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R Hodsdon's avatar

I loved reading about your PNB "Nutcracker" roles, until that part where you were publicly upbraided for the dragon fiasco. Regardless of what happened, that was definitely not OK. That must have really hurt, and I can't help but imagine that was a shattering experience for you. Learning to take criticism is important for developing skill, but can be corrosive. Engaging in any activity that requires rigorous training, listening to a coach or teacher correcting our missteps, tends to instill in us an internal disciplinarian, a little voice that we hear inside our head whenever we fall short of our goal, reminding us of our imperfections. Over time, if we hear this voice too often, we may convince ourselves that our goal -- to dance, act, perform, teach, whatever -- is unattainable and further practice would prove fruitless. It is helpful to have another internal voice saying something positive, like, "That effort didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped, but I'll keep working on it and next time I'll nail it." Have fun dancing!

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Amy Eaton's avatar

I love this so much, Martha. My mother sent me to tap and ballet classes starting at nine with a woman who'd been a Rockette in the 50s. She taught out of the basement of the Masonic Temple in my home town. The serious (and oh so very beautiful) ballet students studied at the Roberson Center which was attached to the city's museum. I may have hinted to my mother that I'd like to take ballet there, but she made it clear it was out of our finances and besides, Miss Goundry had been her girlfriend's teacher when she was young and that made her more than good enough for me. I tapped till I was sixteen, eventually becoming a "Goundry Girl", learning kick lines and how to know if your line was straight as you pivoted in a time step in a giant circle around the center girl.

Unlike the Roberson Center girls, we came in all shapes and sizes, ate cookies with abandon whenever someone's mom brought them in, and our leotards, tights and hair during class were a mirror of our own personal style - there was no dress code for class besides the correct shoes, a leotard and tights. At thirteen, we graduated from flat tap shoes to heeled ones.

When I left for college, I took advantage of the dance department as a theater major and found out I truly loved modern dance. I also found out that no one tapped like it was between 1940 and 1970 anymore and tap class no longer made sense to me. After I graduated, I moved to Rochester, NY where I got lucky and studied with a woman who'd been in Garth Fagan's company. MoMing was still open when I moved to Chicago and that was where I took my first classes - it closed soon after. I wish we could have crossed paths there. After that, I took class at Links Hall and danced for a while with Abiogenesis which was a pretty experimental dance company. We did a lot of weird flash mob type things in the early 90s. Fun, strange, borderline dangerous.

But eventually, I found I was choosing between acting classes or shows or bartending shifts or dance classes and it felt like too much of a luxury somehow -and eventually, I too let it slip away. And it is such an interesting secret sadness to carry - to live somewhere among friends and community that have never really known me as a dancer. I feel the same way about music these days, too. "Do you play?" someone will say and I answer, "Oh, I used to." Finding my way back to a guitar feels maybe more daunting now. Thank you for giving voice to this.

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