Dancers aren't necessarily a rare species, drawn to their craft like swans to water. In my opinion, the greatest artists lift their eyes beyond the mirror to the larger world around them. Such professionals forgo ostentation and consistently leaven their work with elegance and humanity. Sometimes critics and bosses honor that excellence; sometimes it goes unnoticed. Either way, to their peers, they are rock-stars. They labor toward something more meaningful than applause.
My wife and best pals are of this ilk. They've seen me through long hours of rehearsal and travel, formidable roles, cycles of injury and rehab, thickets of grief. They've brought humor to interminable Nutcracker seasons, made adventures out of tours to noxious Beijing and forsaken Detroit. As if bound by some inverse Faustian contract, an imperative to help others attends their professional success: They've created schools, competitions, charities, scholarships, outreach programs, and mentor-ships. A few left performing behind to become doctors, physical and psychological therapists, and teachers. One dancer friend joined the Marines before 9/11, fought in Fallujah, and now directs ballet companies in New York and Connecticut. In 2012, he served another tour to Iraq, this time as a ballet teacher with the Mission Continues. A close ABT buddy is in the process of becoming a New York City policeman; he'll soon swap one grand stage for another.
When I take my final bow next week, the curtain will draw on the joys of live performance and the arduous but uniquely rewarding journeys that preceded it. The loss will surely take time to reconcile. But I won't be bereft. Of the many gifts this career has given me, the most valuable are love and fellowship. The curtain will continue to open onto those joys.
