Is it just me? Am I the only one whose choreographic muse must be living in another time zone where it’s five hours earlier? Or do they all do that?
Author Archives: asher
Walking the Tightrope
There is a thing about trying to live with bipolar, a thing where sometimes, maybe often, it feels like walking a tightrope.
You’re on this knife’s-edge, and if you stop, you’ll fall.
So you keep “moving forward, using all [your] breath,” gritting your teeth and trying to relax your neck (which is weirdly like the first passé balance en relevé at the barre, come to think of it).
The only thing that keeps you upright is momentum (which is totally unlike that aforementioned passé relevé balance; you don’t have momentum to save you, just the dancer’s wordless prayer and good technique and a few hundred years of evidence that it can be done).
If you falter, you fall (presumably in flame, like the “…staaaaaaaars, in their multitudes, scarce to be counted…” — which is totally unlike ballet class; we mostly try to avoid self-immolation during barre, no matter how tempting it may seem).
Life with bipolar is coolly executing 32 fouettés as you feel your supporting pointe shoe slowly unraveling; it’s lifting the ballerina and feeling something give in your shoulder and continuing to gaze serenely up into her eyes as you desperately pray you’ll make it to the end of the pas de deux.
We don’t show it because that’s life. To some extent, life is a performance, and the show must go on. It is when your edges crack, when hints of Von Rothbart invade our Dashing Prince routine that the world spooks and backs away. So we hold out as long as we can, as well as we can. Seigfried is not also supposed to be Von Rothbart, after all.
So this is how I live much of my life, how I’m living right now. Bipolar tells me to stay in the house, but tomorrow I’ll go to class anyway. Bipolar tells me that I should give up on the tutoring job I’m applying for, but I’m going to fight my way towards that, too.
Bipolar tells me I’m going to fall, so I keep going, one foot after the other, across the chasm, never looking down.
Ballet, Meet Cirque
Acro-Balancing tonight. It was fun, although quite challenging at times.
I discovered that being all legs makes mounting more challenging, but balancing easier when you’re the flyer. It makes being the base kinda weird sometimes — thigh stands are okay, but short arms and long legs makes a steep mount in foot bird or candlestick.
Ballet also makes a lot of it easier — if you have a good arabesque, you know how to use the muscles in your back for the foot bird.

This was just before Denis got wobbly on me. He thinks it's gorgeous; I, of course, notice that my feet could be more pointed, my legs aren't even, my neck is tense, my...
I also discovered that I can still do a tripod headstand forever and ever and do cool stuff with my legs during. I’ll have to see if I can get my handstands back. They are awesome for for stability and balance, and I think that would be handy (no pun intended, I swear) for partnering.
Wednesday Class #2
Lovely mixed-level open house class tonight. I took it as an opportunity to focus on expression and musicality, mostly. I also worked on pelvic placement, particularly in our fondue and rond-de-jambe combination, and at least once got it really right. I can feel it when it’s right; it magically makes grand rond-de-jambe work perfectly at 90 degrees. Well, that and bringing the heel around as you come from arabesque when going en dedans.
It was cool to be back in Studio 5, where I took my first steps back into the roiling waters of ballet almost two years ago now. It was especially cool to be sharing a barre with a brand-new dancer, doing my best to demonstrate good port de bras and work cleanly through the combinations.
In a way, it’s like coming full circle. (Because I am ridiculously tired, my brain is now insisting on going all Sir David Attenborough, like, “At last, the mature dancers return to the waters of their birth, where they will bring about the new generation, blah blah blah…”)
My flexibility is now as good as it has been since I started dancing again: effortless splits both ways; pancake in straddle. I’ll work splits where they are for a week or two, then see about regaining hypersplits. My cambré back also looks great. Turnout is much closer to 180 degrees as well.
Anyway, I’m about to nod off, so I’ll close here.
À bientôt, mes amis!
Acro-Balancing tomorrow, which will fill my Yoga slot on the ballet challenge that I keep neglecting to mention, but before that, a little more history review, then evaluations, then bell choir.
The Answer Is Always Pelvic Tilt
… Okay, so not always, always.
But for me, right now, it’s all about getting the pelvic angle just right. And then not letting everything else fall apart.
Surprisingly, I made it through all of Brienne’s class this morning, even though I was definitely feeling Tuesday’s aerials class (which was excellent, by the way). At the start of barre, I really wasn’t sure.
There were, predictably, some awkward moments, but I predict that as I adapt to the new schedule, it’ll get better.
Anyway, I’m definitely pretty cooked right now, but it’s Open House tonight, so Denis & I are going to go dive in to a free class.
I will almost certainly sleep like a baby. Maybe even during class.
That’s it for now; my lunch has arrived, and I’m famished!
À bientôt, mes amis.
Update:
Aerials pictures for everyone!

