2019
It’s June. It’s raining. It’s not particularly warm. The sky is grey, and my mood is bleak. My saving grace is my garden. My auntie last year planted a whole load of new plants in my garden, and I followed suit by planting some pot plants and hanging some pretty things.
I’ve just finished teaching. It was a brilliant class; the young people so engaged and smiling and laughing, but at the same time working so hard the sweat was pouring and steam was starting to emerge on the windows. Leotards looked drenched and for them, muscles were worked and they left with smiles on their faces, knowing they had given their best and enjoyed the experience. Their whole lives are ahead of them, their future unknown, but at the same time So full of possibility and hope and good.
And I stand at the corner of the studio and I watch them leave one by one, smiling and waving and saying ‘thankyou’. Some a consistent ‘thank you’ the politeness of their lives as they are now, some more thinking on what they’ll eat for tea. Some wanting to tell me of a show or two they are in and ‘can they have that music we did for tendues?’ Inspired by my choices and hoping I’d be honoured by their remarks. And then they’re gone and I’m alone. And the music continues to play and I feel sad. Happy that they have left happy, and that I in part was responsible for that. But I’m lonely and alone and in need of that encouragement I just gave my students. And I know there is no one waiting for me at home. No one to kiss or caress or miss me or want me or long for me. No one to have cooked me tea or taken the bins out because I hate that job and they want to bless me. No one to tell me that even though I feel this void in my inner being, it’s okay because tomorrow is another day and sleep does wonders. No one who asks me how my day has been. No one that persuades me to bed, where we can pull close together and feel each other’s warmth.
I do my exercises that I hate, but that I know is good for me because without them these days I can hardly move. I daydream and dawdle to my car, only marking to make me go Home and that isn’t getting done because I can’t be bothered tonight. I drive and I cry, and then I enter my home, the sanctuary of solitude that I’ve built up over the 4 years I’ve lived here, and I say a small prayer of thanks for the one thing that keeps me going. My house. It’s lonely but it’s never cold. It’s dark sometimes But never un-inviting. It’s hidden but oh so safe. And I go out into the garden, in the pouring rain. I stare out at the plants my auntie bought and how blooming they are. I look at the acer tree I bought in memory of my Dad and how much it’s grown. I stare down and talk over the peonies I planted last year that never sprouted, but that this year have flourished and started to bud. I lift my eyes to the rain, and I talk to God. I moan and I petition,and then I’m silent. And in the silence I feel my shoulders grow heavy, just as if he is pressing his hands down on mine from behind. I look up at the tree next door and am reminded that in the rain there is growth. In tears there is healing. In sorrow there is reflection and revelation.
I have insistently and increasingly felt worthless, meaningless; a forgotten person in a huge sea of people who cease to matter, because I haven’t found ‘the one’ or given more life to the earth. I stand in my garden in the pouring rain feeling a failure to society, a failure to my family and most of all, a failure to myself. For not hitting the life goals I expected, the goals everyone expects the average woman to hit by my age. For not being important enough to matter to anyone at that moment. The weight of failure tumbles all Around me and the failure of ‘not having it all’ weighs down on me, taking my heart with it into the soil. I get in this moment why people choose to finish their lives. Or choose to give up. I physically feel the pain they feel, the emptiness and worthless and futility of life. I look up at the dark sky and into the rain, now drizzling, the big tree at the back of my garden swaying like its dancing. I vow to myself to keep going, ‘just one more day’, I say to myself. I don’t know why, and I certainly don’t feel any better for standing out in the rain. I turn my back on the darkness and retreat to the warmth of my lamp-lit living room, shut the door and lock it. I carry on existing.
2020
It’s June, and we are in lockdown, in the middle of a pandemic. It’s really sunny. It’s windy but one of the warmest days we’ve had so far this year. The sky is a translucent blue, and my mood is post-dance class animated. My garden is blooming with colour, oranges, reds, yellows, pinks and whites. My boyfriend planted a whole load of new plants in my garden, and I have followed suit by buying a lot of fairy lights and sun loungers, as holidays this year seem out of grasp, and the garden is the nearest place we are getting to a summer holiday this year. He has amused himself by planting some pot plants and hanging some pretty things. I come home to him watering the plants, with the smell of barbecue in the air.
