What is it about that song?

Being that I work with children and with people who work with children, I hear this question a lot. Sometimes it's whispered in confusion. Sometimes it bursts out like a shotgun. Either way, a lot of adults are wondering the same thing.

Because we've all noticed it. Frozen has taken over the minds of our girls. Specifically, the song "Let it Go".

If you've been hibernating the last few months you might have missed the way this song has swept the nation. You haven't noticed the covers performed by everyone imaginable, the views on the YouTube video crawling up and up, the karaoke cred, the tumblr memes, or the way preteens get glassy eyed and passionate whenever the opening chords begin. If you've been hibernating the last few months, you're probably also very hungry and very annoyed that it's still rainy and cold here in Seattle.

Back on topic.

What is it about that song?

"Let it Go" occurs at a key point in the film, the point at which Elsa has fled her home after losing control of her special ice powers. She's spent most of her life trapped indoors, trying to live up to expectations and keeping a tight lid on her unique quirk. She believes that the way she was born is too large, too powerful, too unpredictable, and too dangerous to be anything except suppressed.

"Let it Go" is when she gives up on that. She realizes that she can't try for normalcy anymore. It isn't going to happen. Instead, in order to be fully herself, she has to live alone.

The reason so many girls have embraced this song is because they identify with it.

They know what it is like to have energy and ambition, emotions like thunderbolts, and strength that they aren't allowed to use.

They know what it is like to suppress all of that in the interest of being a "good girl". They know how to keep quiet, because they've been praised so many times for their silence. They understand artifice, because isn't social success built upon creating an acceptable persona? They fear that if anyone truly sees them for who they are, they'll be rejected. They might even hurt the people they care about.

"Let it Go" offers a dream of defiance. It offers hope, because it tells us that maybe that hateful secret we've been hiding can be beautiful. It suggests that maybe the worlds inside us are worth the cost.

Is it all that surprising that so many kids have gone bonkers for it?

So what do we do with this?

I'm not a parent, so I can't speak as a parent. I can only speak as a teacher and the lesson I'm taking is to leave room for exploration. To not sacrifice creativity for discipline. There's room for both. When done right, dance can provide a safe place for kiddos to get all that energy out and to be bigger than themselves. A place where their quirks can be an asset.

What about you? Does "Let it Go" make your pulse race? Were there any Disney songs from your childhood that had a similar effect on you?

Credit: http://royal-tarts.deviantart.com

While we're on the topic - This news story is absolutely adorable. Cheers to these courageous men who helped a little girl find her own courage. Massachusetts firefighters sing 'Frozen' song to keep little girl calm. 

The Shape of Me

When did it start? I'm not really sure.

Maybe it started when I looked into the studio mirror and realized that my legs no longer went straight down, but pushed out a bit at the sides.

Maybe it started when I sat down in a pair of shorts and noticed that my skin dimpled where it met the chair.

Maybe it started when I learned, through watching and listening, that the greatest sin I could commit as a teenage girl was to be overweight.

When my body became communal property, something for men to size up, for women to comment on and the clearest factor indicating my worth.

Maybe it started earlier.

Whatever the origin, fear took root. The word "fat" hovered just out of sight, a three-letter threat that always waited for me.

The need for praise took root as well. I learned I could get as much praise for choreographing a dance as for losing ten pounds. Twenty pounds? There's no equivalent for that.

The funny, horrible part is that praise only serves to accentuate fear. Beneath the words I can hear, "Good work, you! You've gotten temporarily further from the scary thing!"

.

Look at any group of women. The skinniest is the one who has "won", right? I'm not the only one who has had these thoughts. As if the word "skinny" is some badge of honor we can wear to show that we are easily moved and will not take up more room in this world than we deserve.

Sometimes it feels like we're all in a race to disappear.

.

I ate nothing but celery, soup and water.

I stuffed my face.

I worked out every night.

I did nothing but watch cartoons and lick crumbs off my own tee shirt.

I kept my eyes glued to the mirror watching, not for technique, but for love handles.

I refused to look in the mirror.

I cried in secret. A lot.

I wore the same pair of pants over and over again, because they made me look microscopically less heavy than my other pants.

I lied in my food journal.

I hated every skinny person I met.

I hated every costume I had to wear, because they weren't carefully constructed to conceal all of my misshapen body parts.

.