If you belie—eve ... this is a "Man In The Moon" (I kind of love the way it looks like I'm just napping on the Lyra, here.)
PS: not only are those tights blazingly fabulous, but they are The. Most. Comfortable tights. SRSLY.
Evidently, though, I’mma have to teach Mr. Monkey how to frame a shot.
BeastMode: Ballet Returns
Today’s class started out well, but got progressively less awesome.
This isn’t to say that it was ever bad, except for the last combination going left (during which, for reasons unknown, I couldn’t failli to save my life and kept landing my assemblé without plié — not a good idea).
But it was definitely a post-break re-entry class. Fortunately, Monsieur BeastMode (AKA Brian) went easy on us.
Amusingly, half the class wore purple and black, so when we divided into groups, we had a Purple Group and a Not Purple Group (we’ll call them the Rebel Alliance), four in each.
Sadly, while I like to think that Team Purple (of which I was a member) brought a great deal of enthusiasm to the table, the Rebel Alliance soundly schooled us in the technique department.
Still, I got off a couple of doubles from fourth going across the floor and didn’t completely cock up the petit allegro, though it took my body a while to remember how to Sissone.
I would be like, “Sissone!”
…And my legs would go, “Glissade?”
…And then I’d go, “Sissone!”
…And my legs would be all, “Cabriole! Our favorite!”
…And then I’d go:
>.<
And my legs would go, "Ohhhhhh, Sissone. Why didn’t you just say that?!”
(You know there are going to illustrations later.)
So, um, yeah. If this is BeastMode Ballet, my Spirit Beast today was probably Baby Giraffe.
So that was class. Oh, and I asked M. BeastMode to teach us coupé jeté en tournant, because I believe in us (or something).
It’s good to be back!
À bientôt, mes amis!
To Build A Birdhouse: Why “MyPlate” and All The Lifestyle Guides In the World Aren’t Enough
(Or, well, some of the reasons, anyway.)
I’ve been reading some really good articles about re-framing our cultural conversation around body size and, for once, reading the comments*, and I’ve discovered that, when it comes to talking about things like diet an exercise, many of us lose sight of one really critical idea:
Knowing about a thing isn’t the same
as knowing how to do that thing.
*You guys, deciding not to even look at the G-d-forsaken comments except in special cases has been one of the best decisions I ever made.
I repeat:
Knowing about a thing isn’t the same as knowing how to do that thing.
…And it really isn’t the same as knowing how to do that thing in a way that works for us, that feels good (which is far, far more important than we like to acknowledge), and that lets us keep doing it indefinitely.
If it was, a lot more of us would look exactly the way we want to look (within the limitations imposed by our genetic makeup, anyway — some of us build bigger muscles easily, some of us have long and elegant muscular insertion points, etc.).
A Passing Thought
…But first, a quick update: I am definitely feeling yesterday’s aerials class (though not excessively) in the muscles that need work. Excellent.
Now, on to a reflective post I wrote last night:
~~~
My father died when I eighteen.
We’d had a rocky time for most of my life — Dad was a rocky man, like the shore is rocky off Acadia in Maine. Difficult, sometimes frightening, often magnificent. Those last two years of his life, though, we had a pretty great relationship — also rocky, in its own way, and full of secret tides and undercurrents, but also magnificent.
I didn’t know what Dad made of me then. It didn’t really occur to me to wonder. Dad didn’t raise us to care what he thought: he wanted us, instead, to be singularly, incontrovertibly ourselves — and he wanted us to prove it.
So it surprised me, tonight, as I lie here reading, to find myself wondering what Dad would make of me now; what he’d make of the sometimes-precarious route I’ve carved out trying to figure out how to be what I am.
The answer is still, “I don’t know.”
I kind of like to think he’d like where I’m going now — launching myself from the springboard of academia into a frankly-kind-of-weird career, learning circus arts, turning myself into a dancer, tilting at windmills.
I had the kind of Dad who would have been secretly happy to see his kids run off and join the circus, even though he’d have chewed us out first, probably to ferret out and destroy any trace of cowardice or cliché. He would want us to go knowing in our hearts that we are born to join the circus, not to go because it seemed less awful than some other thing.
I realize now that was part of his rockiness: our Dad had a poet’s intolerance for falsehoods. He tolerated them. no better in himself than in anyone else. He didn’t care what you did: he cared why. And it wasn’t an affectation — it was his nature, like it’s the nature of the Maine coast to be hard and high and beautiful.
I couldn’t see all this before. I guess that’s how it works, though: as a kid, you see your parents through a different lens than you do as an adult. As an adult, some things look different; some things don’t.
I have always said that my Dad married my Mom’s family, and now I think I understand what I mean. He saw in them a kind of abiding and unselfconscious fidelity to their own natures. They were all as different as days, but they — especially Grammy, Mom’s mother — were all unshakeably themselves. Dad loved and admired all of them, regardless of the divorce.
