Love At First Dance; Or, What Happens To A Dream Deferred

"What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat
Or crust and sugar over--
Like a syrupy sweet?

May it just sags
Like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?"
-"Harlem", Langston Hughes

With completing the opening night of my first professional show, The Who's TOMMY at ZACH Theatre, last night, I can't help but think back to all of the firsts I've had within my 20 years of dancing.

My first dance class: at a Children's World, featuring me in a pink fairy dress with wings.
My first dance performance: with Bettie Nelson's Dance Company, "Tappin' With Elmo" in some seriously sparkly suspenders.
My first musical: "Fiddler on the Roof" at the Vancouver School of Arts and Academics.
My first time choreographing: Michael Jackson's "Thriller" for CRHS' 2009 Halloween pep rally/game.
My first time taking myself seriously as a dancer: after spending 855 hours in BEL502A during my four years at the University of Texas.

And now, my first professional show.

From first competition team to first professional show! #transformationtuesday

And what a heck of a 20-year journey it's been, from my first dance class to this show. It's certainly the longest relationship I've been involved in and the most consuming. We've been through a lot together, dance and I. The successes, the hardships, and everything in between. But no matter what, it's always been there for me, and it was something I could always rely on to make me happy.

Dancing and performing was always more than dream for me, it was just a part of my identity. I was constantly singing and dancing around. There are home videos dating back to 1994 of me just performing "I Just Can't Wait To Be King" in full force. It was just so fun; I was definitely happiest when I was dancing. Then at some point I realized you could do it professionally, and the dream of dancing forever swelled even larger. I took tons of classes, joined dance companies, performed in shows, and loved everything about it. I had dappled in musical theater here and there, and loved imitating Fosse dance moves to the Chicago soundtrack in my room.

Performing the Russian Marzipan variation in The Nutcracker, 2004

Then, before I could even realize it, I was being thrust into socialization, where I learned things like all of the cool kids in middle school would like you more if you wore Hollister, and then I learned other things, like if you had even a hint of thick thighs or anything over a B cup, you might as well stop trying to be a dancer right now. (I had both). So, I quit. I gave up because I let others define my potential and decide my value as a performer. The dream popped.

I tried to find the happiness in other ways, like joining my high school dance team. Yes, it was fun, and at least I was able to still dance, but unlike the rest of the team, I was indifferent to the competitive nature of dance team. I didn't care about landing my barrel jump the exact same way as the other girls, nor if our formations were pleasing to the eye of any crazy judge we needed to impress. I wanted the artistry, the fun, I wanted to perform so I could tell a story.

Loud and proud dance team facials

As my senior year of high school began, my elementary school dance teacher, Ms. Bev Melum, passed away. She had been such an inspiration, and I often felt like she really believed in my potential to be a dancer. Her death hit me really hard, and I decided that I desperately wanted to be a dancer, and I was done with letting others discourage me.

So, I applied to NYU and headed to NYC to audition for the dance program. Friends had their youth groups pray for me, I received numerous good luck texts, and then: I didn't make it past the first round. Shit. I begrudgingly headed to UT as a math major, my dream once again downtrodden. After several tearful calls to Mama Fitz, I knew if I wanted to be happy, I had to transfer into the Theater and Dance department.

My first dance class at UT was Broadway Jazz II, with Natasha Davison, in BEL502A. The warm-up was energetic, the across-the-floor combos were dynamic, and the Broadway rep we learned was famous. It was FUN. Over the next four years, I spent 855 hours of dance classes and rehearsals in that very room. I gained valuable techniques and skills, I gained friends and mentors, and I gained the confidence that I could actually be a professional performer. The dream was now back in action, and I found the happiness again.

Last night, as I was putting on make-up, fixing my hair, and zipping my up my costume, a routine I am so familiar with, it felt different this time around. Because all of those successes, all of those hardships, all of the moments in between that I've shared with dance, helped me get to this opening night. I know that this show and every show after will be so fun, and I will be so happy.

The dream has become reality.

Opening Night!

