Nothing Personal

Playing God

Yesterday I went to Balitmore and held an audition on behalf of one of the professional schools at which I teach.  It was my first time doing this on a professional level.

Personally I have never been one to get too nervous at auditions so it broke my heart to see how jittery some of these kids (14-18) got.  At first I went into teacher-mode where I use “soft eyes” and “soft body language” to try and set them at ease.  But then I realized it was my job to determine which ones we wanted and which ones we didn’t.  When I’m looking with soft eyes I see the best in someone, I see potential no matter what.  Potential is important but we need to see the dancer has solid technique appropriate for his or her age, we need to see undeniable, natural artistry, we need to see something that doesn’t have to be coaxed.

I could feel my eyes hardening with every circuit of the room.  By the time we got off the barre and moved on to centerwork I had learned that any correction I might give would be met not with the usual teenage skepticism one encounters in the classroom, but with a ready and all-encompassing reverence.  To them I was not a teacher, I was not an authority figure.  I was fate embodied, a goddess of fortune.  They did not want to anger me.  They wanted to please me, and for that brief moment they couldn’t stop themselves from wanting it more than they wanted anything else.

Have I ever been there!  I probably enjoyed it so much precisely because of how clearly I can relate to the passionate submissiveness an audition can inspire.

I have never deluded myself into thinking a career in teaching could suffice for me, I have always felt it was something I could use to supplement my income, but that I would never be able to have it be “my real goal.”   As I sat there and watched my directions met again and again with happy obedience I thrilled at the power and heard the thought in my head: Perhaps this is my destiny after all.

Late in the afternoon I called to the table a girl who had just performed exceedingly well.  Her number had curled in on itself and I couldn’t read it and wanted to make sure I had her on the acceptance list.  By this point in the day my eyes were as hard as rocks and my face was stone-cold, but when I asked what her number was I gave her just the slightest hint of a smile.  I was a cross between a parent and a judge, letting the veil of impartiality slip, enjoying the pleasure of bestowing favor on a favorite.  In front of me the girl bloomed and every step she took after that was taken with goddess-given confidence.  The rest of the room - the walls, the kids, the air between them - was swathed in envy.

I was pretty satisfied with myself when we got to the end.  I sat behind the table and looked over the audition cards as my coworker briefly explained to the kids where our school is located and what it’s like to study in New York City.  I looked over the acceptance list, the rejection list.  It was right.  Based on what we had seen, we had chosen well.

I happened to look up, and while one or two of them were looking at my coworker as she described the dorms, the great majority of them were looking earnestly at me as though at any minute I might betray some clue to indicate the outcome.  Closest to the table was a girl I had eliminated hours ago upon seeing she couldn’t complete a simple pirouette.  She smiled at me, eyes wild with hope, and I didn’t have the heart to do anything other than smile back.  

Horrible, horrible, horrible, to lie to a child!  I nearly threw up on the table, the contrast was so extreme: to her, acceptance was still possible, the dreams my coworker described could still be her dreams, while I sat there knowing that for her it was already over.  Hope vs. reality.  Dreams vs. the truth.

It’s a place I’ve been before, and yeah, all those other times I was on the other side of the table, I was the one still dreaming about boarding a ship that had already sailed.  But even though on this side of the table I have the power to say who gets on the boat, I realized that having that little bit of control doesn’t actually change anything.  The ship is still going to sail and it’s going to leave a whole lot of deserving, great, inspired - even talented - people behind, with as many crushed hopes as can dance on the head of a pin.

During the audition I had fooled myself into thinking I’d found a career in which I could answer prayers.  But all it really is, to be a professional ballet teacher, is the ability to witness the praying, to stand with those audacious enough to try, and then, if you can bear it, to judge them at their most vulnerable.

So I’m back to thinking that no matter how good I am at teaching, it probably isn’t for me.  When I’m done being a dancer I want to be done with situations where genetics and luck matter more than passion and heart.  

On the train ride home I thought about a friend who knows that certain people in his office are about to be laid off.  He hates knowing that they are to go before they themselves know it, feels like he can’t look them in the eye. I suddenly wondered if there was any escape from that audition table, if we aren’t forever going back and forth, being first on one side, then the other, now crossing names off the list, now having our own name crossed off while we look the other way.  Perhaps this is what God intends for everyone everywhere, seeing as it is undeniable that under these circumstances there is nothing so satisfying as answering a prayer.  Perhaps this is the only way prayers can exist to be answered.  Perhaps this is our destiny after all.