For awhile in my 20’s, I had season tickets to the Ohio Ballet at the E.J. Thomas Theater in Akron, OH. My tickets were in the nosebleed seats. I had two. I would invite someone to attend with me. Or not. I bought the tickets right after the first summer that the dance troupe started performing outdoors in the parks — including at my Akron Zoo.
The dancers were as intrigued with our zookeeper jobs as I was mesmerized by with their dancing. When I completed my rounds in the morning, I would watch them practice in their ragtag layers of extra socks, and out of elegance t-shirts over leotards and tights. They were moving art, even in their layers and messy hair. Lost in the music, perfecting their movements – bleeding into their toe shoes. They drank copious amounts of coffee. They sweat. They grumbled about an imperfection or laughed at another awkward moment of forgetting. The effort ranged from quietly spinning and stepping through the dance movements with eyes closed reminding themselves of the pace and the size of the dance – to full leaps and lifts that seemed death defying and unbelievably surreal.
I would perch on the wall of the ramp to the feed room, coffee by my side and my notebook at the ready. The sounds of the Zoo waking up – the Zoo before guests arrived – drifted in and out of the music for the ballet being perfected. Three mornings I sat there drinking in the dichotomy of these apparently normal people who would transform each evening into grace and magic and awe. Three days of unadulterated bliss. The quiet of my zoo. The beauty of their dance. The combination was personal and elegant and better than I could have ever dreamed up on my own.
It was on the third day that one of these frazzled creatives came up to my ramp and sat down beside me. I had watched her in that penguin move that I had come to recognize as the way a dancer ‘walks’ in her toe shoes. She slid off the edge of their makeshift stage and, waving enthusiastically, had waddled in my direction. I remember doing the classic ‘look around’ to see who she was waving at. I was the only one in the immediate vicinity — unless she thought that the peacock on the sidewalk beside me would respond with any type of recognition. I just sat and watched her come. Sipped my coffee. Enjoyed the sunshine.
“I’ve always wanted to be you.”
That was her opening line. She didn’t know me from Adam, but she starts out with “I’ve always wanted to be you.”
I didn’t actually answer. I remember looking at her, a sideways glance, over the top of my still steaming coffee mug. She laughed and pointed at my cup. “Could I share with you?”
Again, without a word, and yes that is unusual for me, I handed her my cup. She wrapped her long legs around each other and settled in with her sip. Graceful even in perching on a wall, I thought. I was keenly aware of my clunky Timberlake waterproof boots and my poop brown zoo uniform. I was watching a nymph come to life.
We sat companionably for a bit.
Turns out that she adores animals. They fill her thoughts, her fantasies. She described my life to me in terms that I had seldom considered. I was privileged, unique, amazing and intelligent. I was actually creating world peace through my courageous work for the beasts in my care. I was strong, and at one point, she called me stunning.
Her zookeeper glasses were as askew and rosy as my ballet dancer goggles.
And I started to see myself differently.
When I take the time to sit down and write – when I make up my mind to share the words that are continually spinning through my head – I have two favorite places to ‘go’ in my mind. Both are – were – at the Zoo. One is that ramp, at that time, with those dancers so out of place – so perfectly belonging, dancing in the background of my zoo. The other? It’s behind Monkey Island. On the steps overgrown with the burning bushes and shaded under the gigantic tulip tree. Private places. Intimate to things that I love, but separate and protected. Gently a part of something so much bigger than me that I can seldom express it clearly. Softly protected from the world around me — and the intrusions into my soul.
These safe places exist so vividly in my heart – I could recreate them in full color. This is where my longing for quiet contemplation was fostered. This is where color came into my life, and the beauty of watching became a beloved skill.
When you leave me space to be inside my head, you leave me room to grow. You grant me permission to see the world as a stunning opportunity full of beauty of grace. You open the doors to a creative soul that wearies from routine, redundancy and rules. I tire more easily than I did in my youth, but that girl with the zoo boots and the notebook full of dark poetic thoughts, she lives on in this responsible adult.
Give her some space. She’s got a few stories to tell. To herself. And if you’re interested, to you.
wanderingoutinleftfield 