In the late 1970s I moved to San Diego, CA. I had this idea that I wanted to spend some time on the west coast. The San Diego Ballet was hosting auditions and traveling lightly—one suitcase contained my belongings both dance and casual/dress attire, a handful of cassettes, clock radio, and a novel—I bought a one-way plane ticket and settled into my new home where I knew no one. From my hotel room I looked for potential apartments near the studio. While awaiting the audition date I made myself useful at the San Diego Ballet in the administrative offices doing small tasks—stuffing envelopes, copying, filing—developing relationships with staff and current company members.
It was an audacious move. There was no certainty of employment, but, after the audition when I received a contract, my relocation decision was affirmed. A part of me had a knowing that I had a job before I received the contract—which part, I can’t say for sure. However, in writing this essay I can most assuredly say, the soul knew—that mysterious part of myself driven by the divine. I had merely combined wisdom, imagination, intuition, and prayer.
San Diego was one of the most beautiful places I had ever lived. The weather was idyllic, around 70 degrees most days and very little rain. Surrounded by beauty, conservation and preservation of the natural world I reveled in my good fortune. When I wasn’t rehearsing and performing, I spent days at Balboa Park in The Japanese Friendship Garden with koi ponds, waterfalls, and a Zen rock garden. The 37 acre San Diego Botanic Garden with trails and thousands of plant species was another regular place to relax on my days off. On rarer occasions I would visit the San Diego Zoo and Safari Park. Some Sunday’s were spent visiting the old adobe mission churches.
I recall that time with a bit of nostalgia. The time spent in San Diego was probably one of the few environments that so intensely engaged all my senses both in the dance studio and beyond in the vibrant and scintillating adventures into the natural world. The company dancers worked hard, dedicated to mental and physical disciplines. I learned a whole new repertoire in a few months. My life was simple. I was filled with humility and gratitude for the opportunity to be doing what I loved in a setting that was nourishing and regenerative. It was heavenly and at moments too good to be true. There was spaciousness in the days and time for everything: work, rest, play, and laughter. Nostalgia aside I refer to this time in my life as being truly holy.
After that period, unconsciously I fell under the spell of society. Striving and seeking upward mobility—surely a delusion in the field to which I was dedicated. My modest aspirations to create beauty and live harmoniously got overtaken by the cause of more and the effect of higher paid union contracts—meant to protect dancers in terms of limiting working hours and ensuring safe performing conditions—still at the whim of a society caught up in marketability, commodities, and gain. I no longer travelled lightly but with a mindset of approval-seeking and acquiring things. The cassettes gave way to CDs, mobile phone, computer, ipad, and CD player. A car became a necessity to carry art work for the walls of the increasingly larger apartments that contained collections of books, cookware, kitchen utensils, etc., etc., etc.
It was a long time before I attempted to get off the treadmill. Actually, I got knocked off by an injury. During the recovery I was inclined to engage in some reflective analysis of where I was headed. The inquisitive and curious part that jettisoned me from Chicago to San Diego seeking something else besides the accoutrements of big city life was up for review along with the experiences, relationships, and broken promises in my escalating desire for more.
Perhaps I was seeking something so abstract—like a much deeper resonance with reality and reverence for all life—that I couldn’t even begin to understand at that juncture in my life what was happening. Was it really something as intangible as a higher level of truth along with goodness and beauty? If that was the case then, now, I receive flashes of insight to reclaim the soothing sensation that satiates periodic despair, fatigue, and restlessness. The desire to realign myself with a state of fullness becomes more important these days.
In recalling what got me to San Diego—wisdom, imagination, intuition, and prayer—there’s a sense that the process is duplicatable. I have received murmurings of these gifts in other situations requiring transcendence and in my current status. Perhaps I’ve already achieved a sedate updated version of awareness, with eyes that see the world and my place in it differently. It could very well be, that with practice there is nothing to reclaim, but simply to dwell in an ever deeper knowledge of the essential elements of life— love, joy, and humility—fully lived each day. To awaken to the beauty of North Carolina with its changing seasons, diverse countryside and distinct regions: Coastal plain, Mountains, and the Piedmont. And I mustn’t forget the people who catch my eye, saying “Hey!” The outward seeking might be for naught because I’m already in it, a sublime state of truth, beauty, and goodness—the wonder.
When I’m not fully present I miss the wonder that abounds in nature and humanity. It’s the forgetfulness and lack of consistent practicing of presence that is missing and centering the seeking becomes more interior which gets reflected outward. This is a truth that is difficult to put into words but is represented in a known feeling of the body, mind, and spirit—in embodiment and even deeper, the place where my soul knows.
Perhaps that is what Robert Browning was referring to when he penned:
TRUTH is within ourselves; it takes no rise
From outward things, what e'er you may believe.
There is an inmost centre in us all.
Where truth abides in fullness; and around,
Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in,
This perfect, clear perception--which is truth.
The truth for me is that space in which I perceive harmony, sacredness, and wholeness all at once. Free of the spontaneity, naivete and innocence of young adulthood, it just feels different and perhaps, more precious with age.
Beautiful! Having just finished one of Richard Rohr’s books, my thoughts while reading this were immediately drawn toward an image of the second half of life. Your story is such a wonderful summation of what I envisioned living into our true self looks like. Thank you for sharing your journey and for allowing us to journey with you.
Thank you Diana. Loved reading this story and connecting with your memory of San Diego. My niece is currently the event manager at the Japanese Tea Garden. Visiting her there recently, the memory is fresh. Wishing you all the best as you find and know wonder.