If you are or have been a dancer, you'll know just what I'm talking about: that sickening feeling when you realize something's wrong with your body.
It might be when you first wake up one morning, or in the middle of a class or rehearsal or even a performance. Maybe your foot or ankle or knee or hip was giving you some signals already, maybe not. But all of a sudden, whatever it is has gone from a nagging pain to a blaring siren you can't ignore.
When you're a student and that happens, you think it's the end of the world: you "have" to take class, rehearse for your school show, be ready for an audition. You can't afford to be injured because every day counts in your march towards your career.
When you're a professional and this happens, you also think it's the end of the world. Showing up to dance every day is your job. Not being able to do it, no matter how sympathetic your boss or generous your worker's comp, is a small chip in your value as an employee. There's guilt because your partner can't rehearse without you, or someone else has to go on in your place-- and maybe you don't even have an understudy and another dancer will have to cram the part to be ready on time. Fear that missing a day or two of rehearsal will set you back-- if a new ballet is being set, you'll have a lot of catching up to do.
I wrote this week for Pointe magazine about why an important lesson to learn in the formative student years is that hiding an injury never works out for the best, and speaking up, getting help and modifying what you do is not a sign of weakness. You are not losing your only chance at something, anything. Today is today, tomorrow is tomorrow, and the sooner you get help and guidance, the sooner tomorrow will come.
It struck me that yet again, dance life lessons are life lessons.
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