Without Mirrors
It was a contemporary dance class – my second one actually – just four of us, alone with an instructor. From drag runs to spirals to suspensions, we rolled around on the floor and leapt from bare to bare wall, dancing life into the empty space. Our instructor coached us along, guiding us through each move, encouraging us to take greater risks and bigger falls. As my ankles repeatedly smacked into the tiles, and as my arms swung out of place again and again, I realized that our instructor was the only gauge of whether or not we were executing our moves properly. She kept cheering us on, but there was no way for us to know if what we were doing graced any bend of accuracy. As we continued to throw ourselves, I realized that for the first time, I found myself learning to dance with no real mirrors.
As we sat on the floor, rocking our cheeks from side, I couldn’t help but extend the parallel to my life. Before moving to the continent, the mirrors seemed to abound. In my small town, countless accolades affirming mediocre academic achievement led me to believe that I effused excellence. Armed with this confidence, I ventured off to Yale, only to watch my self-esteem crumble as a battered transcript proved the attainment of exceptionality evermore elusive. The excessive mirrors in the Have created a myriad of insecurities, as all my blemishes revealed themselves to me for the first time, narrowing the focus of my vision to nothing but the imperfections themselves.
Since moving to the continent, however, I’ve found myself ripped from those external sources of (in)validation. The complexity of navigating entirely new social horizons has often forced me to leap with nothing more than the hope of a graceful jeté; while shortly thereafter, I find myself two-stepping alongside others before slapping gumboots to the rhythm of utter confusion. I feel like I’m never quite sure which genre I am or should be dancing at any given moment, as I rarely find a piece of glass that can place my movement into context.
Oddly enough, it’s through the absence of these conventional mirrors that I seem to have regained my own footing. It was only by being forced to perform with no real preparation or time to gauge my audiences that the uniqueness of my own style and personality has taken center stage. I’ve found a new freedom of expression that reigns unchecked by the embarrassment of over-self-consciousness, and I think I like it. I’m doubtful that I’ll look at mirrors the same way again – ever. Their distortions too easily taint our perceptions of beauty and grace, and their cousins – smoky windows, puddles of water, shards of glass – unavoidably refract their own takes on our appearance. To the extent to which mirrors provide a pure reflection, I plan to use them as guides, but at the point at which they attempt to become restrictive, I’ll have no choice but to continue dancing without them.
NJNious
