Tuesdays and Thursdays are my busiest days, but I love them the best. I get up early for Contemporary at 9, then hop a bus to Hampshire around 11:30, and I have "Dance in the 20th Century: African American Protest Traditions," followed by Making Dances 2. Then I jump on a bus and go home.
It sounds like it would be tedious and unpleasant, but it's really wonderful. First of all, I have Contemporary with Candice Salyers, one of my favorite humans on this Earth. Five lessons in with her, I feel like my style and understanding of the way I move has changed forever. I'm already getting the bun out and learning to loosen up. (Shockingly, a full semester of musical theater jazz did nothing for my style; I continued to dance everything like ballet, only in a backwards hinge.) Having dance first thing wakes me up, and I feel like my whole body is ready to face the day and embrace the world. I frequently bounce out of class feeling chipper and grinning obnoxiously at strangers.
The bus to Hampshire takes about 20 minutes (there's rarely much traffic), and I enjoy that time to just hang out in my own head for a while. In high school I think the real reason why I was so chockablock with neuroses was because I spent so much time on buses or waiting for them, with nothing else to do but think. Now, my schedule is so busy that the opportunity to just be with my own thoughts is something I relish. My profound thoughts on these bus rides usually revolve around the houses the bus passes, which ones I'd like to live in, and what my life might be like if I lived in them. This is the difference between Erika's relationship with architecture and my own. She likes to design houses in accordance with what she knows about people and their lives, what they might need space for. I like to imagine slipping into a house and by extension, somebody's life. This mentality probably just proves that I've read "The Lone Pilgrim" too many times, but it's still a fun game to play.
As for Hampshire classes, they're very interesting and fun, and my professors are very knowledgeable, but the thing that really blows my mind is how friendly everyone is. Complete strangers have walked up to me and started up conversations on multiple occasions. Sure, they might be hitting on me, but I think it's more likely that Hampshirites are just very social creatures. Anyway, I don't really love dance history that much, but that's just because I don't like analyzing articles. (See: why I am not a history major.) We get to see all kinds of wonderful dances that are all-new to me, and that is remarkable. Making Dances is probably my favorite class right now, or at least tied. It's certainly my smallest class; there are only five of us. Like all of my current and previous dance professors, Daphne is pretty groovy (word chosen for connotations) but very down-to-earth and thoughtful as well. In her class, I've come up with the best material I've ever produced, and the best part is that the majority of her teaching is guidance. The magic was in me all along!
At 3:45, I get on the bus headed home, mind racing with ideas for choreography and body so exhausted I sometimes wonder if I'll have to ride till the end of the line. Today I learned a very important lesson: if I don't save the cookie from lunch for the bus ride home, I will have to crawl up Bedford Terrace on my hands and knees. Dancers are the ultimate masochists. If we don't feel completely ravaged, we're all disappointed. My grueling day leaves me blissfully content.
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