Are you trying to be too gosh-darn perfect at whatever you’re doing? Does it feel like a struggle? Might you even be frustrated? Concerned you might flub up or make the wrong decision? Have you been working so hard on trying to create a certain outcome that you’ve lost the joy in the journey? Ay-yi-yi! That will never do!
I’m beginning to understand that there is no outcome more important than being happy and enjoying the ride. I learned this lesson as a thirteen-year-old but still have to remind myself as an adult. (Read story below and see picture above–I’m on the left holding my “Congratulations Kristi!” ballerina cookie cake and celebrating with my sisters and friends.) Feelings of fear, perfectionism, struggle, frustration, doubt, and worry are my big red flags, my alarm clock, my wake up call screaming, “You are forgetting to have FUN with this, Kristi! This was supposed be joyful! Don’t get mad, get glad!”
Whenever you find fearful feelings creeping in, stop them dead in their tracks, change your attitude, and make a game of seeing how much fun you can have with the task at hand. Pursuing your passion can be stressful, because YOU REALLY WANT IT TO HAPPEN! Relax. Be patient. It will. And in the mean time, have such a blast with each and every step along the way that when the prize finally comes, it will simply be the icing on the cake. Yum!
Enjoy this excerpt from
by Kristi Lynn Davis
The Dallas School of Dance closed its doors during the summer, so, in order to get our dance fix, a couple classmates and I attended a two-week Cecchetti ballet conference held at Michigan State University. We lived in dorms and took ballet classes all day long except for the one alotted jazz class. Jazz dance was the dessert at the end of a healthy meal of ballet. We knew it really wasn’t good for us but it was a special treat after a hard day of “real” dancing.
The ballet classes were stressful and required full concentration at all times. Unlike at Hattie’s, where we repeated the exact same exercises all year and could perform them in our sleep, at the conference, we were taught new and different combinations for every class, so we had to focus, pick up, and execute the steps with lightning speed. Some teachers would demonstrate the choreography using their hands as feet. Others would just tell you the moves in French without demonstrating at all: “Jeté, temps levé, jeté, temps levé, glissade, brisé, assemblé, changement!” We were separated into small groups to perform the combination for the rest of the class. You couldn’t let your attention wane for a second or you’d be in the center of the room, fumbling about, looking like a numbskull in front of all the others.
The guest teachers patrolled the rooms, hunting for sickled feet, poor posture, and other violations. I got busted. “You must SEW the elastic bands to your ballet slippers. Never PIN them,” scolded Madame Martinez. Petrified and ashamed, I completed the lesson and then ran in search of needle and thread.
My ballet classes made me so uptight I could no longer absorb the combinations and was paralyzed with fear of making a mistake. Something had to be done to put me out of my misery, or I’d never last the full two weeks. Reminding myself why I started dancing in the first place, I decided to lighten up, have fun, not worry, and try to enjoy the experience. My method worked, and soon I was dancing with more joy than fear.
Scholarship auditions to attend the next workshop were held; to placate Skye, I reluctantly entered for my ability level. Even though I hated the idea of competing and dreaded being judged on my dancing, I smiled and made the best of the situation.
The conference culminated in the Awards Ceremony and Performance during which the winning contestants were announced. Skye and Hattie attended the event, which was held in a large auditorium at the University, and we all sat together awaiting the verdict. As my category was called, my heart pounded, and my legs turned to jelly. I didn’t expect to win, but, confident I had done a good job at the audition, I allowed for the possibility. “And the first runner-up is…Kristi Davis!” I could hardly believe my ears. Another ballerina was awarded the scholarship, but I didn’t care, because I had won something. It was the first time my abilities had been acknowledged outside the Dallas School. Maybe I do have talent!
My prize was only a bouquet of flowers and prima ballerina Margot Fonteyn’s autobiography, but I couldn’t have been more proud. They noticed me! At our celebration dinner, I called home to tell my parents the good news, and it took a long time to convince my mother I was telling the truth.
The following fall, I took first place in a Dance Masters of Michigan competition, where we were judged not only on ballet but tap and jazz as well. Second place went to another Dallas student, Dorissa, a champion baton twirler who could spin like a top. She’d throw her baton miles up to the heavens, turn a dozen times in a second, like a blender on high speed, and catch that whirling stick without batting an eye. This girl could even maneuver her baton using only her elbows and lips!
My winning streak made me a star at the studio, but, still shy and insecure, I never felt like one. My change of status was apparent, as Dorissa and I were pictured for free in the Dallas recital program along with a caption listing our titles. In addition, Skye and Hattie requested a solo picture (also gratis) of their new celebrity. In my sequined, snow-white tutu, I posed on pointe in a beautiful attitude derriere. Hattie wrote the accompanying text, and I knew I had finally made it to the top of the Dallas School of Dance.
Life is too short to waste a moment of it living in fear and trying to force outcomes. You can’t beat JOY. Enjoy the whole, messy, unpredictable thing. You don’t need to wait until your dreams come true. Your life is already one jumbo joy-ride.
Hop on,
Kristi
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