When I first got interested in pole dancing, I spent countless hours at the computer watching YouTube videos. There were endless amounts of vids out there ranging from the novice to the industry dancer/semi-professional (there weren’t any real professional pole artists at the time like there are today). I was fascinated by each and every one of them. I identified with the beginners and loved watching them work out the same tricks I was trying to work out. I was in awe of the advanced dancers and favorited many of their “blooper” videos. My husband had to force me to turn off the computer and get into bed at night.
As I took more classes and learned more technique, somehow my views began to shift. Now that I knew what I was looking at, my eye became more critical. I gasped when I saw girls kick up into inversions, or monkey feet during pole climbs. I groaned out loud to see "wrong" arms, "wrong" legs, "wrong" music. (Yes, yes, I know I sound like a truly awful human being, but I'm trying to be really honest so stick with me to the end, ok?) I was tacitly vicious, for I never spoke my thoughts out loud, nor shared them in written comments. I sat smugly at home in smarmy judgment. (Can you see where this is leading?)
One evening I attended a student showcase at the studio where I took classes in Nevada. The registration deadline to perform had passed by the time I started at the studio, but I was a regular in the mornings and learned quite a bit in a relatively short period of time. It was very easy for me to be upset that I had missed the deadline. My friends consoled me, patting me on the shoulder and reassuring me that there would be another chance to perform soon. But inside, I was silently relieved, almost giddy really, that I was in the audience and not up on stage.
Which leads me to the turning point in this little story. I stared wide-eyed at a dancer who was attempting to sit up onto the pole from a headstand. She was clearly stuck and struggling and I was embarrassed for her. I glanced around at the audience, which consisted mainly of friends and family of the dancers. I watched a woman clap her hands over her mouth, her own body twitching as if she wanted to jump up onto the stage to help the upside-down girl. A glance in the other direction brought me to another audience member muttering "come on, you can do it..." It seemed like everyone was cheering her on. No one looked away as if it were a humiliating scene not to be witnessed. Everyone was on her side and everyone wanted her to succeed.
I sat in my bubbling hot shame, wishing someone could have heard my previous thoughts so they could slap me hard across the face like I deserved. There I was, judging that dancer for not having the "perfect" sit up from a headstand, when I didn't even have the balls to even get up there to dance! I thought about all those videos I watched and all those girls I had criticized without ever having the guts to post a single video myself. It takes a thick skin to put a video up on a public forum like You Tube or Facebook, or to compete or even participate in a student showcase. Not only do you have to bear the opinions of narcissistic jerks like myself, you also need to allow yourself to be vulnerable to the process of creation. Those girls had the courage that I didn't, and until I found the stones to put myself out there like they did, I hadn't earned the privilege of uttering one single word--unless it was a word of unconditional support.
Several weeks ago, Boulder Spirals hosted our very first September Student Showcase. The girls did everything themselves, from choosing music to choreographing to rehearsing. I was ecstatic that girls brand new to pole opted to perform. Some asked me if you had to be advanced to dance in the showcase. I told them that the showcase was for any student who wanted to perform. If you had something you wanted to express, then you were welcome to do so, regardless of whether you were doing Russian splits or simply walking around the pole for four minutes. We were lucky enough to have professional pole artist, Holly 'Honey' Miely, close the showcase with a breath-taking, stellar free-style routine that left the audience on their feet, screaming and clapping. Stunning? Yes, absolutely! But it was no more impressive and inspiring than our incredible and courageous girls who signed up to perform in the Student Showcase.
Bravo, ladies, bravo!
As I took more classes and learned more technique, somehow my views began to shift. Now that I knew what I was looking at, my eye became more critical. I gasped when I saw girls kick up into inversions, or monkey feet during pole climbs. I groaned out loud to see "wrong" arms, "wrong" legs, "wrong" music. (Yes, yes, I know I sound like a truly awful human being, but I'm trying to be really honest so stick with me to the end, ok?) I was tacitly vicious, for I never spoke my thoughts out loud, nor shared them in written comments. I sat smugly at home in smarmy judgment. (Can you see where this is leading?)
One evening I attended a student showcase at the studio where I took classes in Nevada. The registration deadline to perform had passed by the time I started at the studio, but I was a regular in the mornings and learned quite a bit in a relatively short period of time. It was very easy for me to be upset that I had missed the deadline. My friends consoled me, patting me on the shoulder and reassuring me that there would be another chance to perform soon. But inside, I was silently relieved, almost giddy really, that I was in the audience and not up on stage.
Which leads me to the turning point in this little story. I stared wide-eyed at a dancer who was attempting to sit up onto the pole from a headstand. She was clearly stuck and struggling and I was embarrassed for her. I glanced around at the audience, which consisted mainly of friends and family of the dancers. I watched a woman clap her hands over her mouth, her own body twitching as if she wanted to jump up onto the stage to help the upside-down girl. A glance in the other direction brought me to another audience member muttering "come on, you can do it..." It seemed like everyone was cheering her on. No one looked away as if it were a humiliating scene not to be witnessed. Everyone was on her side and everyone wanted her to succeed.
I sat in my bubbling hot shame, wishing someone could have heard my previous thoughts so they could slap me hard across the face like I deserved. There I was, judging that dancer for not having the "perfect" sit up from a headstand, when I didn't even have the balls to even get up there to dance! I thought about all those videos I watched and all those girls I had criticized without ever having the guts to post a single video myself. It takes a thick skin to put a video up on a public forum like You Tube or Facebook, or to compete or even participate in a student showcase. Not only do you have to bear the opinions of narcissistic jerks like myself, you also need to allow yourself to be vulnerable to the process of creation. Those girls had the courage that I didn't, and until I found the stones to put myself out there like they did, I hadn't earned the privilege of uttering one single word--unless it was a word of unconditional support.
Several weeks ago, Boulder Spirals hosted our very first September Student Showcase. The girls did everything themselves, from choosing music to choreographing to rehearsing. I was ecstatic that girls brand new to pole opted to perform. Some asked me if you had to be advanced to dance in the showcase. I told them that the showcase was for any student who wanted to perform. If you had something you wanted to express, then you were welcome to do so, regardless of whether you were doing Russian splits or simply walking around the pole for four minutes. We were lucky enough to have professional pole artist, Holly 'Honey' Miely, close the showcase with a breath-taking, stellar free-style routine that left the audience on their feet, screaming and clapping. Stunning? Yes, absolutely! But it was no more impressive and inspiring than our incredible and courageous girls who signed up to perform in the Student Showcase.
Bravo, ladies, bravo!
