When I first started Limitless Productions and signed up to be a choreographer, little did I know what a life changing experience this process would be. And when we went full force in early 2010, I wasn’t at all prepared for the biggest test of my life.

Welcome to my personal experience in being a choreographer/dancer/writer for Limitless. This is my first confession.

This week (April 10th – April 16th) was one of the hardest weeks for me since beginning Limitless. Where I was tested in a big way. Faced with the issues of trust and betrayal. Yet again. A seemingly consistent theme since early 2010. Questions of who will stay and who will go. And who can I really trust? Moments of doubt raced through my mind. Sadness seeped into my veins. And everything I thought I once knew crumbled onto the ground. Why was I doing this again? Was fulfilling a life long dream really worth destroying how I felt from the inside? Miserable and in pain. I don’t remember signing up to be taken on an emotional roller coaster. Where wearing my heart on my sleeve would mean I would risk getting hurt. Where letting people into my life from a creative and personal perspective would mean becoming vulnerable to both praise and disappointment.

As I began reflecting and analyzing my journey thus far, I was faced with the task of keeping the leadership hat on and to perform multiple Limitless duties that were a must ‘to do’ this week.

Writing one word or making one call to a client became one of the most challenging tasks for me this week. I would stare at the computer for hours before something remotely creative would come into my mind. I couldn’t breath eat or sleep so how do people work in a depressive state? I took this very feeling as a sign that I wasn’t feeling my creative best and made a decision to cancel rehearsals this week (which is a rare occurrence in the Limitless world) and temporarily disabled Facebook as a desperate measure to gain perspective and concentrate on each task ahead of me.

Now this may all seem melodramatic and extreme, but this was a long time coming. I saw glimpses of what was aboutto happen this week approach over the past six months. Where I was routinely tested and asked, “what will I do” or “how would I handle this situation” or “how do I keep everyone happy”. I would work on dealing with each issue as I faced it but there came a time – which was this week – where facing or dealing with anything became next to impossible.

I wish there was a choreographers handbook where the primary focus would be on life skills and coping mechanisms. The 1st chapter could be dedicated to “taking a break”. The 2nd chapter could be on
understanding relationships and “how-to” cope with heartbreak or mistrust. The 3rd chapter could be on letting go or forgiveness – for one self and another. The 4th chapter could be on understanding
different personalities and building a cohesive group.

See. This was my first weekend off all year. And it took some pretty extreme circumstances for this to be the first weekend where I didn’t work on choreography, figure out music, write a script, deal with a variety of different personalities and give my complete self to my love of art and people. So though it was a trying week to say the least, the positive from all of this was that I stepped away briefly
and instead – started to write this blog.

I’ve never been one to open up as much as I have over the past year or to let people in the way I have. This has been the most challenging experience of my life with this week being the greatest challenge of all. Testing everything I ever knew. And making me doubt all that I once had.

With nowhere to move but ahead, I slowly made small steps to rise past the pain looking for any signs of hope. Seeking comfort from loved ones around me. Constantly wiping away tears so that I could see clearly again. For I had a company to run. A show (or a few) to prepare for. Workshops to deliver. And people who depended on me to keep it together.

I had to find my spirit again. The spirit that died this week along with my sense of self. I needed to rebuild but didn’t know how. Still am a bit unsure. I just needed that little bit of hope. A sign.

But when I lost my blackberry later this week, I thought there would be no hope for a sign. Where I felt like I had enough and that I couldn’t handle anymore. That I was already down to the ground feeling beaten and torn apart. When my blackberry went missing, I dumped all the contents from my very messy purse and just fell to the floor and yelled out “AGAIN! Really Universe?!” It wasn’t so much the blackberry being missing as it was a symbol of loss. The feeling of loss that crushed me into a little tiny pieces. The confusion on how this could have happened in the first place. And the torture of never
knowing how or why. This until…

Until I decided to see if I could find it again. My blackberry that is. I must believe I could find it again, I thought. I re-traced my steps and concluded that it must have been in the cab I took home that night. I spoke to a few people at the taxi service but one person stood out. His gentle supportive voice calmed me down almost immediately. He said he was considered lucky and I believed he was. He tried to put a call out for the phone but no answer. But he still tried – throughout the night and while I was asleep. He didn’t give up even if the situation looked bleak.

However there was no phone and just when I was ready to give up in finding it, a man called Anil’s (my husband) cell. He was a worker at Alley Catz and he found my phone in four pieces in an alleyway. He put the phone together. And even though there was a sim card missing, he saw a text from Anil that said “If anyone finds this phone please call this number —-”.

And he did. Most people would have either walked by the broken phone and ignored it or picked it up to sell it, but he didn’t. He picked it up and fixed the phone and made the call. The call that shined a small ray of hope into my life. There were angels out there. Good people with great hearts.

I believed that the phone was a symbol of my heart. Broken in pieces. Alone in a dark place. But if a stranger can fix the phone then the hope is, my heart can also heal. I will heal.

And when I got home that I night, I made sure to call “Mr Lucky” at the taxi service. Even though he didn’t find the phone, he had tried hard to look for it and didn’t give up. And he provided a sense of comfort and support when he didn’t need to. He gave me hope. I needed to tell him how much I appreciated that and him. And that he indeed was very lucky. He responded with a cheerful and appreciative, “Wow. You made my night.”

My spirit was being re-ignited once again. I could slowly feel it. And together with all the love and support around me, I knew that I would be able to rebuild. I already was. As my amazing friend and soul sista Nadiya Shah put it, as long as I stick to my own honesty then I have done what I needed to do. Gone where I needed to go. And with honesty comes strength and wisdom. Courage to do what we need to do. For a greater purpose and for the people around me.

I fight for the causes and the people in my life because I believe in them even when they have lost that belief in themselves. That’s my honesty. That’s my confession.

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