-
When I was six years old,
-
our house caught fire
-
and my mother died.
-
It was a cold, February night in Michigan.
-
Our chimney had recently been fixed,
-
so we had a warm fire
going in the fireplace.
-
My younger sister and I
were sitting next to our dog
-
and coloring with a brand new
box of colored pencils
-
when Mom said it was time for bed.
-
We'd planned to go up north that night
for a weekend of snowmobiling
-
and sledding,
-
but it was already dark
and snowing outside,
-
so we decided to leave
the next morning instead.
-
We went upstairs,
-
brushed our teeth,
-
climbed into bed --
-
my sister's room right next to the stairs
-
and mine at the far end of the hallway.
-
Our parents tucked us in
and kissed us goodnight,
-
then left the door open just a crack
-
and the hallway light on,
-
as it always was.
-
In the middle of the night
I woke up sweating,
-
confused because I couldn't
see that hallway light.
-
I started shouting for my parents
-
until finally I heard words
that I'll never forget:
-
"Dave, it's a fire."
-
We later found out
that our fire from earlier
-
had burned through an unrepaired
crack in the chimney
-
causing the fireplace doors to explode
-
and fire to just pour
into the living room.
-
I remember my mom
running down to my sister's room,
-
frantically searching for her
-
and finally finding her on the floor.
-
I crawled after her on my hands and knees,
-
trying not to breathe in the smoke.
-
I remember standing
next to my sister's room,
-
trying to turn on that hallway light,
-
but it was already on,
-
I just couldn't see it because
the smoke was so thick.
-
I remember feeling the heat
of the fire on my skin
-
and hearing the sound of it
as it climbed up the stairs.
-
My dad ran down to my bedroom window
as an escape route,
-
but it was February
and it was frozen shut.
-
Eventually, he broke the window
and pried it open,
-
his arms and hands covered
in glass and cuts.
-
He lifted my sister and me
onto an awning under the window
-
and told us to shout for help.
-
Not seeing my mom,
-
he considered going back
into the fire to find her,
-
but after looking at my sister and me
huddled together on that roof,
-
and knowing that neither of them
may make it out,
-
he stayed with us,
-
calling her name
through the window instead.
-
After a few minutes,
-
a man driving down the street
saw the smoke and fire,
-
drove onto our lawn,
-
climbed onto the roof of his car
-
and told us to jump into his arms.
-
We'd never seen him before,
-
and even though he saved our lives,
-
we never saw him again.
-
We were brought over to a neighbor's house
-
while Dad continued to wait
on the roof for my mom,
-
reaching his arms and hands
through the window
-
and into the fire,
-
calling her name over and over.
-
He said later that when the fire
department arrived,
-
they carried him down the ladder
just as a lower-level window shattered
-
and burst into flames.
-
It took the fire department
longer to find my mom.
-
She'd been on the floor
of my bedroom the entire time,
-
pinned down by a dresser
that had fallen on her leg.
-
We think she went back
to look for our dog,
-
but by the time the fire department
reached them it was too late.
-
She died on the way to the hospital.
-
Dad was in critical condition
-
with smoke inhalation and burns
and cuts over a third of his body.
-
He spent nearly a month in the hospital,
-
unable to attend Mom's funeral
-
and undergoing multiple,
excruciating skin graft surgeries.
-
My sister and I stayed
with a neighbor across the street,
-
but we would sit in front
of their living room window for hours
-
just staring at the remains
of our burnt home.
-
After a few days it became evident
that we would need to go
-
and stay with some
different family friends.
-
The next few years were tough.
-
As a single father of two young girls,
-
Dad did his very best to provide for us
-
as we all tried to grieve and recover.
-
We began to move on in this new reality.
-
Dad bought a new house
down the street --
-
without a fireplace --
-
and eventually remarried.
-
My sister and I excelled in school.
-
I was a cheerleader
-
and she rode horses
and played in the band.
-
But nothing could stop the gut-wrenching
nightmares that haunted me.
-
I would dream of fire,
-
of being trapped in fire with no escape.
-
I remember and even now
I can feel the sheer panic
-
and the pressure in my chest.
-
Or worse were the dreams where
I was outside the fire watching it,
-
trying to save the people inside.
-
I'd wake up gasping for breath,
-
tears running down my face
-
and sobbing.
-
When I was 15,
-
a friend of mine,
-
and a very talented artist,
-
painted two abstract portraits for me.
-
One was done in black and white
-
and depicted a scared girl
cowering in the corner of a room,
-
shadows surrounding her.
-
The other was a bursting rainbow of color;
-
the girl was in the center of the page,
-
arms open and outstretched,
-
clearly full of joy and happiness.
-
He knew my past
-
and he knew that I was
conflicted and confused,
-
but he'd also seen my potential
-
and wanted to show me what he already saw.
-
After a few years,
-
I realized that these two portraits
-
showed two completely different
paths before me.
-
A life of fear,
-
or the promise and potential for recovery.
-
I had always been drawn
to that brighter, more colorful painting,
-
but I wasn't quite sure
what it meant for me
-
or how to transform my current mentality
into that kind of joy and happiness.
-
So outwardly,
-
I moved on with life --
-
graduated high school,
-
went to college --
-
while inwardly,
-
I continued to bounce
between the highest of highs
-
and the lowest of lows,
-
like a Ping-Pong ball
between those two portraits.
-
In 2004, I went backpacking
through Central America with a friend.
-
We spent our first weekend
on the island of Roatán,
-
off the coast of Honduras.
-
After a few days there,
-
my friend and I realized
-
that one of our new local friends
was a fire dancer.
-
Neither of us had ever seen
fire dancing before,
-
so one night we decided to go see a show.
