Tell me why

The other day, I was getting ice cream with C, and she posed a very interesting question.

Why do I pursue the arts? Specifically, why do I pursue the performing arts when doing so means subjecting myself to more or less constant abuse from myself and others?

I mean, I'm medium talented, so I guess that could be one reason. The Bible says not to hide your light under a bushel, and you could say I've taken this to heart.

I love performing, but I don't do it often, at least not in the traditional sense. At dance class, because I am a showoff, I perform every movement whenever I think anyone is watching me. (Little girls, parents of other students, any of the other people in my class- I'm a little shameless.) In my extended essay, I talked a lot about how "performing" differs from "execution of steps." What I didn't mention was that performing is way more fun. What's the point of doing a series of dance steps? Why do that when you could be an evil witch plotting vengeance, or a bird trying to escape capture, or a cheerful peasant dancing in the streets for joy?

Unless you dance with me, you probably don't know this, but ballet makes me absolutely miserable, a lot of the time. I have the unfortunate habit of comparing myself with other people, and the misconception that success at any endeavor should be proportional to age. I am younger than Caroline, so she has to be smarter, and she is, because she's been to college and I haven't. By this logic, K is three years younger than me, ergo, it is impossible for her to be a better dancer.

And that's just not true.

Still, it frustrates me that girls who are so much younger than I are so much stronger. I have a very flexible body but exceptionally little strength. My teacher called me a wet noodle, which is pretty astute. I wiggle and flop around. Not nearly as much as I used to, but more than I'd like. And it's a constant source of frustration, because I hold myself to a very high standard that's very hard to live up to and frankly, that I'm sick of. I'd kill to be able to take a pointe class and say, "That was better than last week!"

So if I wrestle with my subconscious every time I go to ballet class, why bother going at all?

Love is just hard to explain.

And why do I still work with the music department when I hate Mrs. N's guts and she insults me and my friends in every class and rehearsal? Once, I liked to sing. It's hard to sing when you're gritting your teeth because someone just told you your rhythm was off when there's a pit band, piano, and orchestra that are all playing at different tempos and you don't know who to follow.

I guess I'm just a masochist.