Those of you who have known me for a while, that is who actually know me in off-the-page off-the-ship real life (which is a fair few of you) may remember when I used to be in studio dance. Actually you probably don’t because by the time I’d met most of you my studio days were long behind me, but I know at least one of you remembers when I *had* a studio. A real one. All of my own.
You see, our house is pretty well…huge. Bigger than it needs to be for three people if we’re talking logically, but it’s our house. It always has been, and it always will be – at least I hope so. And big houses mean bigger than normal storage spaces.
When I was a teenager, my father converted our massive attic into a dance studio. Double mirrors on the walls, television (this was the days before flatscreens, but a decent TV for the time none the less) ballet bar, sprung floor. Everything. Even though I didn’t practice as much as I should have, I loved it up there. It was my space, my haven. When I was in university, and had quit studio classes, I would still practically live up there. The drop door was almost soundproof and even my loud belt couldn’t penetrate it. I could do whatever I wanted up there and not bother anyone else.
And then it went away.
Dad was sick for a long time. We didn’t know that, but he was. And one of the symptoms of that was forever starting things and not finishing them. One day he told me he was going to finish the attic, as in drywall it and insulate it, and to do that he had to tear it apart for a little while. But it was going to be temporary. Temporary he said. No more than a few months, a year, at best. I knew otherwise. I watched the mirrors come down and the floor be covered with boxes and clutter, I watched the project be abandoned and my haven be converted into a space that was so disastrous no one could even bear to go up there anymore. Especially me, because I would remember and break into tears every time I opened the door. Worse, because my old sign was left propped in view of the door, the sign that read:
Somewhere out there, someone is practicing, and when they meet you in competition they will beat you.
Staring out at me as if demanding an explanation.
The whole thing broke my heart.
And then when I came home from work this season, something changed. I went up there to look for something and suddenly it all seemed to fall together in my head like a game of tetris. I could see how I could fix it. Better yet, I could see how I could fix it myself…and I got angry…and angry got me driven.
It’s a long hard slog. There have been many times when I walked up there and burst into angry tears, but when I get mad these days I don’t crumple, I act.
So this has been my summer project. I has been neither easy nor quick, especially since the amount of time I’ve had to work on it has been restricted (mostly by heat, it’s REALLY hot up there in the afternoons).
The second time I was up there, trying to get things started and having no luck, I came across a Christmas puzzle assembled on a breadboard, lost under years of accumulated things and misstored decorations. Somehow, that puzzle brought me to tears, and spurred me to get that entire corner cleared and packed within only three hours. This proved to be something of a watershed. From then? Once I had space to work with? It was easy. It was – heaven help me – even fun.
After that it got easier. Gradually the floor reappeared, the boxes got organized, trunks lined the wall instead of spilling out onto the floor and tripping people. I found my treasured ‘jet engine’ fan and my dance videos.
I put the curtains back up on the far end, and I can *see* – though it’s not there yet, the ballet bar back in its proper place.
Going to get a proper TV and stereo system…one that can hook into my computer. Going to get bookshelves with glass doors, and custom frames to mount my Broadway window cards above the mirrors. Going to set up a permanent corner for my sewing, where I can leave it set up and not worry about the cat *ever*….
Going to get my haven back, one tiny step at a time….
like you, hard work pays off.