Beautiful essay dealing with tragedy. I went to the Big City (San Francisco, in my case, in the '70s when, with all its problems, it was not the pit it has become today). I had a full scholarship to the advanced class at San Francisco Ballet, and a promise of apprenticeship in the corps de ballet of the company. After spending a couple of years getting worn down and seeing my dream wither away, instead of becoming a drug addict and sleeping on the sidewalk, I got on a Greyhound back to where I came from and got a job painting houses.
Cary Cotterman, do you mean to tell me that you were male ballerina (ballerino?) and you are only telling me this now?!?! I wish you could post pics on these comments, I would demand some. 😂😍
Yep, I admit it, I was once a wearer of the tights, prancing and cavorting on the ballet stage, and just missing making it my life's work. I'd post a picture here if I could, but just imagine something somewhat less impressive than Baryshnikov. "Danseur" or just "male dancer" are the common terms. I don't think anyone outside Italy uses "ballerino".
People come to NYC with dreams filled from movies and TV. Totally unaware of the harsh realities of what it means to work in some of the more "glamorous" fields. Except for a very lucky few, you will be eaten up and spit out.
It takes courage, a will to sacrifice, a fighting spirit, and proper support (really good friends in the old fashioned sense of the word, truly caring family/loved ones) to make it in NYC.
Poor choices quickly lead a person into a downward spiral. Sometimes there really are no second chances. My heart goes out to those who are lost.
I enjoyed reading here. It’s like part of a conversation. The sad part doesn’t overwhelm you, your story, or the person s your are talking to in the airport. maybe because an outlet like this
For all that Catholicism and its priests have been beaten and in many cases, though NOT all, rightly accused and condemned. My upbringing in the Catholic Schools system in the UK where duty, morality and, particularly with the Jesuits, 'retreats' to 'know thyself', with their silences and moral lectures surely stood me in good stead during my adolescence. I knew many a heartbreak, but I never thought it should not be lived through, and survived. Sometimes the scars even help during the next crisis.
It is only with age, cynicism and loss of faith that the 'consoling' voices in my head when I have been in despair have been attributed to my own self and not that of a omniscient and, almost always, encouraging divine being. This essay was an excellent spiritual one. Even for an agnostic like me. It talks of something beyond the mundane , something I think wakes up inside me when I have time and space to simply observe a sunset, or waves on water. Though, now, particularly as I most definitely have fewer years ahead than the considerable number behind, when I watch young (and boy do they look young!) mothers with young children. Perhaps that's why grandfathers and grandmothers are so important? They have the time and the experience to realise just what a gift a child is, and how they should be nurtured, not spoiled, educated not indoctrinated (says me after praising a Catholic education filled with 'doctrines'.) and not exposed to damaging environments.
This was a brilliantly thoughtful and evocative post today, it did what sunsets, waves and young children do, it made me think beyond the mundane, and to wonder.
I have never cared for NYC, probably because of first impressions. As a wee lad I rode into town on a bus with my folks. As we’re approaching the city, I see a hardware store surrounded by concertina wire. I knew what that was from old movies, and what it was probably for. When we go a little further, I see a man crossing the street a little ways ahead, and suddenly realize the bus driver is aiming at him. The man jumps back onto the sidewalk, and I hear the bus driver muttering about just missing him, damn! So I’ve always been a little skittish about the City.
However, if you have the chance, look at Boatlift! Captain Anthony’s simple words are a common man’s uncommon wisdom. A better take on New Yorkers…
I was always a fan of Paul Auster and until reading this, my perception of him was that he’d lived a very idyllic, fortunate life in Brooklyn. The terrible story of his son goes to show that nothing can truly shield your from tragedy.
In the 70s waiting for the bus to Hoboken I bought a copy of Flannery I’Connors Mystery and Manners in the bookstore that was on the second floor of The Port Authority. The portal to hell can be a portal to other places . I needed something to read.
I know people think that New Yorkers are rude and perhaps today they are. But I spent the decade of the 1960s in New York and you did have to develop a tough skin in order to get to work and home without sobbing. I worked on the 35th floor of the time life building in 1964 when All of the Lights Went Out. We honestly thought that the Cold War was getting colder but it was only that somebody dropped a bolt in Upstate New york. Anyway we all had to walk down 35 flights of stairs and then 60 blocks to get home. Taxis stopped to make sure that i didn't need a ride. get in won't cost you anything. cars stopped to see if I needed a ride. People seeing that I was a single woman walked with me until I got to 72nd Street where I lived. At that point, I thought New Yorkers are not rude they're just trying to maneuver and what was then a city of 8 million. I also used to come in to the port of authority from New Jersey for the first 4 weeks after college graduation and I had to walk across 42nd Street to 5th avenue. I grew up in a little New Jersey town and what I saw on the first day out of 42nd Street filled me with such pain that I had to begin to ignore it. It was not what I was wanting to do but I was going to spend 10 years in the city and I did have to develop that tough skin. I am sure now it is far far worse. But I had the greatest 10 years of my life from 1960 to 1970 and that great wonderful city.
Another beauty of an essay. Dying to know about the documentary... and the your story in it. And next time you go to NYC, I'll fly there!
Thank you and yes please!
Beautiful essay dealing with tragedy. I went to the Big City (San Francisco, in my case, in the '70s when, with all its problems, it was not the pit it has become today). I had a full scholarship to the advanced class at San Francisco Ballet, and a promise of apprenticeship in the corps de ballet of the company. After spending a couple of years getting worn down and seeing my dream wither away, instead of becoming a drug addict and sleeping on the sidewalk, I got on a Greyhound back to where I came from and got a job painting houses.
