Lessons from Riverdance

Terry Hershey recounts this tale which really struck a cord with me after my musings on keeping that holiday feeling alive.

On NPR’s This American Life , Ira Glass interviewed a young woman, a singer with a Riverdance troupe.  She told how one day, the troupe collectively decided to purchase a batch of lottery tickets.  The plan (buoyed by sheer conviction and blind faith) seemed simple enough.  Such a large purchase would increase their odds of winning, and with the considerable prize money, they could share the proceeds.

After winning (a foreclosure in their minds), they had determined they would quit Riverdance, (a theatrical show consisting of traditional Irish stepdancing) and use the money to do whatever it was they really wanted to do: go back to school, buy a house, seek a new vocation, etc.  Behind each of their wishes, you could read the longing for a change at a new direction in their lives.
 
On the evening the lottery winner(s) was to be announced, the troupe danced their “final” performance.  The singer described how a kind of ecstasy swept up the entire troupe, as they danced and sang wholehearted and unabashed.  In their hearts, all the performers knew this would be their winning night, the night they would be released from the repetitiousness of their lives.  All of them knew as well, as they danced and sang, that they were giving, creating, living and celebrating their best performance ever.  Afterward, the audience, understandably, went wild.  Something truly amazing had taken place.

The drawing was held.  Not one troupe ticket held the winning number. They did not one the lottery.  To a person, they couldn’t believe that their intention–or confidence–had failed them.
And yet. Look at what happened.  Their performance provided a container – a liturgy or sacred space – for some awakening of that which lay dormant in their souls.  In fact, the troupe, literally, transcended the dance itself.  They were engaged.  They were totally alive, and present.  And, as it turns out, they did receive what they wished for.

In other words, once the troupe gave up the need to force a great performance, they simply danced.

It reminds me of Henry Miller’s quote, “The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely. . .We live at the edge of the miraculous.”
 
If only we have eyes to see. 
Or, perhaps, if only we are able to surrender expectations that, in the end, prevent us from seeing.
 
Such as anticipated lottery winnings, I suppose. . .with the promise that life can be found only in a moment other than this one. Or, we have succumbed to some unnamed fear from living an “unabashed life.” So.  In our fear, we live life restricted.  And constrained.

I just love that story and it has set me thinking again….is it only when I take myself out of my everyday life, that I can truly enjoy life? Or can I tap into that joyousness, that freedom, escape and happiness just by choosing to do so?

Now if you haven’t already done so, why not watch the short 3 minute excerpt from one of the Riverdance troupes above ( I happen to know the male lead on this one so it is particularly a good choice for me, but I also love the tap in it). I hadn’t watched it myself in a while but it still gives me a spine tingling thrill each time I see it.