You have to die in order to live
I know it´s harsh but it´s true: you have to die - again and again - in order to live.
I am crazy. That´s a fact. But keep reading.
I look forward, yet again, and I see the crossover.
It shows up like an Indiana Jones bridge - crumbling, dangerous, adventurous, uncertain in its ability to sustain me; not promising to get me, safely, to the other side.
I´ve been here before - this moment of death and rebirth - but it always catches me by surprise.
After so many deaths and rebirths - different chapters in life, different versions of me, different realities -, I thought I was done with it, the business of resurrection, but it seems that I´m not.
Now, I can see it: the Death Card - number 13, as you´d expect - will meet me till I´m (physically) gone.
I´m ok with it. Finally.
Let´s start from the beginning: you have to die in order to live.
As unpleasant as it may be, accept it. Or, at least, consider it.
I´ve died and was reborn several times. Small deaths; big deaths; life-changing deaths.
It doesn´t scare me anymore - in fact, it excites me. I know that when the scent of death invades the room - metallic, gutsy, sour and spicy -, there´s an exciting new chapter starting in my life.
But before something new can begin, something old has to die.
It´s en exchange, a replacement; a psychic death that doesn´t guarantee where I´ll end up, whom I´ll become; what tomorrow will look like.
It´s an adventure.
And who doesn´t like an adventure?
Well, many don´t. But we´ll get there.
👉The first death I recall goes back to my teenage years, when I decided I wanted to become an actress.
Without further ado, and with no previous training or family involved in the business, I wrapped up my sleeves, and got to work.
I auditioned for the Acting Conservatoire - the most respected institution in my country - and earned my place. Only 10 students got into the school, that year, out of more than 700 who auditioned. I was one of them.
I dug myself into the ground and shed my skin.
There was a Joana before that and a Joana after it. Unrecognizable.
👉The second death took place when I re-encountered Egyptian Dance.
I was on my second year of Acting Conservatoire, convinced I´d be an actress, sure about my future, but, once again, my soul was stolen and taken where it was supposed to go: Egypt.
The night I re-encountered Egyptian Dance was the night I re-encountered myself, my language, my past and future.
Nobody saw it coming - the obsession, the next steps and the consequences - but it didn´t matter. I allowed myself to be taken by the hurricane, trusting I´d land where I was supposed to be.
I dug myself into the ground and shed my skin.
There was a Joana before that and a Joana after it. Unrecognizable.
👉The third death took place when I was at the peak of professional success.
At the ripe age of 22, I was killing it.
I was still studying at the Conservatoire - almost finishing it -, and I was working as an actress in television and in theater; I´d also started to work in Egyptian Dance as a performer and as a teacher - fully packed workshops and shows -, coming back and forth between Portugal, Spain, and Egypt.
My boyfriend loved me with the purity of well-written novels and spoke of moving together. A future, perfectly laid out. Mapped. Predictable.
Or so I thought.
When everyone - myself included - least expected it, Egypt called me. Not as a student, a researcher, and a passer-by, but as a resident, a professional working creature, a successful Oriental Dancer in the Mecca of my craft.
I moved to Egypt to start my career, leaving behind the comfort of a well-launched career, family and friends, boyfriend, plans for the future, and a perfectly laid out plan.
I dug myself into the ground and shed my skin.
There was a Joana before that and a Joana after it. Unrecognizable.
👉The fourth death took place when I met Mahmoud Reda, the Father of Egyptian Folklore.
I became his student, at first; and, soon, his collaborator in choreography and teaching. Then, his granddaughter, friend, soul partner.
A relationship that changed me, my dance, and my life.
I dug myself into the ground and shed my skin.
There was a Joana before that and a Joana after it. Unrecognizable.
👉The fifth death took place when I said no to an abusive boss, in Cairo, opening doors to a brand new opportunity that´d take me and my career to a level of growth I had imagined but feared I´d never experience.
After 5 years of passionate, non-stop, successful work with my first orchestra, I closed the door, fired myself - dragging my musicians along with me to unemployment - and knew, in my guts, that would be the beginning of something big.
People called me crazy - I was throwing away what I´d worked so hard to conquer -; my then boss called to apologize and ask me to return; my musicians complained that "we, artists, didn´t have the luxury of self-respect".
I remained unmoved.
And, after the emptiness - an entire month of unemployment, to be exact; a month that I enjoyed to the fullest doing all the things I couldn´t do when I was performing every day -, I signed the dance contract I´d always dreamed of.
People had been paying attention. The Cairo dance market is small, competitive, and gossip-oriented. Everyone knows everyone, what they´re doing and how they´re doing it.
A full house, every day, is bound to draw attention to your name.
And it did.
I dug myself into the ground and shed my skin.