I have so much regret. For five years of my life, 80% of the thoughts that went through my head were a version of food-related self-loathing. Those were years that were vital to my development, years when I could have been growing, maybe even having an impact. I'm an intelligent person with a hungry mind, a creative soul and a drive to succeed. There's a lot I could have done with that time. Instead, I waged a war against myself, allowing my heart to grow smaller and smaller. That's what I regret. Losing those years.

Letting myself believe that I am only a body.

.

What changed?

I got tired. Hating yourself is exhausting and I decided to stop. It really is that simple.

.

Except it isn't always that simple. I still check myself out every day, hoping I measure up. I still fight to keep the voices away. In moments of weakness, I can still hear them. "You're so ugly. Everyone thinks you're ugly. Everyone sees the cellulite."

I'm not the only one. I'm not the only woman who feels like she's eternally on an auctioning block with her value fluctuating based on the way her jeans fit. The size of her bra.

I'm not the only one who hates looking at herself in photographs, because maybe her smile won't overshadow the fat on her arms.

We can't live up to it. We'll never live up to it. And it pisses me off.

This has us in bondage. Women in this country are literally in bondage, because so many of us believe that the most valuable gift we can give the world is our youth and our beauty. Not what we say. Not what we do. Not how we treat others, how we fill movement with purpose, the stories we tell, the things we feel, the sacrifices we make, the art we contribute, the experiences we share, the ideas we generate, the people we love, the places we visit, the lessons we teach, the mistakes we make, the companies we build, the children we encourage, the jokes we make, the gifts we give, or the blog entries we post.

Just physical beauty - a constantly changing series of parameters defined by others, enforced by others and for the profit of others.

It's a lie.

We are so much better than beautiful.

So Many Faces

I was going to create my 2010 film wrap-up, but, because my mind is a vast wasteland where information enters and quickly disappears, I don't remember what movies I've seen in 2010. For this I depend on my husband, who charts most incidents of life. Unfortunately, he is busily working and slow to send me the data. So, rather than wait for him, I'm going to write about something else.

Character.

Much has been said on the subject. Much will be said on the subject. But, here's the thoughts I've been tossing around lately.

I received the following book as a late Christmas present:

It's a fairly simple premise - collect a bunch of the striking portraits National Geographic is known for and put them all together in one book. You can't tell from the cover, but this is an extensive collection of people. 504 pages of faces, all nationalities, ages, and genders.

I've been keeping it next to my computer desk, the same place I keep all my reference books.

Why?

I think in some of the writing aimed at girls there is a tendency toward homogeneous description, especially for the main characters. Sure, hair cut and color might change, eyes can be blue, green, brown, or whatever and there is usually one distinguishing characteristic to let the reader know that this character is special/different. Maybe a mole, unusual height, gap in the teeth, fluctuation in weight, etc. Kind of like this: Makeover game. As if people are just a mishmash of various characteristics.

Now, I would never try and claim that this is true for all young adult lit. No way. That would be unfair and asking for trouble.

But, I know you've probably come across it. She's pretty, but not too pretty. As if pretty, a word that can be applied to 50% (?) of the population, tells us anything. I assume the character is thin, pretty and passable unless otherwise told. Faced with the challenge of describing the girl on the cover above, would any of those words really apply?

Speaking as someone who is always experimenting with her appearance, it doesn't really matter. The things you can easily change aren't worth a damn. The things that can be easily described aren't the ones that matter. There is something else in each of our faces. The intangible something that tells you who this person is. You can see it in a photograph, if the photograph is any good. We're so much more diverse, interesting and strange than we give ourselves credit for. Normal isn't normal at all.

How do we tell that story? Well, if the writer is good, the portrait unfolds without the reader even realizing it. The rhythm when they talk, the way they think about themselves, the way they react to danger, how easily they smile, whether they'd rather run or walk, if they like making trouble, the things they find funny, whether they feel loved, how quick they are to reach for another's hand, how easily insulted, if they sway when they listen to music, are quick to pay attention, or always drifting into daydreams. Before long, you can see the character's face looking back at you.

It's something I'm struggling with as I revise. I think I might be starting to get it.

For the new year I'm going to try and keep track of the books I've finished. Here goes:

Reader log:

1. Wither - Lauren DeStefano

Currently listening:

You Never Called Me Tonight - Beth Rowley