To Smile

I’m working on another video and text piece for BU Today, with Nick, the same filmmaker who I worked with on “Born to Skate,” the story of the a figure skating family…who happened to raise the best D1 women’s hockey goalie in the nation. This time, Nick and I are covering the Boston University Synchronized Swimming team, a club team that is a great example of athletes competing purely for the love of the sport. The coaches are volunteer, the team is a club sport, and they do not have the resources of some of their counterparts. Despite those obstacles, the team only just keeps getting better, and have qualified for Nationals – against Division 1 varsity teams! – in Buffalo next week.

Nick donned a swimsuit and jumped into the water with a waterproof camera to catch both team routines this evening. While capturing the footage and directing Nick where to shoot while they ran through their routines, it struck me that these athletes had the brightest smiles I’d ever seen. Bright, huge smiles while they were busy doing eggbeaters, changing patterns and then getting ready to stick their heads under water keep them there while doing leg moves for an extended period of time. All smiles, trying to convince us that no, they weren’t out of breath or physically exerting themselves to the max, though we knew much better. There is no doubt in my mind that synchro is an incredibly difficult sport.

But despite the intense physical exertion of these swimmers, they’re still smiling every second their heads emerge from underwater. And they made eye contact with us on the deck, like they were performing for us personally. Their smiles reminded me of my very first dance competition when I was 11.

It was the Summer Dance Festival at Our Lady of Mercy High School in Brighton, NY, and my large group was the only one entered in our division. We would still compete, but the goal was to get a High Score award instead of trying to win first place. I was all about smiling. Smiling was knocked into my senses like tying my shoes or breathing. If you forgot the entire routine, that was fine, as long as you remembered to grin like you were charged with providing a spotlight for the entire room.

So smiling at the panel of four judges was a given. I took my place for our first routine, staring straight into the spotlights in the rear of the auditorium. The music began – the infamous Barnyard Boogie – and the smile became plastered on my face. Then I looked down at the judge in front of me. She was smiling right back, just as massive and tooth filled as my own.

Maybe she was like Pavlov’s dogs, and every time she heard 15 pairs of tap shoes flapping away she had the automatic, uncontrollable urge to smile like a neon sign. I remember looking at her and thinking, “Well, she’s smiling too. She’s smiling as big as I am. Well gosh darn it, I’m going to dance to keep that smile on her face.”

For the next two and a half minutes, I locked her in my sights and wouldn’t keep her from looking at anyone but me. Her eyes followed me across the stage. And I performed my heart out for her. The next two performances, I did the same. She did the same. The smile didn’t leave my face and it didn’t leave hers.

It was my own personal a-ha moment, I guess. I don’t need the half-hearted attention of many, just the complete attention of one, while it be now while I’m speaking, or writing or whatever. Pick out one person in the audience and do it all for that one person. And don’t make that person think that what you’re doing is difficult. No. What you are doing for them is like breathing, so automatic and easy that it’s no great shakes. Though, just like we saw with the incredible synchronized swimmers this evening, it is hard. It is difficult. You’re nervous. You’re stressed. You’re sick. You’re out-of-breath. You want everything to be perfect, but you know it just won’t be.

But to that one person, everything is just fine, and whoever they are, you want them to believe that you really have whatever you are doing under control –  even if you don’t.

I don’t like lying, but I’m great at smiling.