Even Mom, in her long, unhappy years of restraint, being a Serious Woman with a Serious Job, was never untrue to herself. The painful part, I guess, must have been how half of her had to lie more or less dormant in those days, bursting out here and there and slowly accumulating momentum and force and life in the form of the beautiful garden that slowly ate first the back yard, then the front, a literal inflorescence of the soul.
I don’t know what Dad thought of me, that last year of his life. I was still casting around, searching for an exoskeleton, an identity I could step into I guess so I wouldn’t have to do the hard and lonely work of being who I was. Having felt the cutting edge of loneliness too long, I wanted to be loved. I would have said I wanted to be loved for who I was, and would’ve believed it, but I was wrong. I was still a long, long way from there.
I won’t say that I never do that anymore: identity is a nebulous thing, and I still want to be loved — but I am loved, as well and unconditionally as I believe a human being can be loved.
It’s easier to be brave, because of that.
So I still don’t know exactly what my Dad would make of me, if he were here — but I have begun to think he’d like what I’ve become, although he might not say it.
Not that he would mean any harm; not that he wasn’t brave enough. But his heart and mind were always two steps down the road, preparing to head off half-truth and hypocrisy.
I think he’d grill me about every single one of my cherished suppositions.
And I hope, were he alive to rake those coals, that I would have the courage and good sense to meet him toe-to-toe and love him for it.
Learning to Fly: Weak (But Not Too Weak)
Today, we took our first class at Suspend — their “Cirque Sampler” offering, which lets you try things out (we focused on silks and trapeze).
We had a blast. It turns out that being a dancer makes silks feel pretty

Yeah, I sort of don’t have any new pictures of aerial stuff, so please enjoy this blast from the past.
intuitive — but not so much that it makes you entirely equipped to pwn the silks right out of the gate. Works out about the same on trapeze.
In short, today’s lesson essentially confirmed my worst fears about my core- and upper-body strength (or lack thereof): or, well, maybe not confirmed them, but indicated that they weren’t entirely out of line with reality.
So, while I was intuitively able to do graceful things on the silks and the trap, I was not able to climb the silks (or, well, I could climb onto the silks, and that was it) or to hold the extended chair position for any length of time, and my straddle dismount on both silks and trap was somewhat uncontrolled, though not as bad as it might have been.

Yeah, this one’s not just recycled, it’s re-recycled. You’re welcome, Planet Earth.
Denis, meanwhile, has the core strength of a hundred men and climbs like a natural-born monkey. Seriously. He’s just like, “Climb a thing? Sure, I can do that. Extended chair pose for four hours? No problem. Do you need me to work out the Grand Uniform Theorem while I’m at it?”
Basically, in terms of climbing and core strength, I got schooled by the hubster.
Conveniently, however, the muscles that need to get stronger for aerials are the same ones that need to get stronger for ballet, particularly if I want to venture into partnering someday (which I very much do).
Also conveniently, we were able to convert our 10-class card (and $25) into two intro-unlimited-classes-per-month plans — one for each of us for the next month, starting Tuesday, and our instructor today said we’re good to go ahead and step into the second class of Intro to Aerials. w00t!
So, naturally, Denis has now signed us up for All The Classes, and I will finish the month of January significantly more fit and, I suspect, significantly more tired 😉
It looks like we’ll be doing aerials and circus arts on a Tuesday-Thursday-Saturday schedule for now, which should nicely complement my Monday-Wednesday-Saturday ballet schedule. I’ll still have two scheduled rest days, unless I pick up a Friday class somewhere, which depends on a number of factors. I do not want to overdo it.
Tuesday we’re doing Intro Aerials and Thursay we’ll try Acro Balancing, which looks fun. I’ve done a bit of that as a function of gymnastics training when I was younger.
Next Saturday, we’ll be trying juggling after Advanced class, so that should be interesting. I have never actually really juggled, so my day will encompass both something I do well enough to more or less legitimately take an advanced class and something in which I am a complete and unregenerate novice*.
*I realize that “unregenerate novice” doesn’t actually make a whole lot of sense, but gosh darnit, it sounds good, and because I also write poetry, I am just going to claim poetic license here and go with it.
So that’s our first day of life as Official Cirque N00bs.
In other news, I just realized that the grad school application I need to knock out this month needs a 7 – 10 minute audition video, so if I disappear off the etherwaves for a bit, my apologies. Between that, ballet, aerials, and a job I’m in the middle of applying for (for which I’m now in “doing evaluations and preparing for 2nd interview” phase), I don’t expect to come up for air again until the 16th.
Ballet class notes, however, might continue apace, primarily because I ride the bus back from ballet class, which gives me time to do that.
À bientôt, mes amis!