-
We watched, mesmerized,
-
as he and two friends lit
these props on fire,
-
threw them in the air
-
and spun them around their bodies.
-
Their moves were deliberate and controlled
-
yet still graceful
and flowing to the music.
-
I was completely entranced.
-
The next day he offered
to teach us how to fire dance,
-
or spin --
-
without fire, of course.
-
He showed us the difference
between a fire staff
-
which is a long piece of wood
or aluminum with two Kevlar wicks,
-
and fire poi which are Kevlar wicks
with chains and finger loops.
-
After that first time spinning poi,
-
I knew that this was a hobby
that I wanted to continue learning
-
in the hopes that maybe one day
-
I might be brave enough
to try it with fire.
-
Now, I can guess what
people might be thinking.
-
How was I not terrified
and running in the opposite direction?
-
And honestly, I don't know.
-
I think that perhaps being a cheerleader
and doing gymnastics and piano
-
while growing up,
-
these activities were
very structured and prescribed,
-
whereas this type of flow art
seemed like a form of meditation
-
but with a focus on fire --
-
this thing that scared me
so deeply for my entire life.
-
After that first time practicing,
-
my friend and I cobbled together
our own sets of homemade poi
-
using socks, shoelaces and tennis balls.
-
We did not light shoelaces
and socks on fire,
-
we just used it for the practice part.
-
But after returning home to Michigan,
-
we decided to buy
our own sets of actual fire poi.
-
And after a few months,
-
we decided that we were ready
to light them on fire.
-
We bundled up in cotton layers,
-
got a fire extinguisher,
-
wet a towel for safety,
-
prepared our fuel,
-
gave each other a very energetic
pep talk and high five,
-
and lit those poi on fire.
-
It was terrifying.
-
Half of my brain was freaking out
-
and thinking, OK, wait,
-
maybe we need to think about this.
-
We should probably stop.
-
The sound of the fire
as it whooshed by my head
-
was incredibly loud
-
and brought me right back to my childhood.
-
But it was also incredibly exhilarating.
-
The other half of my brain,
-
the creative half was thinking:
-
I can't believe it,
-
I'm a fire dancer.
-
For anyone who spins,
-
there's a level of adrenaline
-
or that rush of fire dancing,
-
but as someone whose life
had been so greatly impacted by fire,
-
I also felt an immense sense
of empowerment
-
at being able to control
and manipulate fire.
-
I made a conscious decision
to step out of my grief.
-
It was not easy.
-
There's a Nirvana lyric that says
"I miss the comfort of being sad,"
-
and that was exactly it.
-
I was in control of my sadness.
-
I knew what it would bring to me
-
and I knew what to expect,
-
but I also knew deep down
-
that eventually I had to do
that really hard work
-
of trying to heal from my past.
-
So I kept practicing.
-
I took a plastic grocery bag,
-
cut it into strips,
-
tied it to the ends of those poi
-
and used it to replicate
the sound of the fire
-
as it went past my head.
-
And I kept lighting the poi on fire.
-
At some point, something shifted.
-
My perspective on fire dancing changed
-
from something that I was
apprehensive about
-
to something that brought
me a sort of peace.
-
Without realizing it,
-
I had initiated my own form
of exposure therapy.
-
An actual type of psychotherapy
-
where you deliberately expose yourself
to things that have caused you trauma
-
or scare you.
-
I'd exposed myself to fire
in this very unique way
-
and had transformed what it meant to me.
-
My nightmares slowed down
-
and now years later have stopped
almost completely.
-
I started fire dancing not just for myself
but at events and performances.
-
I started a fire troop with friends
while living in Dubai,
-
created beautiful art with my sister
who became a photographer,
-
taught children how to spin
at birthday parties,
-
performed onstage and at festivals
-
and even taught my own children
the basics of spinning.
-
And that's not to say
-
that I don't still have
an apprehension to fire in general.
-
I can practice a move a million times,
-
but then when I try it with fire,
-
I feel that familiar panic
and tightening in my chest.
-
I'm still apprehensive about living
in a two-story house
-
or having a fireplace.
-
Every night before I go to sleep,
-
I clear a path between
my kids' bedroom doors,
-
our bedroom door
-
and all the exit doors
-
in case we need to leave quickly.
-
And it's taken me a long time
to get onboard
-
with the idea of closing
bedroom doors at night
-
to slow down a fire,
-
because I'd always thought if I closed
my kids' bedroom doors,
-
I might not be able to hear them
like my mom heard me.
-
And of course this is my story;
-
I can't say that I have the answer
-
for someone with a different
kind of trauma.
-
If the situation had been reversed
-
and I'd lost a child in a fire,
-
I'm not sure that fire dancing
would be the answer
-
or if I'd even have the capacity
to get near fire again.
-
But what I can say from my own experience
-
is that after experiencing
a trauma or hardship,
-
you have a choice between two paths:
-
one path will lead you to a life
of fear and cowering in the darkness
-
like that black-and-white painting
I described earlier.
-
You might move on with life,
-
but at the same time you're still clinging
to that sadness that brings you comfort.
-
The other path --
-
stepping out of grief --
-
will not change or undo anything.
-
It will be hard.
-
It will always be hard,
-
with high mountains
and deep, dark valleys,
-
but this path looks forward
and moves forward.
-
When I learned to dance with fire,
-
I learned to reconcile
the traumatic part of my life
-
with the totality of my life
as it was still unfolding.
-
Fire became more than just trauma
-
but beauty and art as well:
-
everything, all at once,
-
just like life,
-
flickering and smoldering
-
and burning and dazzling.
-
And somehow in the middle of it,
-
finding a way to dance ...
-
me.
-
Thank you.