Thoughts on dance & age
& licking things & 267 trick-or-treaters
Hello!
You’re catching me at a bad time. I dropped Neal off at the airport at 5:15 this morning. I’ve been sick for 2 weeks (and had c*vid before this current virus!). My refrigerator is empty. I am overwhelmed with job applications, research, and dissertation work.
I am also training for a dance competition for some weird reason. I’ve been worrying about that as well.
I just finished listening to How to Keep House While Drowning on audiobook. In it, the author discusses the importance of rest and says that rest looks different for everyone. To some degree, dance is the only restful time I have. Referring to strenuous exercise (and 4-hour classes) as “restful” may sound like I don’t understand the word. But, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: dance class is the only time when my brain stops worrying about work and bills and home repairs and car troubles and dissertation progress and the future and war and global warming…etc., etc., etc.
The trouble is, I’ve made my restful activity into a competitive one—a habit I’ve had since childhood. Maybe some of you can relate. Training for a dance competition at this age is more involved than when I was a teenager. Preparation for a dance class involves the application of expensive KT tape; careful bandage placement; a cocktail of ibuprofen, pre-workout, vitamin C, and collagen; and at least an hour-long warm-up before I can even begin to feel ready to dance. Post-class recovery minimally requires an Epsom salt bath, a protein shake, ample massage gun time, a deep stretch, and ice packs on both feet, or else I won’t be walking the next day.
These pre- and post-dance rituals are rewarding and comforting, in many ways. The less rewarding part is the mental battle. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to convince myself of two facts that can feel contradictory: (1) that I am really too old to get caught up in any anxiety, fear, or self-doubt regarding competition or dance class, and (2) that I am not really that old and there is no reason to believe that I can’t make progress at this age—marathon runners and ballerinas and cyclists and Olympic athletes do it all the time.
I am continually reminded of the below Venn diagram, which I may have shared in a previous letter. Replace “art” with “dance”:
Anyway, stress levels are high and I know I’m not alone in that. Shout out to my dance friends reading this letter. Sending love to everyone who is dreading the approaching darkness, dealing with viruses, or just feeling worn thin these days.
LOCAL NEWS
We had a very spooky time in California. I mentioned in my last newsletter that Neal’s stepdad goes hard for Halloween and this year was no exception. He built a pirate ship in their yard, filled it with skeletons with red lightbulbs in their eyes, and created the illusion of water using blue lights and smoke machines. Next to the mailbox, he built a jail cell with a skeleton guard dog. In total, we counted 267 trick-or-treaters. It was mind-blowing and I can’t believe we haven’t visited for Halloween before.
Neal’s siblings showed us around all the best parts of Knott’s Scary Farm. For those who aren’t familiar, Knott’s Berry Farm is a big theme park complete with thrilling rides and rollercoasters. During the Halloween season, it transforms into Knott’s Scary Farm, which includes 12 haunted mazes, a few haunted rollercoasters, and several “scare zones,” where terrifyingly dressed employees scare visitors while they walk around the amusement park. My (least) favorite was the clown scare area, in which you could just be standing there minding your own business or waiting in line for the restroom and suddenly find yourself with a horrifying clown squeaking in your face.
While in Cali, we also enjoyed watching babies learn to crawl, meeting Neal’s family’s “new” dog which has not yet been named, despite being adopted in April, and going on an incredible hike with ocean views in 85-degree weather on Halloween (photos truly do not do it justice).
CULTURE & ENTERTAINMENT
I made the regrettable decision to watch Million Dollar Baby on the flight home, a decision I attribute to a shocking memory lapse during which I mistakenly remembered the film as a sports film. Devastating mistake.
Durham, NC was featured in the “36 Hours In” series in the New York Times. It was fun to see so many of my favorite spots get a shout-out, and especially fun to see two spots in our neighborhood be recognized: Mike D’s BBQ and Ideal’s sandwich shop. Come visit!
Jazmine Hughes, a writer I follow, resigned from the New York Times after signing a letter of protest and I’ve been thinking a lot about that over the last 24 hours.
I have not had a lot of time for culture & entertainment but Neal and I are continuing our morning rituals of Connections (on the New York Times app) and Worldle (the country one).
BIRTH NOTICES
Morning darkness.
Christmas present-buying season.
This piece of writing advice from Adam Gnade: “I learned to write by writing a lot, and writing really bad, stupid shit, failing, and having people hate what I do…Put in the work. Do it every single day.”
The realization that you can look at something and know what it would feel like to lick it, without ever having licked it before (a realization someone mentioned in a TikTok, which someone in the comments attributed to the fact that we actually have tasted everything—back when we were toddlers).
Co-Star’s assessment of my sister and I’s astrological compatibility last week: “an undiscovered species of walking seaweed”
IN MEMORIAM
This poem on death, if you want to cry a little bit.
This obituary, if you want to be a little inspired.
RIP the end of the Halloween season, my favorite.
COMICS
After seeing nearly 270 trick-or-treaters last week, I can confidently confirm this is real. Is nobody teaching their kids how to trick-or-treat anymore?
This TikTok might be specifically funny to Neal and me because our cat is exactly like this:
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Okay, thanks again for reading. Love you all.
Claire
