Passion and Practicality

I used to dance. Every opportunity I had, I would dance. I knew every step, every word, every note of CATS, A Chorus Line, Chicago, White Christmas. I was more than a dancer: I thrived to perform and that’s what I was going to do with my life.

At the beginning of high school, my joints began to give out. Dance and theater became harder, though it did nothing to stop me from auditioning for shows, committing to marching band, performing in choir, band, talent shows, piano competitions. I thrived on the pressure, the thrill, the demand of not just my body or abilities, but of giving up my very soul to every single performance.

By the end of high school, I was skipping classes as my depression and physical pain began to call the shots. I did two more shows after high school and one college course for singing and acting, and that was the end. A quiet, painful death of what had always been my greatest love.

I didn’t know then what state I would be in over a decade later. I lost more than the physical capabilities, but my mental health stole away the pieces of me that had begun to starve when I had to stop and, finally, starved to death, were consumed and replaced by depression’s lethargy and anxiety’s standstill.

Now things are looking so much better, physically and mentally. I’m accomplishing more, but there’s an unfortunate mentality, the Impostor’s presence, the pull towards doubt that tugs at my sleeves, an impatient child wondering why I won’t pay attention to it’s demands.

“You’re still sick, who are you fooling with this?”

“You’re still depressed, who are you fooling with this?”

“You’re still the same person, who are you fooling with this?“

I’m still walking to therapy each week, about three miles round trip. I’ve been able to regularly attend church. Spearhead my church’s presence at our community’s Pride event, for the first time ever! Take part in what looks to be a very promising event that could help take away the stigma and bad reputation of an area and replace it with art and peace. I’m not fooling anyone, this is me. This is what I am capable of, this is me acknowledging that, while I may be disabled, sick, and all these other things that make my life a lot more difficult, I am still a person worthy of love and happiness. I can still be the person that brings good into the world, no matter how hard my limitations can make that.

I’m not one to sugarcoat my trials. I’m not suggesting that, even as I work, learn, and act, that I’m not aware of the anniversary of my attempt on my own life looming. That I’m not feeling the sting of past pains, still fighting.

But I’m fighting and learning what my new normal looks like and what it can look like in the future. I’m waking up with purpose each day, even if I can’t get out of bed.

I guess passion and practicality aren’t so far out of reach after all.