Hi everyone,

        I've been back in Asheville for two and a half weeks now. When asked what life is like here these days, my answer is that it's fine in some places, not fine in others, but even in the areas where things look relatively normal, there is an atmosphere of hesitancy. I sense that as the people here cautiously start to do "normal" things, they're afraid to do too much, too fast. It's like those first hours and days after a bad sickness-- do I feel better or is it my imagination? Is my appetite really up for a meal or should I stick with toast? You don't want to risk relapse.

       I'm lucky that my biggest hardships-- an annoyance, really-- are trying to wash the dishes with bottles of water instead of just turning on the kitchen sink faucet (the amount of plastic waste being generated right now around here is staggering, and sickening), overriding the reflex to fill my tea kettle from the tap, and remembering to take a bottle of water into the bathroom to brush my teeth. 

        Every few days, I go to one of the several Red Cross and National Guard distribution centers to pick up a couple of cases of bottled water. I'm not ashamed to say that more than once, I've driven away with tears in my eyes. I think we don't always realize how much of an emotional shield we carry when we go out into the world and move through our days, nor how vulnerable and fragile we all are, despite our outer shell-- and our not-always real conviction that we are self-sufficient and don't need any help, caretaking or a generous hand from someone else.

          The people I interact with at these community care centers, run by not only the Red Cross and National Guard but also the city, county, state and feds, are business-like, but in the most gentle, kind, empathetic way I could ever imagine. I drive up to the water station, roll down the passenger-side window, and someone is right there to ask how much water I want, how many in my household ("Any pets, ma'am?"), and if I want any MRE's to go along with. They ask if they should load it into the trunk or the back seat, and if it's a guy (usually), there's a subtle tip of their camouflage hat and a "Have a nice day, ma'am". Nothing excessive, no shame, no guilt, no assumptions, no interrogating, just giving out what's needed.

          One day, after collecting water, I parked my car and walked over to the area where mobile showers and laundry machines are set up (there's also a huge bank of Port-o-Potties and hand washing stations, a wifi hotspot and mobile charging units, and supplies of blankets, camping gear, pantry items, even kids' toys.) A Red Cross employee showed me around, explained how to use the laundry machines (me: "Do they take quarters?" Her: "No, it's all free. And you can bring your own detergent or they have some here for you.") Her calmness, unhurried manner, and pure gentleness just broke me down.  

A lot of restaurants have invested in gigantic tanks that they fill with potable water and then rig up to pump directly into their pipes, so they can prepare and serve as normal. Here's the Burger King setup:

    In news unrelated to hurricane aftermath and water collection...

      I'm working on a new article for Pointe magazine. The topics I write about for Pointe and elsewhere vary quite a bit, but regardless of what the premise is or who the sources are, the same themes emerge time and again. Without fail, I'm led to think about the now well-heard notion that dance training is life training, and that whether a person goes on to have a pro career or not, their years in the dance studio will have sculpted how they will move through life-- in the most positive way.

       But several of the buzzy phrases that are often used to make that point don't seem quite right to me.

       Words like "demands," "discipline," "sacrifice." Those words make ballet sound like the pursuit of martyrs or servants. Ballet students and dancers aren't either of those things (or shouldn't be, and I recognize there continue to be toxic, antiquated, and dysfunctional practices out there.) Ballet doesn't demand discipline or sacrifice. People who feel the urge to study dance naturally focus hard on their training because they are so fascinated by it. What looks like forced adherence to arbitrary rules dictated by an authority figure isn't that at all. It's the delight that comes from discovery of a world that only reveals itself through the investment of time and physicality. The closer you look, the more carefully you listen, the more you discover. And the very, very best part is that the entire world of ballet lives inside you: your own body, no one else's. So dancers are lucky enough to have two worlds in which to explore and thrive-- the everyday human one, and the ballet world inside their skin. It's all yours, and no one can take it away. Once ballet is in your muscles, bones, and soul, it's there forever.

       There's no sacrifice, just negotiations. The discipline is not forced, it's just what you do. Ballet doesn't demand anything, it offers. And you may or may not decide to take it.

         A dancer I interviewed yesterday for my current assignment contacted me an hour after we spoke to add some additional thoughts. I think that what she said can work in so, so many situations, in life and in ballet, in the weeks after a natural disaster, in the minutes when we feel stuck and search for a way to make our future different from our now.