This piece was first published in the Mail Tribune.
Shortly after settling in to watch OSF's production of Hairspray, I fell madly in love with teen dance sensation, Tracy Turnblad. Exuding an explosive passion for life, she's uncontainable in all the best ways. Tracy has a voice that needs to be heard, and she uses it to question the absurd notion that size, race, physical ability or gender has anything to do with how, when, where or with whom we interact. And don't you dare tell her she can't dance.
"My mind tells me no but my feet tell me go!'"
Tracy's words have been echoing in my brain since I saw the play. She speaks to a discrepancy between her mind's guidance ("I'm not supposed to do this....") and her profound need to boogie her voluptuous self right into that audition. She's frustrated and indignant; caught between the reality of what is, and what should be.
I get it, Tracy Turnblad; I am you--with a little twist. Edit that quote of yours a bit to read, "My mind tells me go but my feet tell me no!" and it's my story, one I share with brothers and sisters all over the world. It's the story of disability secondary to intractable pain (a constant state of severe physical pain which has no known cure, and is not easily managed).
Along with the hits we get from societal stigma, it's difficult when our own bodies impose limitations on our lives, and the struggle goes deeper than the mind. The real emotional impact is born from incongruence of spirit and body. Our spirits are life-sustaining; they inform us we must create, write, connect, sing, snuggle our dogs, or dance.
Shortly after settling in to watch OSF's production of Hairspray, I fell madly in love with teen dance sensation, Tracy Turnblad. Exuding an explosive passion for life, she's uncontainable in all the best ways. Tracy has a voice that needs to be heard, and she uses it to question the absurd notion that size, race, physical ability or gender has anything to do with how, when, where or with whom we interact. And don't you dare tell her she can't dance.
"My mind tells me no but my feet tell me go!'"
Tracy's words have been echoing in my brain since I saw the play. She speaks to a discrepancy between her mind's guidance ("I'm not supposed to do this....") and her profound need to boogie her voluptuous self right into that audition. She's frustrated and indignant; caught between the reality of what is, and what should be.
I get it, Tracy Turnblad; I am you--with a little twist. Edit that quote of yours a bit to read, "My mind tells me go but my feet tell me no!" and it's my story, one I share with brothers and sisters all over the world. It's the story of disability secondary to intractable pain (a constant state of severe physical pain which has no known cure, and is not easily managed).
Along with the hits we get from societal stigma, it's difficult when our own bodies impose limitations on our lives, and the struggle goes deeper than the mind. The real emotional impact is born from incongruence of spirit and body. Our spirits are life-sustaining; they inform us we must create, write, connect, sing, snuggle our dogs, or dance.
I think of my own spirit as a current of rushing stream water, mingling with fish and playing with leaves and fallen branches. It joyfully crashes upon this stone and that stone, shouting out, Lithia Park is incredible! Life... is freaking amazing!
And then there's my body.
My body, the physical container of my spirit, is the sludge residing at the stream's bottom. It longingly looks up at that sunshine-dappled spirit (oh-so-close but unreachable). Not a blip of light gets reflected onto my mess of a body. Sludgier and sludgier it becomes, despite the quality of treatment it gets day in, day out.
The emergence of spirit-body conflict is something we'll all inevitably experience at some point in our lives. Appreciating and honoring these parts of ourselves, sludge included, is critical so we can to attend to their unique needs and give them the care they deserve. Easier said than done? Absolutely...an ongoing process.
So thanks, Trace, for your vibrancy and inspiration. I hope to see you again and vicariously express my spirit through the musical wonder that is your body. Until then, no amount of sludge can hold back my mind, body or spirit from those random moments throughout the day, when I joyfully sing out "Good Morning Baltimore!"
And then there's my body.
My body, the physical container of my spirit, is the sludge residing at the stream's bottom. It longingly looks up at that sunshine-dappled spirit (oh-so-close but unreachable). Not a blip of light gets reflected onto my mess of a body. Sludgier and sludgier it becomes, despite the quality of treatment it gets day in, day out.
The emergence of spirit-body conflict is something we'll all inevitably experience at some point in our lives. Appreciating and honoring these parts of ourselves, sludge included, is critical so we can to attend to their unique needs and give them the care they deserve. Easier said than done? Absolutely...an ongoing process.
So thanks, Trace, for your vibrancy and inspiration. I hope to see you again and vicariously express my spirit through the musical wonder that is your body. Until then, no amount of sludge can hold back my mind, body or spirit from those random moments throughout the day, when I joyfully sing out "Good Morning Baltimore!"
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