It's a little bit strange, but it's also a little bit comforting because when I need that extra boost to really move forward through the pain and frustration, they are the ones that somehow get me moving, even after all these years. I haven't seen Ms. McLean since I was seventeen years old, haven't even trained under her since I was thirteen. The last time I worked with Yoshie was five years ago. And yet these women have this remarkable influence in the person I've become and continue becoming, regardless of the time and the distance.
These two women made me reach my limits, and more often than I liked I felt a lot of shame in their presence knowing that I hadn't achieved what I was capable of. When they have such intense faith in your abilities, and you screw around or let the practice waste away or ignore the task set before you, you can't help but feel as though you've disappointed those who believe in you most. But in those times when I had a break through, when they guided me to create something of value, I felt such a genuine love and connection with them that I can only describe as motherly.
Some of my fondest memories are sitting at the piano in Yoshie's front room, angled slightly toward her as she would tell me an anecdote from her youth, or as she would discuss the gospel of Jesus Christ with me in musical terms, or as she would complain about how much the democrats were ruining this country. We would talk politics and life, and during some of my more difficult moments in my teen years she would let my eyes well with tears while she discussed my parents, and then she would tell me to move past it by putting my faith in God and in the piano. And to stop crying because there was Bach to be played.
I have no doubt that the difficulty I had in high school is directly related to Yoshie's absence from my life.
Ms. McLean quite literally yelled at me more often, perhaps more than anyone else. Yelling at my feet and my arms and my fingers and my tush and my knees, but not the kind of yell that hurts. Instead she yelled at their temporary inadequacy, yelling reminders of potential not quite formed. I will always remember this one evening in the mid-winter that changed the way I viewed how I worked. I couldn't tell you which year it was, or which day of the week, but I can tell you that I was feeling so inadequate and aimless and lost. Looking back I think it's pretty clear that my family's instability was starting to take a toll on my emotional health, and I probably should have been working with someone even at twelve years old, because I remember feeling a complete slump in every area of my life. I had plateaued and couldn't find my way out of the hole. I had been such a strong dancer, and quickly, and then suddenly I wasn't improving and I was frustrated. More than anything else, Ms McLean wasn't yelling like she once did. Somehow I found a way to talk to her, and express how every single class left me wanting and a little empty, and that I was no longer feeling motivated or pushed to improve. The next day she let me take the upper level class with the girls who were five and six years older than me, an evening that helped me realize what I could be capable of. I worked harder than I'd worked in a class for a long time. All I wanted was to prove to Ms. McLean that I deserved to be in there, and that I was deserving of a little yelling again. To this day I quite literally remember the adagio we did at the barre - the ENTIRE exercise, to the point of feeling the pain in my arms and shoulders from pushing that barre so hard in order to make my attitude higher and my bevel more pronounced in my pointe shoes.
The first time I ever sat down and had a conversation with Erika was in my house in Provo. I was sitting on Grandma's red velvet couch and she was sitting on that stiff-backed chair that had needlepoint work on it, and she explained the benefit of competing at the national teen pageant. What started as a director-titleholder relationship evolved bit by bit each year. Back then, 7 years ago, I didn't want to disappoint her because of how much she was investing in the person that I was presenting myself as. There came a time when I didn't want to disappoint her because I wanted to be like her. And now I don't want to disappoint her because she may know me better than anyone, and therefore she knows who I can be. Even scarier, she knows that I know who I should be. To not live up to that would be so painful for me, and it wouldn't matter if she knew what I was doing or not. Just the simple fact that Erika would expect more is enough for me to second guess some decisions I might make. She may not have been the one sitting at a nearby piano or wearing teaching ballet heels, but she's been the one to ensure that the discipline and perseverance I learned in those arenas have transfered to the individual I am. She was never afraid to tell me when I did wrong, like that one time in June 2007 after I'd had a meltdown after talent. And I hope that I've learned from those experiences, and her love and support have given me the chance to rectify wrongs and be better.
Sometime soon I'm going to start writing publicly about what happened in the early spring of 2010, but until then I will just say that Leslie Tanner had the inspiration to be the person who checked up on me, who offered the advice over dinner, and who gave me the encouragement to see a doctor about finding my way back to being the person that these other women have helped me to be. Not only did she birth girls who I consider to be sisters (and one of whom who is the most wonderful best friend I could have), but she is an extraordinary friend who I know I can count on.
Finally, I don't know how well you know my own mother, but she is a fighter. Last night we went to my niece's dance recital and I felt such overwhelming gratitude for the woman who gave me life, who fostered my innate talent, who found such remarkable teachers to harness that talent, who put me in that teen pageant that changed my life. She never let me quit, even when I begged and begged. She drove me everywhere, and she put up with my whining and crying, and she encouraged me to be the best. She had the vision to put me with individuals who understood foundational principles in education and the arts, and these women who have had motherly influence over me were a part of my existence because my own mother chose them.
God has blessed me with extraordinary women in my life. Women who work every day, with monetary compensation or not, who produce amazing results in their careers and their families and in how they serve outside their homes. I'm not sure if my experience is all that normal, this entire situation where I have so many women to look to as mother-figures, but I couldn't be more grateful that I do indeed have such a blessing.
It's no secret that I want desperately to be a mother. Partially because I've had this weird pull toward playing with and tending to little children, even as a child myself. Mostly because I want to have the opportunity to teach what these women have taught me. My associations of motherly affection with all of them are surely culturally influenced, as the "Mother model" or paradigm in my brain connects a woman pushing me to be my best with my own mom, but I don't see it as a bad thing at all. Indeed, I am more grateful for the moments when these women have pointed out my mistakes, and provided the tools to make them triumphs. It's very spiritual, and perhaps one day we'll have more proof of why it feels so spiritual, but right now I'm not going to worry about why I feel such love and gratitude.
Instead I'm just going to say thank you for being the women I trust.
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