Long time, no rumble. Life has been hectic and all-encompassing. I’m okay not writing sometimes because I’m too busy living. But let’s be real. At the end of the day, nothing makes sense if I can’t write.
In 2015 I made it a goal to focus on performance. To improve as a performer, or at least to practice being one. By no means was I a good performer in 2014. I didn’t become a great performer in 2015, either, but I definitely got closer. I discovered yoga and controlled breathing, learning the moves from here: thestressreliefhandbook.com/3-yoga-poses-to-relieve-stress, and although I still feel like throwing up when I go on stage, it has actually helped somewhat.
I still get sweats. I still forget my words. My hands shake. I’m the perfect example of why public speaking is the world’s biggest fear. But.
I’m not scared of fear.
I refuse to let it consume me or concern me or stop me from doing things I feel strongly about. Performing, reading, being on stage, speaking the things I have written and finally connecting to people with those ideas… I am relentless about this. I have tasted it and it is everything that I’ve been looking for. I am okay being vulnerable on stage. As long as you’re being vulnerable with me.
Because of that, this year (even in the past few months) I’ve performed more than at any other point in my life. Because of that, I was afforded opportunities I couldn’t possibly have dreamed of when I was say, 21, and trying to put my life together.
I’m 25. I can. And I will. And if I fuck up, I’ll try again until I get it right.
So, I applied to TEDx. Not for a presentation, but for a performance. A performance that was always closely linked with my Russian roots, with storytelling, with my love of music and inability to sing. When I was accepted, I started pulling together my thoughts.
These are my thoughts, with the support of Peter Ellman’s beautiful musical theory playing me in and out.
too warm to be cold, too wet to be sober
You are a city
with a wet bus rolling through it
and its lights
cut through the air
like warm knives.
step in slush piles
of dirty snow
to get to the sidewalk.
You are a foreign city
in the midst
and I cannot keep my
feet warm in you.