When I was sixteen and suffering through the agonies of my first heartbreak, I remember reading an interview to Alicia Alonso in which she declared that 'the Dance' (her capitalization, not mine) was her only lover. Being the hormonal yet keen dance student I was at the time, I took her words to heart.
Who cared that my first unrequited crush (who happened to be a considerable amount of years older than me) had dumped me on the day of my 16th birthday, as I poured us some of the dodgy-looking martini I had stolen from my parents' cupboard? My heart had room only for the Dance, which was a very possessive lover but would surely never leave me for someone closer to its age (or with whom it was actually legal to have a relationship).
I went with my newfound knowledge to my ballet teacher at the time, and maybe because she had experienced many more years of mal d'amour than I had, or because her CV was more an exercise in creative writing than a record of an actual career, she snidely said of Alonso's words:
'Well, that's fine for her to say, she's been happily married for more than twenty years and has danced all she ever wanted!'
Her bitterness could not affect the romance my epiphany with the director of the Cuban Ballet had begun, but life certainly did. For a month I had dates at the barre or would stay in, watching a DVD and stretching with my abstract lover, and I couldn't be happier. But then I kind of lost interest and strayed away. I met somebody else, and after that more people, and whenever it didn't work, I'd come back running to the Dance with my tail between my legs, but the Dance wasn't always up for taking me back.
And although I could sometimes find solace in the studio, or could take my mind off things by working hard, the pain of being rejected, or seeing love end, is not something that dance can cure. And of course it can't touch you like a person can.
It's been a few years since I read the interview, and looking back now, and I'm not particularly a fan of the over-the-top character that is Alonso, I have to admit that there may be some truth to her words. I've matured now and do not fall love-sick every fortnight, which means that my relationship with the Dance is a lot healthier, and we've reached a very interesting point in it.
Perhaps because I've advanced considerably in my training since when I was sixteen I can see what Alonso meant. The satisfaction that small things- a slightly more turned-out foot, an extra turn you fit in, jumping that bit quicker- give me now are sometimes a lot more rewarding than many of the dates I've been on. I don't mind sleeping alone the days I know I have danced the best I can (not that I do when I feel rubbish), and the thrill that is attacking a new piece of choreography, with all its challenges, can be nearly as exciting as the first time you make love with someone new.
By no means do I think that dance fulfils all my physical or emotional needs. But it is true that as time goes on, I find more satisfaction in it than in people who are not worth the time you're giving them. Time during which you could be getting that extra pirouette in.
So yes, I'm single, and in a profession in which (as we were told on the first day by the Principal of NSCD) relationships are a tough job, but somehow having the Dance to go back to every day can ease off the need for someone else- or even get rid of it. And if all be said, having a relationship with dance is difficult in itself- it may always be there for you, but it can be treacherous, beguiling and cruel.
But that I shall write about after the divorce.
