Impressions

Pretty much my whole life I wanted to be a writer. And a teacher. My Great Uncle Ralph McInerny was my idol. He was a writer and a professor at the University of Notre Dame. So clearly, that was to be my path.

Ballet was my pastime and my passion. I had a love hate relationship with ballet, but that is a different story. In school, I struggled with math and science. The numbers and concepts overwhelmed my brain. Even now, it can send me into a mini-panic attack.

My English teacher knew I wanted to be a teacher. She overheard the wrong part of a conversation and was offended by what she thought she heard.

My dean, Mr. F., was always encouraging me to go to community college or not go to college at all. Which I took offense to. He knew I took time off from school to travel and perform with a ballet company so one day he took me into his office and suggested I skip college all together and open a dance studio instead. WTF? I had absolutely no interest in opening a dance studio. I had never expressed even an inkling of an interest in doing so.  Even if I continued to be involved in dance, I would likely be an instructor, but owning a studio was not at all what I wanted.

As I was explaining my dean’s advice to my friend, my teacher overheard me say:

“I would rather just be a teacher. That would be way easier!” And then she shot me some dirty looks and told me that teaching was not easy. I tried to explain to her that I was saying I didn’t want to own a dance studio; I would rather just teach at a studio. I am not sure if she believed me.

It is funny how vivid this memory is to me. Even fifteen years later. It really stuck with me. My parents hadn’t gone to college and they instilled in me a desire, a need, to go to college. And I am so happy that I did. I am glad I ignored the advice of Mr. F. who saw my grades in math and science and decided that I should give up before I even start.

The meek and shy little girl I was, I said nothing. Or maybe I mumbled, “But I want to be an English teacher.” And exited Mr. F.’s office with my head hanging and the Charlie Brown sad music playing.

I avoided taking math until my junior year of college. It sounded stupid at the time, to put it off, but I think it helped. It made me more determined and eager to seek out the extra help I needed to pass. And I did. With a B.

I did not become a teacher. I work in an office. I write when I can. I have taught dance in a studio. I teach yoga. I follow my dreams. Take that Mr.F!

VSPF 2013 - Life Online

 

http://youtu.be/wJCwlIlqk_s

VSPF 2011 - Date Anxiety

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCixPg80ZoQ

The mask of make up

There was a time in my life when I wanted nothing more than to wear make up. It would make me beautiful. I was 13, 14, and 15, even a little of my 16^th year I spent desiring the ability to carry the round compact that would fit comfortably in my palm. I thought it would be thrilling to pop open the little mirror, touching up my face with smears of creamy, skin toned powder. I’d dream that I would have already masked my face with the liquid gold foundation and the powder would just be smoothing over any mishaps in the base.

 

Then one day, in science class, a girl who always wore make up showed up with none. Her skin was whiter than usual. Her eyes looked tiny without the thick black eyeliner she used to highlight the entire almond shape of each eye. No eye shadow on her lid, nor reaching towards her eyebrows; and her lashes, not a drop of mascara on them. She looked naked. She looked not herself. She looked dead. Like the little old ladies who die their poodle like hair a brown or jet black color to hide the reality of their scalp which honestly sprouts white and grey tendrils, a sign of vacated youth. It takes many days to adjust to their new look. Or maybe you can’t get used to it. They look as though the energy was drained out of them. Sucked through their strands and now colorless, listless, and lifeless. But back to girl in science class au-natural.

 

It was then and there that I decided make up was no big deal. Why would I want to cover my face and hide who I really am? Did I want to make the pretend face me? Did I want to go in public without it and then subsequently be unrecognizable? Not that I didn’t wear make up, but once I did I limited it to blush, mascara, and eye shadow. All of which could be worn at once, or all on their own, or none at all. I didn’t want a certain look, especially one that was not real, to become what was expected of me. I also didn't want to feel the need to have to wear something (other than clothing) to go out in public. Why should I wear a foundation, cream or powder to hide flaws and imperfections? My imperfections make me who I am. They make me unique.