Everyone’s path to meaningful living is different, and today’s interview showcases Kelsey Connolly, who has shared her journey navigating the world of professional dance.
Kelsey lives and works in New York City. You can find her at The McKittrick Hotel–an immersive performance venue in New York City–home of Sleep No More, Manderley Bar, Gallow Green and the newly unlocked Attic. Her most current show is The Lost Supper.
When I started this blog back in 2015, I felt lost. I wasn’t happy with my job, but I wasn’t sure how to remediate that. I liked writing, but that didn’t sound like a reliable career choice. I started this blog as a form of escape, writing and posting twice a month, always counting down the days until the weekend, hoping and waiting for something better to come along.
As I found out, things don’t magically change on their own–I needed to put in the work. And I did: in 2016, I quit my job, started my freelance writing and editing business, and went back to school for a master’s degree.
Suddenly I was a whole lot happier–and busier. In 2017, I posted here only five times. 2018 has fared even worse, thus far. All of which meant I was about to learn another lesson: Sometimes it’s about knowing your limits; other times it’s about knowing when you need to change your plan.
Recently I was asked to speak to a group of undergraduate students about my freelancing job as a writer and editor, answering the usual “How did you get your first project?” and “When did you know you wanted to write?” sort of questions. Those are easy to answer–my first project was for a friend, and I figured out I wanted to write as a career in 2014–but harder to do was create an actionable piece of advice. In the audience were students of diverse backgrounds and work experience. Some were in their 30’s; others were not long out of high school. Some wanted to work in creative fields and others didn’t.
What could I say that might help all of them?
When it comes to friendships, it’s easy to say “Cut ties” if the relationship turns toxic, a fact evidenced by the sheer number of articles published by all sorts of big-name sites like Huffington Post, Reader’s Digest, and WebMD. The same can be said for romantic relationships — though emotions often run higher here, the final advice is the same: If your partner is mistreating you, end the relationship.
But when it comes to mothers, brothers, grandparents, and cousins — or any toxic family relation — cutting ties may lead to backlash from onlookers. “But he’s your father,” a well-meaning friend or family member might say. “You have to love him!”
No, no you do not.
Procrastinating is easy, especially when something is difficult or time-consuming. We let ourselves off the hook now by promising to do the work later. I always tell myself that I’ll get around to it tomorrow — but sometimes, tomorrow doesn’t end up being tomorrow, or the day after, or even the day after that. Sometimes weeks go by before I get to something, because doing a little something isn’t worth it. No time to run a 5K? Then I’ll run tomorrow. No time to write a full chapter of my novel? I’ll write tomorrow instead. Starting and finishing an activity on separate days made me feel like I wasn’t giving it my full attention.
Never mind productivity, that insisting on completion might mean I wouldn’t write a blog post for three months, or that because I wasn’t running at all, I’d gain weight — anything less than complete was partial credit. It wasn’t worth my time.
We had screwed up.
A local orchestra had asked us to accompany one of their songs with a waltz showcase in an upcoming performance, and they were specifically looking for an amateur couple. My partner and I were honored and excited, so of course we said yes. We’d connected with the orchestra director and examined the stage. We’d set aside time to choreograph.
But now, as we were listening to the music, we discovered that the song was actually a Viennese waltz, a much faster dance that required more space — and stamina and knowledge — than we had. Six minutes of Viennese? Could we survive? Would it get too repetitive? How would we fit the steps onto a small stage? Could we dance a regular-speed waltz instead? Was it too late to back out?
We had screwed up — and now we had to deal with the consequences.