The Week of Spontaneous Moments of Theater; or, My Last Week of College

Theater/dance/performing is one of the most frightening things I've ever done. To be so vulnerable in front of a group of people can be terrifying. Theater/dance/performing is also one of the most gratifying things I've ever done. To be able to tell a story to a group of people can be so fulfilling. Theater/dance/ performing is my passion. To be able to connect with a group of people is why I feel happiest when I'm on stage.

You know what else is frightening and gratifying at the same time?

Graduating college.

I think it's scarier this time around because as cheesy as it sounds, college is the place where I found the most confident and truest version of myself. And I am also officially finished with the educational institution structure that I've known for so long, which is probably why I've become extremely nostalgic for days past. But surely I can't be the only one? I sift through the memories of swing sets and tater tots, CRTV morning announcements and pep assemblies; tossing aside the negative ones of frustration, anger, and hurt, and spending extra time carefully and vividly re-membering the details of the good ones.

And sometimes, we're so busy trying to craft the perfect good memory, that we miss the actual good memories. You can't force good memories; isn't it always the unplanned moments that we revisit again and again afterwards?

I wanted to make sure that I honored the place that I had called home for the past four years properly. How was I to plan a memorable last week of college, and yet not get in the way of myself by spending too much time planning?

The morning of Monday, April 28, I didn't know.

Later that day, I invited myself to participate in a staged reading by using my (as described by Martin Rodriguez) silky voice to read the stage directions. I was so happy that I got to engage in my passion of performing with my friends one last time before I graduated. Then I though to myself, why does it have to end here?

Spoiler Alert: It didn't.

I decided I would spend the last week doing one of the most frightening and gratifying things I could think of: theater/dance/performing.

"Five days left of my college career; five unknown, spontaneous moments of theater to be discovered and performed. I'm spending my last week of school engaging in my passion. Today, I used my "silky" voice in the staged reading of Matt Hill's "Erin Roberts in A Wheelchair".
Planned: 3:03pm Performed: 7:05pm"

What better way to celebrate the end of this chapter than with being able to do it five last times, right before it's all over? I gave myself a few rules:

• It had to include at least one other person besides myself
• It had to be planned after I woke up for the day
• It had to be documented 

"Today, my moment of spontaneous theater took place with one of the most committed and talented actors I know, reading Ruth and Walter in the opening scene of one of the classics: A Raisin In The Sun.
Planned: 2:14am Performed: 2:20am"

It was incredible how much happier I felt. Even if it was a quickly planned reading of the first scene of one of my favorite plays at 2 o'clock in the morning, it was a moment of theater I wouldn't have had otherwise. In fact, the impromptu and almost-haphazardness of it all was actually my favorite part.

"Today, I choreographed and danced "Four Women" with the spirited and brilliant Ursula Walker Full video of this spontaneous moment of theater can be found on my Facebook!
Planned: 1:56pm Performed: 4:52pm"

I also found that this week was perfect for creating and performing pieces that I've always wanted to do but had found so many excuses not to do. Never found the time, never had the energy, etc. On Wednesday, I finally got the chance to move to the song "Four Women" by Nina Simone. Originally, I wanted four dancers to represent the four women, but being spontaneous, not all four could make it. So instead, the piece included Ursula and I, and it was exactly what I needed it to be. 

It felt right. Making and performing theater so quickly gave me a rush of adrenaline and sense of accomplishment. Especially sharing it with fellow theater artists that encourage and inspire me daily. On Thursday, several of my favorite musical theater friends and I recreated Wicked's "Dancing Through Life" in the same setting as they do in Wicked, in front of a statue.

"Today, I recreated Wicked's "Dancing Through Life" with some of my favorites! We performed choreo we leaned in our musical theater class in front of the MLK statue just like they do at Shiz University in Wicked. Full video will be on YouTube soon!
Planned: 3:18pm Performed: 5:09pm"

Okay, I'll be honest. For Friday's spontaneous moment of theater, I cheated. The idea came to me on Monday, but if it helps, I waited until Thursday to ask if people were the next night around 10:30pm. And I waited to give out official details until Friday. 

