Another Hundred Miles and the Art of Discipline

I did not know Billy Wilson, really.

I took one class with him when I was an undergraduate in the acting conservatory at Carnegie-Mellon University. It was the class to determine which level we had the aptitude for: the real dance class (Billy Wilson’s) or the other dance class (i.e., the one for non dancers). I was sure I would make the cut. I had danced in musicals and even got P.E. credit for a year of dance class at Berkeley High (which got me out of team sports – a story for another time). I sashayed across the floor, worked the barre and did the best I could to meet the demands of this demanding teacher. Billy was direct, precise and he did not suffer fools lightly.

He broke me.

I was sequestered into the remedial dance class and suffered 2 years with an inferior teacher and a class full of students with two left feet. Three times a week at 8 o’clock in the morning.

Throughout the year I watched students emerge from Billy’s studio in tears. Sobbing. Enraged. Pushed to the limit. We were in conservatory. And our limits were being tested in every area. And we loved it. And they loved him. And yes we bitched and moaned. It was hard. No one in our entire class got above a C+ the first year. And yet, how refreshing to encounter master artists who demanded we step up with everything we’ve got. In a world rife with mediocrity, with so much settling for less than, what a gift.

Billy’s daughter Alexis was my classmate, one of my first scene partners, a lovely person, stunning beauty and remarkable dancer in her own right.

Billy was the head of the dance department at Carnegie after a colorful career as a dancer and choreographer on Broadway and in Europe.

Billy Wilson died of AIDS in 1994. He was 59.

Hwy 1

And I was thinking about him as Tyler and I rode a hundred miles on Friday. My second Century. From Presidio up towards Petaluma then West to Tomales Bay and down to Pt. Reyes Station. Then home. It was a strong ride, some challenging hills, and more of California’s natural beauty than many take in in a lifetime.

I was thinking about Billy Wilson on the ride because I had a brief exchange via Facebook with Alexis the day before when I was fundraising. A number of my classmates from Carnegie—some of whom I have not seen in 20 years—have come through with sponsorships. Facebook turns out to be good for revolutions and fundraising. And connecting old friends.

And I was thinking about discipline. The discipline that Billy and some of our other teachers in conservatory demanded of us. We were 18 years old. We were passionate about theatre. And we were quite full of ourselves. These teachers were all professionals from the field and they knocked us down. Notch by notch. And they offered to help us rebuild ourselves from the inside – out. To investigate our inner life. To meet the physical limits of our bodies. To stretch our intellects. It was inspiring and it was ruthless. Half the freshman class would be cut from the program at the end of the first year. Less than a third of the class would remain by senior year.  Only hard work and talent would be rewarded.

Discipline. I was thinking about the discipline it has taken the activists, advocates and scientists to change the way AIDS affects people through education, policy and treatment, all of which have allowed many HIV+ people to live active, normal lives today, 30 years after AIDS began its rampage. As I climbed a monster hill on the Marshall/Petaluma Road I was thinking about the discipline it takes to accomplish something worthwhile

Spiritual teachers call it practice. The Dalai Lama says,

“Developing the mind depends upon a great many internal causes and conditions, much like a space station depends on the work of generations of scientists who have analyzed and tested even its smallest components. Neither a space station nor an enlightened mind can be realized in a day…However, unlike the space station, which is constructed by many people working together, the mind must be developed by you alone. There is no way for others to do the work and for you to reap the results.”

There is no one else on the bike but you. Pedal, pedal, pedal. Eight hours of riding allows the mind to open up. To meet itself. Hello mind. Nice to see you out here. There is no one else at the barre but you. There is no one else staring down the obstacles that present themselves in the studio, on the road, in the kitchen, at the office, in the classroom, in the lab. The walls we push up against. Discipline is the courage to stay with it, day after day. Mile after mile. Plié after plié.

The culture we live in rides on immediate gratification and speed. But discipline is on a different timeline. Slows down. Progress is measured over the long run. No short cuts.

I’m sad that Billy and so many others had their lives cut short by this wicked disease. Even with inspiring discipline, there are uncertainties that we cannot prevent. I’ll take from it that we better strive for great things while we can. But approach them day at a time. Moment at a time.

And then another hundred miles.

Two weeks to go ‘til the Ride.