Cary Cotterman, do you mean to tell me that you were male ballerina (ballerino?) and you are only telling me this now?!?! I wish you could post pics on these comments, I would demand some. 😂😍
Yep, I admit it, I was once a wearer of the tights, prancing and cavorting on the ballet stage, and just missing making it my life's work. I'd post a picture here if I could, but just imagine something somewhat less impressive than Baryshnikov. "Danseur" or just "male dancer" are the common terms. I don't think anyone outside Italy uses "ballerino".
You lead such an exciting life jetting from one continent to the other. It's fun to read about your adventures.
I’m glad to hear that because they are rather beyond my means 😂😂😂
I’m considering something similar in a few years. Any advice before I jump?
Not sure what this comment is referring to?
Splitting time between NY /US and NI
People come to NYC with dreams filled from movies and TV. Totally unaware of the harsh realities of what it means to work in some of the more "glamorous" fields. Except for a very lucky few, you will be eaten up and spit out.
It takes courage, a will to sacrifice, a fighting spirit, and proper support (really good friends in the old fashioned sense of the word, truly caring family/loved ones) to make it in NYC.
Poor choices quickly lead a person into a downward spiral. Sometimes there really are no second chances. My heart goes out to those who are lost.
I enjoyed reading here. It’s like part of a conversation. The sad part doesn’t overwhelm you, your story, or the person s your are talking to in the airport. maybe because an outlet like this
. . . Is like a visit. It feels that way to me.
For all that Catholicism and its priests have been beaten and in many cases, though NOT all, rightly accused and condemned. My upbringing in the Catholic Schools system in the UK where duty, morality and, particularly with the Jesuits, 'retreats' to 'know thyself', with their silences and moral lectures surely stood me in good stead during my adolescence. I knew many a heartbreak, but I never thought it should not be lived through, and survived. Sometimes the scars even help during the next crisis.
It is only with age, cynicism and loss of faith that the 'consoling' voices in my head when I have been in despair have been attributed to my own self and not that of a omniscient and, almost always, encouraging divine being. This essay was an excellent spiritual one. Even for an agnostic like me. It talks of something beyond the mundane , something I think wakes up inside me when I have time and space to simply observe a sunset, or waves on water. Though, now, particularly as I most definitely have fewer years ahead than the considerable number behind, when I watch young (and boy do they look young!) mothers with young children. Perhaps that's why grandfathers and grandmothers are so important? They have the time and the experience to realise just what a gift a child is, and how they should be nurtured, not spoiled, educated not indoctrinated (says me after praising a Catholic education filled with 'doctrines'.) and not exposed to damaging environments.
This was a brilliantly thoughtful and evocative post today, it did what sunsets, waves and young children do, it made me think beyond the mundane, and to wonder.
I have never cared for NYC, probably because of first impressions. As a wee lad I rode into town on a bus with my folks. As we’re approaching the city, I see a hardware store surrounded by concertina wire. I knew what that was from old movies, and what it was probably for. When we go a little further, I see a man crossing the street a little ways ahead, and suddenly realize the bus driver is aiming at him. The man jumps back onto the sidewalk, and I hear the bus driver muttering about just missing him, damn! So I’ve always been a little skittish about the City.
However, if you have the chance, look at Boatlift! Captain Anthony’s simple words are a common man’s uncommon wisdom. A better take on New Yorkers…
I was always a fan of Paul Auster and until reading this, my perception of him was that he’d lived a very idyllic, fortunate life in Brooklyn. The terrible story of his son goes to show that nothing can truly shield your from tragedy.
Lovely piece. The author has great insight and understanding, and expresses herself beautifully. Or as people used to say, she has great wit.
“being born into the lap of privilege and success does not in any way guarantee any kind of happiness or peace.”
In fact it pretty much guarantees you won’t.
Poignant essay 🙏
In the 70s waiting for the bus to Hoboken I bought a copy of Flannery I’Connors Mystery and Manners in the bookstore that was on the second floor of The Port Authority. The portal to hell can be a portal to other places . I needed something to read.
I know people think that New Yorkers are rude and perhaps today they are. But I spent the decade of the 1960s in New York and you did have to develop a tough skin in order to get to work and home without sobbing. I worked on the 35th floor of the time life building in 1964 when All of the Lights Went Out. We honestly thought that the Cold War was getting colder but it was only that somebody dropped a bolt in Upstate New york. Anyway we all had to walk down 35 flights of stairs and then 60 blocks to get home. Taxis stopped to make sure that i didn't need a ride. get in won't cost you anything. cars stopped to see if I needed a ride. People seeing that I was a single woman walked with me until I got to 72nd Street where I lived. At that point, I thought New Yorkers are not rude they're just trying to maneuver and what was then a city of 8 million. I also used to come in to the port of authority from New Jersey for the first 4 weeks after college graduation and I had to walk across 42nd Street to 5th avenue. I grew up in a little New Jersey town and what I saw on the first day out of 42nd Street filled me with such pain that I had to begin to ignore it. It was not what I was wanting to do but I was going to spend 10 years in the city and I did have to develop that tough skin. I am sure now it is far far worse. But I had the greatest 10 years of my life from 1960 to 1970 and that great wonderful city.