I wanted to celebrate this week of spontaneous moments of theater with the people that had shared this experience of college with me. The Theater and Dance seniors. We wrote and read love letters to the Forty Acres together at the Tower. It was beautiful, emotional, and spontaneous. While, yes, we all had very individualized experiences and feelings, they were all conveyed through rhythms of appreciation, cadence of reverence, and phrases of gratitude. Tasha wrote a salacious, erotic poem, Ja'Michael sang, and several even spoke extemporaneously about their experiences over the past four years. One thing we all had in common? We thanked UT. 

"Today, I finished my college career. Today, I read a love letter to the Forty Acres with nine of the most inspiring theater artists I know, who are also graduating. Today, I concluded my week of spontaneous moments of theater. Thank you, UT.
Planned: 8:25am Performed: 10:44pm"

So, thank you, UT. For the confidence you gave me. For the community you gave me. For the memories you gave me. You took in a young girl who didn't know what to make of her potential, and is now leaving as a fearless woman, who will most definitely look back, sift through these memories, and spend extra time carefully and vividly re-membering the details of the good ones. 

(Re)Introducing the Fearless Fe*

Since my first week back at home for the winter break, I've been itching to write a blog. Every idea sat comfortably within the realm of nostalgia, recalling stories from my childhood that I had been reminded of from catching up with friends, visiting old stomping grounds, and digging through old journals and scrapbooks. What did I make of these memories? That I'm envious of my younger self, and not just because of the crystal clear, acne-free skin I had. Baby Felicia was pretty damn fearless, and I'm totally jealous, because slowly but surely, that confidence and self-assuredness was chipped away, as it does with everyone.

My creative quirks became embarrassing after I wanted to go by the name Fe* and a kid at school promptly asked "Fe*?! What kind of name is THAT?" (Upon retrospect, maybe not the most sensible name, but give me a break, I was in 3rd grade!)

My feministic approach with guys wavered after asking a boy to go to the movies with me and rejected me -- over AIM no less!

My time to get dressed doubled after getting questions of why I had purposely chosen to wear different colored socks.

Isn't that kind of a bummer?

Something else I made of these memories? I'm freaking scared to graduate college.

There, I said it.

All of the memories, the reminiscing, the nostalgia; they are all currently acting like a security blanket as I get closer and closer to moving my tassel from one side to another and making some version of this face to my mom:

I truly have no idea what I'm doing after college. I'm actually okay with not knowing what I am going to do. It's more that I'm nervous to enter this scary, eternal version of summer. The chant, "No more pencils, no more books! No more teachers' dirty looks!", was fine when it only pertained to 80 days of summer, but now it's applying to the rest of my life. The structure I've known for 17 years will be gone.

I may be working a 9 - 5 job every day, strategizing a brand's social media presence, or I could be living out of a suitcase as I tour with a Broadway show company. I'm not even freaked that those two careers are completely different from each other, I'm freaked about the one thing they have in common: it means that I will no longer feel like a kid. For some reason it feels like this serious ceremonial severing between childhood and adulthood -- quick, someone get Al Roker and the guy with the scissors who begins the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade!

For the sticklers: Yes, I know his name is Robin Hall, and yes, I know he no longer cuts the ribbon.

Completely separate from my winter break of nostalgia:

At the beginning of 2012, Ann Shoket -- the Editor-in-Chief of Seventeen Magazine challenged her twitter followers (via her assistant Berna) to choose one word to be their mantra for the year. That year I chose "action" and that was the same year I got my first internship with DoSomething.org. I've been choosing year mantras religiously ever since.

2012:

2013:

As if I could have planned it any better, my one word mantra for 2014 is FEARLESS. When I first chose this word I wanted to push myself, and face the post-grad unknown head first. But after this winter break, it is going to mean so much more. I want be true to myself. I want to be like fearless little ol' Fe*, with her mismatched socks and all.

xx