I am probably about to sound like an annoying Dance Mom. But there are just too many mishaps that can easily be prevented in a dancer’s life. A professional dancer’s life is unfortunately not quite as long as the typical office or corporation job that may involve earning a company car or the quintessential vested/tenured position with the Rolex watch. It’s a labor of love, that includes moments of gratitude for every job landed, and every minute on the stage and in the rehearsal room.
I wouldn’t say I’m a particularly superstitious person but there are certain patterns I like to follow. Call it my show ritual, if you will. Most of these things happen over time on a show and many are forgotten once I move onto another one. Some things, however, stay with me. My signature “Hiya” for check-in before a show, for example, has been with me for as long as I can remember (as I’m sure Anna Robb could attest). I still to this day wear my dads’ watch on opening night (to bring me luck). My little native smurf sits on the left-hand side of my Nomad desk and gets a nod before my first cue (right after I’ve given an exaggerated wink to my long-suffering fellow operator Kirsty). When these little things get missed out, I feel as if my show isn’t the same. I realise of course that in reality, nothing has changed about the show but purely my routine. Still, it bothers the slightly obsessive-compulsive operator part of my brain.
The ambience and aroma of sweaty athlete’s clad in dirt and mud, or the squeaks and chirps of basketball sneakers are characteristics, audiences associate with the pinnacle of a career in athletics. But, becoming versed in High Heels or Air Jordan’s, Aerial Rigging and humans lofted 40-50 feet in the air, was much more enlightening. The magical nature and whimsy working with an internationally acclaimed troupe surpassed any experience on a field or court.
