Saturday, September 23, 2017

SWIMMING IN SWAN LAKE. Pts. 1-3



Last night I attended my first ballet.

I admit it. I’m a slight introvert. While its nothing for me to sit in a counseling office and give advice to an individual, couple or family, or ‘wax eloquent’ (or sing a solo) before an audience of hundreds, it only took me 2/3 of a century to get around to making my way into such an auspicious environment as a Russian ballet.

Did I say I was a slight introvert? Well, based on my previous description of myself, we might both agree that introvertism, per se, can be a bit convoluted. For you see, my ‘slightly more than slight’ tendency towards introvertism is confined to environments with which I have not previously familiarized myself.

As my wife and I rolled onto the asphalt of the Lakeland Center, and I aimed my automobile into the sparsely filled parking lot, I was (not pleasantly) surprised to see a booth looming before me occupied by a figure dressed in an attendant’s uniform. And it immediately dawned upon me that in spite of the $124.00 I’d already ‘shelled out’ for ballet tickets, the City of Lakeland was about to ‘take me to the cleaners’ through the use of one of the most outrageous kind of fees ever designed by a committee.

“That will be $8 sir.”

Did I mention my introvertism never manifests itself in a tendency to ‘going quietly like a lamb?” (Well, it doesn’t).

And thus, I responded with,

“$8? That is absolutely ludicrous. I know it’s not your fault, but this parking lot was long since paid for by the time Ben Franklin was weaned.”

(Well, to be fair, I was slightly less descriptive than that).

As I pulled into my chosen space my wife asked me,

“Why do you find it necessary to humiliate yourself in front of strangers?”

To which I cheerfully responded,

“Au contraire. There’s nothing humiliating about it. Why, earlier today I was on the CNN Facebook page, and I informed that auspicious (non)news network that their initials are carved into the wall of a particular presidential library; in honor of the only husband and wife who both ran for the highest office in the land; only one of which achieved their goal.”

Pt. 2


Well, having satisfied my urge to criticize an $8 fee so that a two ton inanimate vehicle might be authorized to cover a 70 square foot patch of asphalt for two hours, the pain in my psyche, (though not in my wallet) was ever so slightly assuaged.

Did I use the word, ‘slightly?’ And did I mention I am slightly more than slightly introverted; at least in regard to one facet of the ‘malady’? (I thought so). It might be helpful, at this point, for my readers to understand that given such a prestigious event as “Swan Lake,” as performed by The Russian State Ballet, it is my habit to do everything in my power to compensate for my ineptitude. Thus, I had attired myself in my one and only black business suit and attractive burgundy pullover, (and was pleased with the effect).

It was only as Jean and I walked towards the portal of the Lakeland Center that I realized …how desperately overdressed I was. For in spite of the nature of the event and the caliber of the troupe which was scheduled to perform it, men in slacks and shirt sleeves preceded me to the door. As a result, those old feelings of insecurity came creeping over me for an altogether different reason. My attempt to dress for the occasion singled me out from the majority of the other men in the auditorium. But as a consolation prize it was insightful to be (so experientially) informed that only bare chests and saggy pants were prohibited in this stratospheric environment.

Having been directed to Orchestra seats J7 & J8, my wife and I proceeded to make ourselves comfortable. However, I can tell you that my slightly more than slightly introverted psyche was, by this time, much more comfortable than the seat upon which I had installed my derriere. For you see, though the entire row was vacant, save my wife and I, and another couple, the cushion upon which I sat was a bit narrow for my hinder parts. And as unfortunate as this happened to be, every armrest in the theater was intended for the use of…the left and right arms, respectively, of the occupant and their nearest neighbor.

Needing a diversion from my anatomical misery, I glanced towards the stage and noticed the orchestra pit was filled with adults and children of various ages. And I thought to myself, “Self, remind me never to choose a seat in the orchestra pit.” How absurdly eye-numbing, and neck aching it would be to sit three feet below a host of 20 ballet dancers; doing what ballet dancers do best. But it was then I thought, “to each his own,” and settled back to watch the Russians ‘strut their stuff.’

Well, about this time Tchaikovsky’s composition filled the auditorium. And since neither Tchaikovsky, nor an orchestra representing his melodious score could be seen in any corner or level of the place, (certainly not in the orchestra pit) I rightly presumed we were listening to what has been referred to as, ‘music in a can.’

Pt. 3

The long-awaited moment was upon us, the embroidered red-layered curtain lifted, and a slightly more subdued medieval scene, depicting a castle and forest landscape, replaced that which had most recently filled up our view.

As the ballet of all ballets commenced costumed men and women graced the stage with their respective presences, and fluttered to and fro, here and yon; with all the allegro and pirouette common to such an impressive undertaking.

But as impressed as I was with the extraordinary ability of the cast, and as much as I strove to interpret the sequence of events which played themselves out on the stage, I was lost to account for any rhyme or reason or unified plot.

And though both my wife and I were abject novices to the ballet, I think I intuitively lent her a bit more insight, than I might have otherwise done. I mean, she knew these people. At the very least, members of their tribe. For she had walked the well-worn pavement stones of Red Square, admired the cavernous innards of the Moscow Subway, and spent American dollars at a Russian roadside flea market.

But as I looked longingly into her eyes, they seemed to be… as blank and without understanding as I imagined my own. And as long and arduous had been our (2 hour) plight to understand the lives and love of Odette and Prince Siegfried, it was only after a waft of sudden insight from the most unlikely source that won the day, and saved our figurative souls from the same drear outcome of the hero and heroine of the story which had so richly been unfolding before us.

The Internet!!!

Having retrieved ye old smart phone from her purse, and having googled the title of our favorite (and only) ballet to date,… theory put on reality and invisible put on substance.

We understood

The proverbial curtains of our eyes were lifted, as surely as the original had risen to reveal all that lay just behind it.


As a counselor I have often stressed the value of exposing one’s self to circumstances and conditions which have, heretofore, instilled fear or promulgated stagnation in one’s life. And as my clients have stretched themselves and stripped off the invisible bonds which stifled their spirits, and limited their potential, they have expanded their horizons and embraced new mindsets.

Last night I was the unwary victim of my own therapy,

…and swam the tenuous waters of Swan Lake.


**Note - As you might guess, my tendency for introvertism has been a bit exaggerated here for effect.


by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 47. Copyright pending

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