thank you notes (julia weston)

i'm thankful for my body. i'm thankful that for all the times i've doubted it, spurned it, beat, bruised, and cheated it, my body is resilient. i'm thankful that my body and my brain often speak over each other at cross-purposes, that it means at least one part of me is right all of the time.

i'm thankful for dance. i'm thankful that i hadn't known anything beyond the captivating but remote splendor of classical ballet until last night, so that when the shock at seeing contemporary dance for the first time melted into being transfixed by its beauty and power, i was aware enough to fix it in my memory. 

i'm thankful for my friend's mother, who gave us the tickets and wouldn't accept anything in exchange. i'm thankful that she was as excited for us to see it as she was for her own daughter. i'm thankful there are mothers like her.

i'm thankful for the existence of the troupe we saw, that there were so many black dancers anyone else was referred to as "the asian lady" or "the white guy," how novel it felt and how right. i'm thankful for the unexpected pleasure of finding strengths in each dancer, emotion or strength or flexibility. i'm thankful for the half-white audience around me, sitting back and listening without interruption to the experiences of black people.

i'm thankful to have seen, shown on the backdrop that spanned the whole stage, the last moments of eric garner's life--even though, driving my friend home afterward, i said uselessly, 'i didn't want to see that video. i wanted to let him have the sanctity of his death without its only use being another person caring about it for ten minutes.' i'm thankful it shocked me into awareness of my own cowardice. i'm thankful that because of that video, people care about him as if he were their friend. i'm thankful his life matters.

i'm thankful for the dancers, twirling and lifting each other and running and running. i'm thankful for the man who danced a solo after intermission, twirling and jumping so much that each time he moved a spray of sweat gleamed under the lights as it spun off his beard. i'm thankful for his vitality. i'm thankful for his life.

i'm thankful for the potentiality of my body, how its presence brings me to awareness of myself. i'm thankful that each time i let it down, it still keeps faith with me: my heart beats; my lungs bloom and relax; my eyes blink and my fingers type these words over and over again until they start to mean something. i'm thankful. i'm thankful. i'm thankful. i'm thankful. i'm thankful.

- julia weston (3/13/16). twitter, tinyletter