Life's Not Fair

I'm supposed to be working right now but I'm finding it hard to concentrate. This morning I woke up to find out that twenty two people had been killed at a music concert in Manchester by a suicide bomber. Amongst those killed were children and teenagers. If I stopped writing this to concentrate on my Excel spreadsheet, maybe it will stop the urge to cry. But from experience, too much time on Excel can kill other signs of life.

I've tried to avoid most of the news today. In spite of this, I've heard the words 'terror' more times than I care to. I am not scared though. It's something else that is bothering me.

I should be used to waking up to catastrophic news by now. When I woke up to Brexit, I was shocked. Such shock that there was no room for tears but instead, profound grief. For I sincerely believe that it's a decision that will change the course of world history for the worse.

After that Trump was a breeze. I cried but more from anguish than pain.

Months later when the guy bulldozed pedestrians off Westminster Bridge right outside my work place, I made a point of walking across the bridge many times to and from work thereafter.

Brussels, France. France again. Germany. Idiots sacrifice others for misguided reasons. This has always happened of course. Right now, political instability, rising nationalism, a 24-hour news cycle and social media are the forces working to create a playing field fueled by suspicion, worry and protectionism. If continued, the Hunger Games may become non -fiction in years to come.

Maybe it's disingenuous of me to lament this latest tragedy because it is closer to home. Manchester is my patch. More so than places like Syria, Sierra Leone or Papua New Guinea where many young people endure unthinkable suffering and die every day.

Last night I checked on my six year old before I went to sleep. She looked so peaceful in repose. Such a contrast to her high energy antics during the day. I stared at her sleeping face and was struck by her vulnerability and also my own. It occurred to me that someday in the future we would be parted. I felt a physical pain in my chest and snuck out of her room.

It was an Ariana Grande concert those kids were at. I can imagine their excitement, going to a concert with their parents or unsupervised with their friends. I remember going on my own to my first concert. It's a rite of passage, something I hope my daughter experiences one day. You don't go to a concert expecting to die. Until recently this wouldn't even have been in the lexicon of 'concert going.' But with Bataclan and now Manchester, it is becoming so.

Walking home from school yesterday, my six year old told me about her day. They had been learning about an African animal that was becoming extinct.

People kill it because they think it brings bad luck.

What does it do that is so bad? I asked

Nothing. They just think it is bad luck.

So the animal does nothing but they kill it anyway? 

Yes.

That's not very fair.

Life's not fair Mum. Don't you know that? Life's not fair.


It certainly isn't.

Brodsky/Baryshnikov

Mikhail Baryshnikov is a good-looking man. Nearing 70, he has charisma in spades which was in full display last night when I attended his show, Brodsky/Baryshnikov.

Marketing for the show

When I booked my (very expensive) ticket, I didn’t know what the show was about. All that my bedazzled eyes could see was Baryshnikov Baryshnikov Baryshnikov Baryshnikov

Later when I informed the Husband that he would be on child watch duties, he read the marketing material and raised an eyebrow:

You do know that he’s not dancing, don’t you?

Of course I know that. What do you take me for?

And that he’s reading poetry.

Uh, duh. That’s why it’s Brodsky/Baryshnikov. Joseph Brodsky. Poet Laureate.

In Russian. He’s reading poetry in Russian.

Oh.

What could I say?

I had not read the small print but quite frankly, I didn’t care. Baryshnikov could be on stage brushing his teeth and I’d still have gone.

Mikhail Baryshnikov is one the greatest ballet dancers of all time. At the height of his prowess as a classical dancer, he defected from Russia to Canada in 1974. Afterwards he went on to wow the world with dance and forayed into acting, painting, photography and writing. He never rested on his laurels. He’s pushed himself artistically and creatively throughout his life and now nearing 70, he’s still taking creative risks.

Brodsky/Baryshnikov is a one-man show. Over the course of 90 minutes, Baryshnikov recites Brodsky’s poetry as if in conversation with the dead poet and performs set movement pieces throughout. The words (thankfully) were subtitled for an English speaking audience. Whilst I do not speak Russian, the timbre and tone of Baryshnikovs’ delivery was compelling. Who knew he sounded so sexy in Russian? The melancholy and hope that permeates much of Russian art and literature resonated in Brodsky’s words. I found myself loving the poetry. 

When Baryshnikov took his shirt off and started moving, the reaction of the audience was palpable.

Is Baryshnikov is going to dance?

But he didn’t. He did some weird performance Butoh which I didn’t like very much. I didn’t think it suited the show but again, it didn’t matter. This is Baryshnikov. However odd the conception, the movements themselves were as crystalline and precise as ever. At 70, his body could rival most men half his age. He is in good shape.

Moody Russian Dancer

At the end, he came out to take his bow. People stood up and clapped and clapped. Not because it was the best thing they had ever seen but out of respect for this great artist who is still taking creative risks and baring himself onstage. He smiled, bowed and then did a little jump-hop-skip and ran to exit offstage.

People were still clapping so he came on and did it again. Bowed. Jump-hop-skip. Run to exit.  

He did it three times. That little jump-hop-skip-run.

I guess it’s like breathing to him that jump-hop-skip-run. After every show, every performance, that is the way he exits the stage.  He’s been doing it since he was a boy, since he started learning how to dance. His body just does it automatically.  This show was not about dancing but still, he took a dancer’s bow and exit. He couldn't help it. 

It was a weighted moment and it's what I'll remember most about the show. His jump-hop-skip exit embodied so much of Baryshnikov's history and legacy.  To quote the show itself:

Life is the sum of tiny movements. 

-Joseph Brodsky