How Does One Ever Say Goodbye?

About 3 years before I retired from ballet, I knew that I would need to take that step. Stepping away from the one thing that had given my life, meaning, purpose, hope, emotional expression, friendship, the feeling as if I belonged, so much laughter, so much heartache, so much longing, so much magic, so much pain, so much connection to this world and the energetic worlds that make life worth living, and the one thing that made all the struggle have value, was going to be a difficult thing.
But the writing was on the wall. I knew it in my bones. I knew it three years previously. But one just does not know how to let go of the one constant that had been in my life since I could remember.
Ballet had always been there, or some form of dance had always been there.
As a small child my sister used to run from her bedroom, complaining to my parents in exasperation saying, “She’s dancing in my room again. Make her stop!”
I remember running and chasing the rainbows in Colorado … certain that if I could run fast enough that I would find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
And I had caught that precocious leprechaun a few times in this life. Along with a few fairies, goddesses, and queens. And I had coerced them all into giving me some of those precious coins or gifts at various times, especially in my dancing career.
I wondered if that leprechaun or fairies would still be out there if I did not dance my way to him or her.
I feared that those special moments of transcending this density and becoming one with a feeling, a character, a moment, flight, spinning, and dancing by myself or with others might go away.
My belief was that the discipline and training of the body that I learned through ballet allowed one (in moments) to move beyond the technique and surrender into something that was massively bigger than my small, constricted, and very human self.
Was there that same feeling … out there? Outside the theater? In a normal human existence?
I remember, a boyfriend of mine that was a dancer, said to me after he retired, when I asked him how it was to not be in the dancing world.
He said, “The most noticeable things in the ‘real’ world, was that no one really touches each other. In dance we constantly bump into each other for one reason or another. We must hold hands, work together in a physical way. At breaks, we fall into puppy piles. We tease, tickle, laugh so hard that we roll on the floor. In the studio we are allowed to be outrageous, and have permission to just … be. In the outer world, everyone is very separate. They seem more alone and isolated. They are afraid to mess up and make mistakes. Dance is filled with endless moments when mistakes happen and are accepted as a part of the daily process. I think what I miss the most is the connection, the touch, and the spaces of permission to be what we are. I miss that … in dance even flawed can be fabulous!”
That made a lot of sense to me. What makes us human is that physical connection and touch.
It is no surprise that the sensitive people are the artists. Or that the complicated and emotional people are also artists.
I believe like … attracts like. We are drawn to each other because of that common need to find those that we can share those special places with.
We are drawn together because we know that we don’t really always fit well in the outer world.
But for me, I had been feeling the calling for my soul to shift for years.
It had been increasing with the challenges brought about by the shift in Artistic Directors from Bruce Marks to John Hart.
Try as I might, the dictates, rules, requirements, and predilections of John Hart were pushing me in other directions. I loved Ballet West. I loved the camaraderie and connections. But I did not love the stresses and strains that were clearly happening constantly.
The one thing my father taught me well, was to never depend on anyone but yourself. He also taught me to have a plan and have a backup plan.
Both of those rules have been a guide in my life and have helped in enormous ways.
So, I began to formulate a plan.
I was crossing the street at the corner of Main St and 2^nd South in downtown Salt Lake City, when I met the Rolfer, Norman Cohn. We knew each other from him working on my body during Monotones and had been in the same circles for years.
He told me that he was opening a Massage School and that it was the first one in Utah. It had taken him years to get all the pieces put together and he was very excited about it.
Instantly, I knew that this was a door I wanted to take. I have been partially trained in Germany by a massage therapist there that had helped me when I had been injured. Then again in Utah, another massage therapist had decided that I had the strength in my arms to do massage and had begun training me also. But there was no licensure really in Utah at that point and there were a lot of questionable people doing “massage” that were probably not really doing … just massage (if you know what I mean).
It was exciting to feel as if I could get in on the ground floor of a new massage school. I wanted to have more tools to work with and clearly, he was very excited for this school to open in 1987.
It was also going to be an evening school and while that would work most of the time for me, there would be moments when I had to do performances and I would have to miss those days. I explained that to him and he seemed to be somewhat flexible and said that we could find ways to make it up or get me the information. I would still be responsible for knowing all the information even if I missed classes.
That seemed fair.
In my mind, at least I had a lot of hands-on training. And being a ballet dancer, I knew more about anatomy and physiology than most laymen.
I knew I had an edge that most probably did not have.
There was one problem. It was going to cost $4000 for the year. He would allow me to make monthly payments. But the money was going to be tight. With books and added bits, it worked out to about $350 per month. I was only making about $20,000 a year so that was a big bite out of my budget. But I decided it was the only thing that felt right, and I was going to go for it.
There are moments when we are young that we do not understand how hard some things are going to be. And that is probably a very good thing.
But in my meditations, I could feel that I needed to do this step to have a solid foundation to spring from when I retired from the ballet. It gave me a door. A door that would allow me to have a more flexible schedule (or so I thought) and a job that was soothing and relaxing.
I could feel that after all the stress that I needed a job that I had more control. I wanted to make my own hours and not have my value be dictated by others.
I am grateful that I made that leap at that moment. The timing was perfect in many ways that I will describe later.
Sometimes the shifts start to happen when we make a decision and stand by that decision. I felt no longer trapped. I felt … free. I felt that I had leaped from one boat going one direction onto another that would eventually carry me in another, very new direction. For a time, these two boats were moving side by side in the same direction. Some of those friends on the first boat thought I was still there because they could see me and talk to me. But I was on the other boat and I knew it. My path would lead me to many distant shores and I would encounter many miracles and witness much magic. Because that was the path. Magic was my path. Ballet was not necessarily the path. It was a part of a path and a tool for my growth. It opened doors and allowed something inside to emerge. She had been nurtured and loved, adored and feared. Now, she was ready. She did not know what she was ready for. But she knew it was … out there … somewhere!
One of the gurus used to say, “There is choice and no choice, but not choosing … is still a choice!”
I had chosen. And instantly my energy began to reconfigure around this new potential.
Those things that had felt so tight started to loosen. I could feel again as if I could breathe. The heaviness of each day lifted. My mind was ready to learn something very different. It was excited to see what was next.
That is when I could feel how desperately tired, I was. Tired in a way that did not seem normal.
Dance takes a toll on the body that dancers do not notice because we demand so much of our body, constantly.
I did not see that I was going to need a year’s worth of bodywork from the lessons in massage school to heal myself. I did not realize how perfect everything was going to line up for me to make all the shifts that would be required.
But it would be very hard. And I am always grateful that the universe does not tell us everything when we embark upon a new path. Because if we did know … we might not have followed those impulses from spirit.
The last year at Ballet West would prove to be the most challenging. But I had a new vision of myself in the world and that vision would set me clearly on the new path.
Once one exits certain doors, and that door closes, that old door also disappears. And one can never find that door again, if it is not our karmic destiny.
Destiny was calling, I could hear her voice whispering in the winds. I could feel her touch calmly taking my hand and leading me off into a new wilderness of depth. I could not resist her call. Nor did I want to.
With my hand in hers I knew I would be safe.
She would smile and me and it was like the sun rising in the east. Something wonderful awaited out there. Something even better than I could imagine. But she warned me that the cost of this path would take me beyond the edges of my comfort zones.
She asked, “Are you willing to discover what is on the other side of your fear?”
I said, “Yes!”

She said, “Are you willing to lean into the discomfort so far that it will forever change you?”

Again, I said, “Yes!”

Then she smiled and disappeared with the final words, “I will wait for you on the other side of your known reality!”

~Suzanne Wagner~