There was a Joana before that and a Joana after it. Unrecognizable.
👉The sixth death took place during the Arab Spring.
I fell from the the Babel´s tower, alongside my musicians, fellow dancers, and everyone I knew.
There was no work, no hope, no future in sight.
Although many could survive without working, I knew I couldn´t. I supported myself, fully, exclusively from my work - no help from family, spouse or sugar daddy.
I´d saved enough money to live for one entire year but once that year was gone, I´d need a solution.
When that door closed - there I was, looking back at 8 years of daily performances with my orchestra; many conquests, sacrifice, obsession, love -, another door opened.
That´s when I started to be invited to travel the world as teacher, performer, and lecturer. It turns out that people were paying attention - not only in Egypt but in the global market that moves this business.
I left the reality I knew and loved behind and dove - heart, first - into a brand new life.
From Egypt to the World, a motto I´d always used, became reality. A literal reality.
I dug myself into the ground and shed my skin.
There was a Joana before that and a Joana after it. Unrecognizable.
👉The seventh death took place while I toured USA and Canada.
I´d been traveling, non-stop, for work for the past 6 years. Uninterrupted traveling to teach, perform, lecture, and judge at the biggest international events.
At times, I´d be in a different country every week. I fell asleep on airplanes, at hotels, sitting down and walking.
My bags were never empty - there was always an arrival or a departure.
I knew airport lounges by heart, called airplanes my home, accumulated miles, and had no time to breathe.
Between Delaware and Portland, I got sick.
Emergency room, daily. 300 bucks at a time. Fever, pain, dizziness; scared I wouldn´t make it.
My body gave in, letting me know there was a new death about to happen.
Miraculously, and with a severe infection that kept me in pain throughout workshops, shows, lectures, and interviews, I managed to finish the tour.
I returned to Portugal; right ahead, traveled to Ireland and Slovenia for more work.
And, then, a pause.
I stepped back. Searched for a home in the mountain. And I hid.
Like a bear, licking her wounds, I retreated into a world of deep waters, space, trees, animals, silence, small-village life, Sunday church services with an elderly neighbor, naps on the grass, early-morning walks to the river, late-night walks through the darkness, the noises of the forest, the neighbor´s wild dog who became my friend.
I buried myself in that earth - worms, and moist, and fungi, and darkness - and called it my blessed graveyard.
My family didn´t recognize me; they swore I´d be "back to life" in a week.
I spent 1 year and a half in my private paradise, my sacred graveyard.
My eyes became brighter; I ricked of wet earth, took the shape of rocks, and spoke the language of the under world - no idea how, or if, I´d come out of this trip.
I realized I wanted more of my life, more of me. I´d conquered so much in my career but I was unhappy, unfulfilled, not fully alive.
That´s when I decided to create Joana Saahirah´s Online Dance School; a list of the man I dreamed for my lover and life partner; a vision of a life that was boundless, beyond work, ambition and accolades.
I dug myself into the ground and shed my skin.
There was a Joana before that and a Joana after it. Unrecognizable.
👉The eighth death took place in Bali, Indonesia, when I met the love of my life.
It happened on my birthday - the 13th of June - and it changed my existence in ways I couldn´t have predicted.
I could keep on enumerating deaths - there were more than the ones I´ve described; bigger and smaller deaths - but I think that, by now, you got my point.
I dug myself into the ground and shed my skin.
There was a Joana before that and a Joana after it. Unrecognizable.
Most of us presume we´re done. Finished products. Stuck to a routine, a life format, a reality.
Most of us won´t change, even if where we are is not a good place to be.
Most of us are afraid of death - afraid of the dark, never allowing the endings that will birth new beginnings; terrified of being alive.
I´ve learned that - and sorry for the unpleasant repetition - in order to live, we have to die. Several times; as many times as necessary; forever.
This Easter, if only this Easter, I´ll invite you to take a step back - the one I´ve taken so many times; the one I´ll take many times more - and see if who you are is the person you´re ought to be; if where you are is the place where you´re ought to be.
Death can be scary, I agree. We don´t know what´ll come next; we´re afraid it´ll be worse than where we´re at; we´re not fans of change. I get it.
But dying while you´re alive is even scarier; living a life that doesn´t excite you, doesn´t make sense to you, doesn´t set your heart on fire, is a thousand times scarier than allowing yourself to die. And to be reborn.
´Cause there´s the funny thing; the beautiful detail: after death, comes life. Always. They´re two sides of the same coin.
Ask yourself:
do I need to die in order to be reborn?
Is life offering me an Indiana Jones bridge? And, most importantly, am I brave enough to cross it?
Spoiler alert: you are brave enough; you can cross it.
See you on the other side.
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