That week I not only discovered muscles I never knew existed, but a drive and an attitude that had long lain quiescent. Right off the bat I knew I had to decide I was going to like push-ups. From the moment I encountered the sight of my piston-armed peers it was evident that the workouts were not going to get any less challenging. Might as well enjoy them, I resolved, because they are only going to keep coming; and I was right. By the end of the season, we were shooting off 100-150 pushups a day.
The attitude that urged me to keep pumping in spite of fatigue also pushed me in ballet class to hold poses and dance combinations far beyond what my one semester of dance had prepared me for. Due to scheduling conflicts in the second semester, I had enrolled in a Ballet IV class per suggestion of my instructor, Rose. The leap from Ballet I to Ballet IV looked no less than overwhelming; however, I remained steady in my resolve to follow my passion. Fully aware that I was entering a level well beyond my experience, I was still unprepared for the humbling, and sometimes frightening, experience of dancing with girls possessing over a dozen years of experience. They looked so good, and I…well, I still had much to learn, as stated not quite so professionally by my instructor’s colleague, C__.
One morning after an especially challenging class, I stayed late to work out a combination with Rose. While I stood by, in obvious earshot, C__ confronted her. “What is she doing here Rose? She’s only going to hurt herself. Why is she here?” His words stung me. I took a deep breath and pushed my tears back. Several days later they still reverberated in my brain; I could not shake the defeated feeling that pressed upon me. To fail in something of lesser import is one thing; to fall short in one’s greatest passion is quite another. Despite his comments, or perhaps because of them, I enrolled in two additional off-campus classes the following week. The evening of my first class, who should walk in as the instructor but C__ himself. It took all of my courage and self-respect to hold myself at the bar, gripping for dear life, knowing that every movement was being critiqued under his hawkish surveillance.
Performing tendue en arabesque at the bar, memories of my fall semester seminar came tumbling back over the piano’s vibrant melody. Nathan Margalit, an enlightening artist himself, led a seminar on the creative and learning processes of art. In Nathan’s class every process was acceptable - our focus was not the product; it was the process. We messed with every form of art from charcoal and printmaking to rhythm and movement. “The experience of the process is why the artist creates. The product is simply a result of the overflow of your heart,” Nathan constantly reminded us. Relief breathed over me. It did not matter a pin or a straw what C__ thought of my dancing. I was in this for process not product, because I cannot help but pursue what I love. The experience provided a fitting frame for my subsequent realization of self. Three springs from now, I hope to descend the steps of the Amphitheater to accept a degree in the self-designed major of music and movement therapy, which focuses chiefly on process and the continuing course of self-development.
Three months and more than 3,000 push-ups later I can drop and give you 50. Anyone who has been through boot camp is still snorting I’m sure, but two more weeks and maybe I’ll be giving you 70. I have reached a new place of thought during our daily practices these last weeks. It’s about attitude. Track is at least 90% attitude. If I don’t think I can do it, I won’t be able to. If I choose to focus on Hammer footwork then I can do it and I do it right, but if, when my coach tells me to practice footwork, I internally groan Line drills stink! I hate spinning in circles! then I might as well leave because I know I won’t be trying that hard.
I had to take that attitude with me to a test today. This week I have done little more than complain about a particular class and professor, seeing only the dismal side of the experience. Today we had our final. When I woke up this morning I decided to just do it. To shut my mouth and nike. That did not make the test any less difficult, but I decided to do it and give the hour and fifteen minutes my best shot – so I did. I can do anything I choose to.
Contemplating my experiences, I realize that Nathan Margalit’s class is what I needed most to accept myself. I knew what I loved deep down inside, but could not come to terms with it because it was not “acceptable.” I thought that because I attended a women’s college it was necessary to be a strong math and science student when in reality those things do not interest me deeply. Your contribution has put me in a position to realize myself, understand others in my environment, and search for approaches to encourage and help both. Honestly, this could take place on any campus, in any town, in any school. My environment of choice is Mount Holyoke College. We are a diverse group of women, and even if we don’t have our stuff figured out, we are still going great places, we will still catalyze necessary change, we are capable - human, but capable. What you see in the shiny brochures is the vision. We are not all there yet.
Thank you for your contribution; it has made a huge difference in my life. Your financial support is vital to my education, and none of this would have been possible without your generosity. This scholarship is extremely important to me. As one of five children, I am dependent upon myself and outside sources of financial aid to pay my tuition bills. Receiving this scholarship will allow me to afford my degree and stay on track to achieve my goals. I will be very grateful and honored by anything I receive. Already I am excited for the coming year and all that it holds.
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