I’ve just finished teaching. It was my first ever zoom online class. It was nerve-wracking to begin with, and I found directions weird without mirrors and with 20 people all performing the same thing in front of me. As we got into the class however, I let go a little and relaxed, and my body took over, and I started to remember why I love teaching so much; the adults so engaged and concentrated, working so hard in their kitchens or summer houses or gardens. Muscles were worked and they left the meeting with smiles on their faces, knowing they had given their best in the space they had and some commented how much they had enjoyed the experience after such a break. The future for dance is so unknown, but at the same time also full of possibility and hope for good. The world of dance is looking very different right now.
I had waited in the empty studio and I watched each participant leave the meeting one by one, smiling and waving and saying ‘thank you’. And then they’re gone, but I’m not alone. I take silly pictures with my musician and chat outside with the boss for a bit. I feel happy to be back in the place I chose to study in many years before, and that I in part was responsible for changes that happened in the place. I openly share how I was in need of that encouragement from the participants, seeing as its such a different way of teaching, and I feel encouraged by my boss. I feel happy with my efforts and with the sequences I have taught, and I get into my car and drive home; I know there is someone waiting for me at home. Someone to kiss and caress me, who misses me and wants me. He’s not cooked me tea because I’ve already done it, but he’s blessed me in taking care of my garden. He lifts me up in my kitchen and I feel this excitement in my inner being, it’s okay because he’s got me and he won’t let me fall. He asks me how my day has been. He will follow me to bed, where we pull close together and feel each other’s warmth.
I don’t do my usual exercises after class, because I already did some earlier and my body feels tired but good. I sit posting on social media in my car, and go directly home. I drive and I smile, watching all the young people that have come out in the heat to get take away. I enter my home, the sanctuary of solitude that I’ve built up over the 4 years I’ve lived here, and I say a small prayer of thanks for how far I have come. My house. It’s breezy with the back door open, but never cold. It’s dark sometimes But never un-inviting. It’s hidden but oh so safe. I go out into the garden, in the haze of the summer days sunshine. I stare out at the plants my boyfriend is tending to and how blooming they are. I look at the acer tree I bought in memory of my Dad and how it’s still growing. I stare down and smell the peonies I planted two years ago that never sprouted, but that this year are open and blooming whites and pinks, and are smelling like perfume. I lift my eyes to the sunset sky, and I talk to God. I thank Him and I smile, and then I’m chatting away about my day. And in the noise I feel my heart swell with love and excitement. I look up at the tree next door and am reminded that in the sunshine there is beauty. In laughter there is joy. In joy there is pleasure and passion.
I still feel worthless and meaningless sometimes; but in that moment I thank God for how far I have traveled in my mind and heart. I still honestly don’t know if I have found ‘the one’, and I am still unsatisfied that I haven’t given more life to the earth. I stand in my garden in evening light feeling a mixture of happy calm and slightly panicky over time. I may not have hit the life goals I expected, the goals everyone expects the average woman to hit by my age, but as my Mum has reminded me this very day, I have done so many other things and achieved so much so many haven’t. And I might not matter as much as I’d like, but I do matter at that moment. To me. To my family. To my class participants. To him. The feeling of peace wells in my spirit, and I’m proud in this moment that I didn’t choose to finish my own life. Or choose to give up. I physically feel relief, the peace and calm and thankfulness of life. I look up at the sunset sky and into the darkening blue, the big tree at the back of my garden still and full of leaves in brilliant green like it’s just eaten. I vow to myself, ‘remember this day’. I don’t know why, as it’s certainly not any better a day than the one before. I turn my back on the twinkly fairy lights that have just come on and retreat to the noise of my TV lit living room, my boyfriend following along behind who shuts the door and locks it. I make tea.
Lou's Ponderings 