Fall and recovery: life lessons from an iconic choreographer
Modern dancer Doris Humphrey made dramatic use of gravity.
I am not great at hobbies.
Historically, when I find I am good at something, I pretty much decide to do it professionally. I’m kidding, but not really. The silver lining here is obviously that I really, thoroughly enjoy the work I do (getting to this place involved a steep learning curve, kids).
There’s one glaring exception, however: tap-dancing. I have been tapping on and off since I was 14, and I simply love it. Making loud sounds with my feet? Are you kidding me? Bring it on!
In my early adulthood, I went through a pretty significant period of time where I stopped tapping because … I guess some shiny thing in the corner distracted me. But then I picked it up again in my early thirties and have been on and off again again since then.
Oh, by the way, I’m not very good at it. And I don’t say this in a self-deprecating way; it’s true. I’m fine, but let’s just say I’m not what they call a triple threat.
Once upon a time, I started shuffling off to Buffalo, but I only got as far as Rochester.
And speaking of Flower City, it thrilled me when I came across the only intermediate/advanced tap class in Rochester, and I eagerly enrolled. But this time around, it was harder than before — not only because I was the slowest one in the small class, and not just because, after nearly 20 years of being vegan, finding professional-quality vegan tap shoes has been my only vegan conundrum — but also because I am getting closer and closer to needing surgery on the severe osteoarthritis in my big toe joint (oh hey there, middle age … I see you). So, yeah: tapping can hurt.
My most recent teacher, Cheryl Miller, was effortless and glorious as she demonstrated the tap moves she wanted our feet to do. But what struck me the most about her style was when she’d give us moves that more or less looked like we were falling down, only to catch ourselves with a pointed SLAP of our foot, catching ourselves.
At first, I was not really getting it; my “falls” were too controlled, my “SLAP” too delicate.
“Lose your balance,” Cheryl said. “You’ll find it again.”
It turns out that this style was at least partly put on the map by modern dance choreographer Doris Humphrey. To carve out her distinct method, she devoted extensive time observing herself in the mirror. Through this, she realized that all movements exist within the spectrum of "the arc between two deaths," which spans from a static balance to an unrecoverable fall. She recognized that each motion a dancer makes away from their center of gravity necessitates a subsequent realignment to maintain equilibrium and avoid an unintended tumble.
The more daring the intentional fall, the stronger the recovery must be.
As I learned from Cheryl, Humphrey masterfully showcased the interplay between gravity and human emotions, juxtaposing our innate need for stability (balance) with our yearning for exploration (imbalance). She posited that movement doesn't always stem from an emotional trigger; instead, it can be the very source of significance.
When I first learned about this, I was quite moved, and the life metaphor here is clear. So after excusing myself from the class for a second to jot down a note so that I could do more research later, I rejoined my classmates who were busy falling and recovering, falling and recovering.
There were so many times in my life (and my guess is this is true for you, too) that I fell hard (sometimes literally, such as on my ass last year while rollerskating).
There was the year and a half I spent in Santa Cruz, dealing with the fallout (pun intended) of blowing up my life and trying to piece it back together again in a way that resembled a life. It was a slow-motion fall, lasting about two years. And then, when I wasn’t expecting it, the SLAP came, and I realized — huzzah! — I had gotten my balance back.
How fascinating to watch a dancer let it all go, not knowing where they’ll land, only to watch as their muscle memory kicks in at the very last second! We collectively breathe; they are safe.
In tap class that day, I stepped back into the group of women — they kindly adjusted the horizontal line to make space for me. The music was cued, and when it started, I allowed myself to fall.
And how beautiful it was.
xo,
jazz
P.S. I have a free upcoming Zoom workshop: Who do you want to be in the fourth quarter of 2023? It will take place on Tuesday, September 5, from 8:00-8:45pm ET. Don’t forget to register! I hope you can make it.
P.P.S. Here’s some media I helped create since last we spoke (I’ve been busy!):
WXXI’s Connections: “A look inside children’s books dealing with anxiety”
WXXI’s Connections: “The impact of YA literature”
WXXI: EPA seeks public input on next phase of Great Lakes restoration
WXXI: “New Levine Center leader aims to champion youth and community in the fight against hate”
Our Hen House: SAVING ANIMALS IN NEPAL W/ SNEHA SHRESTHA
Our Hen House: THE EATS ACT IS A “RACE TO THE BOTTOM” W/ CHRIS GREEN
Our Hen House: THE VEGANIC GROWER’S HANDBOOK W/ JIMMY VIDELE
Our Hen House: SWEET FARM CLIMATE SANCTUARY W/ NATE SALPETER & SHIRA JACOBSON
Our Hen House: DESIGNING FOR THE MOVEMENT W/ ZEYNEP SAĞLAMÖZ
VegNews Podcast: w/Miyoko Schinner
VegNews Podcast: w/Charity Morgan
VegNews Podcast: w/Tig Notaro
VegNews Podcast: w/David Yeung
VegNews Podcast: w/Spike Mendelsohn
VegNews Podcast: w/Andrea Meza