Ballet Squid Chronicles: For the Coming Year
…By which I mean the coming academic year, of course.
The other night I had a chat with Denis about my plans for the upcoming year.
Since I won’t be doing the honors program, I mentioned that graduating in December is an option again. He pointed out that if I graduate in December, I should be able to find a part-time job that will let me save up for corrective surgery for my gynecomastia.
Coincidentally, this will also let me add MOAR BALLET! to the schedule, which will allow me to be better prepared when I apply to grad school. Perhaps four to five classes per week will help me tame my tentacles*?
As such, I’m seriously considering it. I feel like I keep making these declarations — “I’m going to do this!” — and then changing my mind … but maybe that’s normal?
Anyway, I feel a tad nervous about wading back into the world of work. I don’t want a 9-to-5-behind-the-desk kind of job, which leaves me really a bit uncertain about what I might do. I’d ideally like to find something that’s somehow related to my future career path (something somehow connected to dance, or to psychology, or even perhaps to fitness), but I don’t really know what’s out there for which I’m qualified**.
I wouldn’t have any objection to a stocking or warehouse job for the time being. Likewise, a part-time office job would probably be fine.
For what it’s worth, I also have the option of not working. Denis isn’t forcing me to find a job. It’s just that we’ll be able to fund the surgery*** and things like ballet camp (I totally want to do Sun King next year) more quickly and easily if I do work.
Plus, I don’t entirely feel like it’s fair to ask Denis to pay for all of my ballet training, even though a portion of it can be written off as an educational expense. He’s happy to fund my passions, but right now, we’re working on Paying All the Debt! so we can work our way towards a less encumbered way of living. I’d like to help with that process instead of doing everything in my power to make it take longer 😉
Likewise, while Denis has repeatedly offered to pay for my gynecomastia surgery, he is deeply uncomfortable both with the notion of me going under the knife and with the statement it makes — that we live in a world wherein our notions about gender and bodies are so deeply entrenched that people who don’t fit, in one way or another, feel like they have to risk their lives in order to live their lives.
I am kind of with him on that, but I also know that it’s holding me back in a way that, say, being bald isn’t holding him back. He never chooses not to do something because he’s bald: I often choose not to do things (like swimming, no matter how much I love it, or auditioning for plays) because of my gynecomastia.
For all that, I might discover that I like the “office/warehouse worker by afternoon, dancer by morning and night” lifestyle. Who knows? I feel like it’s really hard right now to say where my particular journey is taking me.
All I know is that I want bikes and ballet to be there; to be part of the journey.
And, you know, maybe the stationary trapeze.
One last bit.
In the interest of improving my dancing, I’ve realized I probably need to add at least some small measure of regular strength training (especially core work), daily stretching, and some focused work on static balance to my daily routine (Ha! Daily routine! Now that’s comedy!)
I suppose I should probably come up with some concrete plan for this. As such, once I do, I’ll post the plan in question.
*The arms are getting better, I swear, but consistency really helps.
**Our ballet school was recently hiring a front-desk person, which would’ve been a good fit, but the schedule would have been impossible for me until I graduate, so I didn’t apply.
***Last I checked, most insurance companies still consider gynecomastia correction “cosmetic,” rather than “reconstructive.” I’m not sure I disagree.
I look at it this way: surgery with general anaesthetic carries some serious risks (including death); living with gynecomastia for the rest of my life isn’t likely to cause me physical harm, and thus far is not directly responsible for any of my moments of suicidal thinking.
As a dancer, though, it does interfere with my confidence considerably. Likewise, it makes me super-shy about things like swimming. Also, dancing in a gynecomastia vest kind of sucks, but being the boy in class with sizable moobs sucks even more — so, yeah, there you have it.