Posts Tagged ‘cooking’

Judgement

I walk into class, full of judgment, trying to find a way to still feel about my dancing, my persona, what I felt before I saw others checking me out. What is eye contact for? What is this exchange we all routinely engage, or don’t engage in? What are people saying with their eyes? What do they want to know about me? What are they trying to see? What am I telling them???
But I walk into class, not that anyone is checking me out all that much really, so why am I so judging? Of people’s clothes, of their aesthetics based on their clothes, of the way they walk, of the way their hair is. Am I better dancer, more successful, more special, different enough to stand out, smarter in my choices, more beautiful, more deserving, simply better than?
Then, why are we doing this exercise, it is taking too long, or it went by too fast, why didn’t the teacher tell us about that before we did it. I don’t have enough space around me, my knees hurt, I can’t balance…on and on.
Eventually, slowly, excruciatingly, my mind stops wandering, the action at hand takes over. By the end of class I am more synthesized, more fluid, more sweaty, I feel better, not so judgmental. My questioning has softened, subsided.

I’ve had this trajectory with cooking. Never did it much, it always gave me anxiety. What should I make, no one will like it, medium or low heat, why are there so many ways to chop a vegetable, why can’t I remember what I did last time? But then I had to do it because we moved to a place where there wasn’t much take-out and I had a child. There was no way out, so I gave into it, began to do it more, pretty much hating it for a couple of years. Then slowly there were shifts. Things turned out well not as a fluke but because I had practiced them. I began to enjoy the actions involved and how I had to organize my mind to accomplish them. Now I look forward to cooking.

I did the falling asleep on the subway thing where I kept nodding off, coming to, nodding off, its so comforting the movement of the train, but no one is protecting me as if I were a small child falling asleep in their parents arms to the lull of the train. Then my stop, I get off to transfer trains, is everyone staring at me? What do all these people want from me? What are their eyes asking? I feel raw, waking up in front of a bunch of people is disconcerting, after a few minutes though I’m back to myself, people don’t seem so monstrously aware of me or I of them, I’m not overwhelmed by all that’s coming at me. Maybe its animal instinct, my judging self, rather than my sinfulness, my dark side. Waking up with a bunch of people around me, I judge whether they’re out to get me, rob me, push me in front of a train, I don’t know these people. I walk into a dance class, I don’t know most of these people, How might they harm me, psychically, emotionally? They could, I don’t know them.

I don’t want to end on a note of fear, I wish I was at the end of a dance class right now. Or cooking.

–Anna Azrieli, Movement Research 2010 Artist in Residence

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