggle to care. Maybe I am depressed. I go to California to visit a friend, get some sun and take my mind off things.
I felt alive for the first time in ages in California. Settling into what felt like an easy life of community, novelty, and space for creativity. Maybe I didn’t want to be a hermit. Maybe what I wanted was this.
So I moved.
And moved farther away from dance.
Before I even moved the pressure started to build. Questions of if I was going to save the cinders of the dance scene, if I would teach, my stance on mask mandates and takes on drama. I felt smothered. “I just want to be a person for a bit. Feel out the scene. Deal with top surgery.” Top surgery and its recovery had in ways become a shield from all the questions about dance. It would be at least 6 months before I could have full range of motion. I’ll worry about dance then. I’d been focusing on poems, zines, and the beginnings of video. It felt good to do other things. Simpler things.
I’m told I’m a good writer and have a way with stories and being on camera. Students had said they really are there for my talking as much as the dancing. I’ve enjoyed the podcasts and panels and there are topics I’d never be able to touch in a dance class. My head was filled with a strange sadness and grief mixed with ideas I didn’t know how to pull together as I wrestled with post op depression. I felt lost, but figured it would pass when the depression did. I was somehow I writer now, despite not wanting to write and an activist because I said people should have rights, two things I never thought my life would be centred around. I just like to follow my curiosity and put ideas together. Maybe I could do something with this?
My personal life collapsed and my housemates moved away. I decided to make a video about it. Video was the way. It’s like writing but faster, and I enjoy it more. It’s more creative and I can make it pretty. It can be fun and it can be enough.
### “What do YOU do?”
Someone for the millionth time asked me. Everyone here had a niche, a focus, a medium and topic they focused on. For some it was ass photos, others DND music, fashion, podcasts, artwork… on and on the options went. I’d fumbled my way through an answer and a friend pulls me aside.
“You don’t have to be so humble. You are a full time creator right?”
“I guess… but nothing like you. And then thing I am known for is both real life and not the only thing I want to be doing. If I say I make videos people will think I am farther along in that than I am. I DON’T know what I’m doing.”
“Hmm” She says letting it go.
We were at a big Patreon conference. As a part of the program we finally got to meet and were checking out some of the classes and meeting people. I was excited. I had never been to LA, or stayed in a hostel, or met other full time creatives. Most dance instructors had other jobs. Everyone from our group was kind and fun, and the other participates struck me oddly. They asked basic questions and seemed focused on “networking” to their fullest potential. Despite feeling unsure about what I was doing for a living, besides “whatever people pay me for” I felt a real kinship with the other full time creatives. I watched the CEO of Patreon talk about the internet/social media and why it was awful for connecting with your audience these days, and felt vindicated. I watched the space, and participated, noting that I sometimes drew attention without trying.
My business coach found me. He was surprised I was so at home in the space despite being worried before attending “It feels weirdly like a dance event, without the dancing. This I know how to do!”
He turns to introduce me to someone and we have already met and greet each other warmly, having bonded over hair. I still feel a little awkward but Have been having an incredible time and meeting such inspiring people. The event ends and I am loathe to leave, lingering at the gate. I’d forgotten what it was like to feel alive.
I went to teach a small dance workshop the next day. I took pride in helping them to succeed, but also felt myself going through certain motions. We ate after and shot the shit and things felt a bit better. I’d long ago tired of feeling disconnected and on display. A feeling my new Patreon friends understood in their respective niches and feeling understood made it a bit easier post workshop.
I left that event inspired. And… with a sense of clarity. Maybe I needed to step away from dance. It was time to move on, or at least try to. At our next meeting I mentioned that I had announced I was stepping back from dance and the relief I felt. They were shocked it had taken me so long. “You have been burnout on dance for a while. Is this why you couldn’t say what you do?”
“Yeah. That’s why.”
Then I got a message from Sweden.
*The story continues tomorrow! Follow along for parts 2 and 3. If you like my writing and want to support it or actually know when it’s posted, I suggest joining my Patreon at Patreon.com/obsidantea. It is in a bit of a state of flux but I’m excited to be rebuilding it and there is a free member option. I am also available for booking!*