A week ago, I tore the labrum in my right hip. The best case scenario is that after months of intensive rehab I might be able to take ballet barre, maybe. I am an addict when it comes to dance. I love being lost in the music and giving myself over to gravity. I love counting and anticipating. I love the perfect pirouette as much as the perfect handstand. I love collaboration and feeling the group. I love being in front of an audience and the post-show high. I chose the path of least resistance—a full ride at Cornish College of the Arts.
They elevated me for my passion, my performance quality, and my ability to learn quickly. I soon became a big fish in a small pond. I discovered modern—not the upright, Cunningham based modern I had learned with my ballet training, but release technique with its wild, animalistic freedom. I drank it in, learning how to yield my weight and be more interested in expression than line.
And I began to hope—no, know —that after college I would someday join a company and tour the world. I floundered a lot in my mids. It was hard and different and intense. I loved it.
This was what I was meant to do: dance all day, every day, and not have to worry about anything else. I was exercising so much that I lost my period for the whole program. I was so skinny that you could see my full six pack, and yet my thighs and butt never got any smaller. When I returned home to San Francisco, all I wanted to do was go back. I spent four and half months travelling Europe and Israel going from audition to audition, city to city. Sadly, cities that had once been known for their bustling art scenes had been throttled by austerity measures. I met artists who had quit dance as soon as the money had run dry and a thousand more trying to survive by competing for the same few jobs.
Even so, when I arrived at the Carte Blanche audition in Norway, there were people auditioning for two spots. When I get off track, like I occasionally do, I always come back to my life-affirming practices of focusing on my heart, meditating, gratitude, trust, acceptance, deep breathing, walking in nature, and dancing. I walk. I fall down. Meanwhile, I keep dancing. We are all gods with amnesia, waking up to who we truly are. Sometimes the universe sends us things to help remind us…like cancer and kittens. When I think about the challenges we souls take on here on planet earth, I am in awe of our courage and spirit.
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How about you? Has life been calling on your fierce persistence and determination to return to the present moment and remember your powerful divine magnificence? Poor Kevin Clifton deserves better. T he good news for the former England goalkeeper is that he survived his second consecutive dance-off. If only David could do it at the first time of asking, he might not find himself in this position. However, he's surely doomed in the next week or two.
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David James.. When you spot David James driving a bat mobile on the high street whilst doing your shopping pic. W ith the celebrities needing to bring out character and storytelling for Movie Week, the thespians among the cast were on home turf. This was very much a leaderboard of two halves. Strictly MovieWeek pic. A male winner in the 17th series would make it to the boys.
Amazing comments everyone. Thank you so much. O ur lucky 13 pro-celebrity pairs now dance onto next week, which is mercifully un-themed, meaning the fancy dress box can be shoved back into the Elstree Studios cupboard until the Halloween spooktacular at the end of the month. Meet you back here to rate and slate the hoofing.
In the meantime, you know the drill: keeeeeeep dancing! The highlight of last night's Strictly was Anton's teeth. We worked about four hours on one step in that charleston and you delivered that waltz last week. I love this man.
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The judges said last night that it had surprising ease and softness but needed more musicality and expression in his arms. He scored five points more than Anneka last night. Surely this is a foregone conclusion? C raig Revel Horwood is digging himself in even deeper over the scandal which will become known as "denture-gate". A quickstep-cum-foxtrot routine that Anton Du Beke is clearly loving. Watch and learn, Mickey Bubbles. I believe the phrase is "OMG".
Tamsin Coates: Author of Meanwhile I Keep Dancing
W hoever it is under all that monochrome make-up. It's hard to tell. Ginger Neil is being lovely. Claudia Winkleman tells her "You're really pretty when you cry, if that's not weird". Just a bit, Claud.
Well, no surprise I suppose, given they were bottom of the scoreboard by five points. Anneka Rice and her professional partner Kevin Clifton will dance for survival. But who against? J ust when he couldn't look much more like a pumped-up Gareth Southgate , he's wearing a waistcoat too.
T ime for tension-building and… looooooooooong… pauses