Mia Michaels - A Unicorn in a World of Donkeys: A Guide to Life for All the Exceptional, Excellent Misfits Out There

T HE WORLD WORSHIPS THE ORIGINAL.

Unicorns are the originals of the universe.

I am one of them.

Nothing about my life has been normal. Its certainly not normal to have had model parentsand, by model, I definitely dont mean perfect. My parents were actual models, beautiful hippies from the 1960s. My father, Joe Michaels, was the original square-jawed, flinty-eyed Marlboro Man with a mustache, a cowboy hat, a horse, and, of course, the cigarette. My mom, Ruth Johnson, was one of the Bunnies at the original Playboy Club in Miami Beach. She had sexy Swedish curves and platinum blonde hair that fell all the way down to her cottontail. The Marlboro Man and the Playboy Bunny met at a nightclub in Manhattan one random night, and didnt leave each others side for the next fifty years, which isnt so normal either these days.

After fleeing the predatory world of modeling in New York, my parents left the city behind and followed the sun all the way down to Coconut Grove, Florida, to find whatever work they could, which, ironically, turned out to be more modeling. My sister, Dana, was born first, followed by me three and a half years later. At the time, my parents lived on a houseboat called The Meatball (they had meatballs in common, culturally: Dads family was Italian and Moms was Swedish). My nickname from infancy was Bam Bam, like the Flintstones character, because of my supernatural strength. Mom told stories about seeing the furniture suddenly start moving, and then finding me in diapers behind it, pushing my little heart out with one hand while sucking my thumb with the other.

The Meatball wasnt much more than a floating shack, and even my antiestablishment parents didnt think it was a safe place to raise a young family after I threw myself in the bay from my high chair. Soon enough we moved to dry land, to a house that was, we would soon learn, haunted with ghosts and spirits. Most of the mysterious noises and moving or disappearing objects were in the living room. At night, you could hear the sound of glasses tinkling and people laughing, as if there was a perpetual, spectral cocktail party in there. Totally true story: when we moved out several years later, the new owner called my dad and said hed been doing some renovations. Then he asked, Did you know a steel pentagram was built into the roof? Uh, no. Mom did a little research and we found out the house had been originally designed and constructed by a medical doctor who was known to be a practicing warlock. He regularly held parties and sances for his coven in the living room where we heard all those ghostly party noises. In this haunted house, I spent the formative years of my life.

So not normal.

In my very early years, I wore metal braces on my legs and special shoes on my feetaka, the Forrest Gump kiss of death. I had an uncommon (but not unheard of) childhood limb growth discrepancy. My hip, leg, and feet bones werent developing at the same rate, making one foot bigger, and my hips turned inward. Walking was difficult, and my movements were jerky and spastic. To go anywhere, just walking across the room or down the hallway at school, I had to fight for every inch of progress. Remember, this was in Florida, where wearing long, heavy pants to hide the braces wasnt a practical option.

My looks were always considered bizarre. I was taller and thicker than anyone in my class, including the boys. The other kids looked at me like I was an alien with my odd physical strength. I once picked a girl up and threw her into a wall for stealing my teddy bear. (She never touched my teddy bear again!) So, when the other kids called me a retard and fatso they did it from a safe distance.

Needless to say, I didnt have a lot of friends. I learned very early on that the strangest, most misunderstood, least apologetic person in the room is usually her own best company.

I LEARNED VERY EARLY ON THAT THE STRANGEST, MOST MISUNDERSTOOD, LEAST APOLOGETIC PERSON IN THE ROOM IS USUALLY HER OWN BEST COMPANY.

When my parents gave up modeling for good and supported their family by getting real jobs, they didnt get normal ones, like teacher or lawyer. Dad, whod never danced professionally, decided to open a dance studio in our new house, and Mom sat at the front desk and managed the place. Hed always been a dance lover, taking Dana and me to New York City every year for a week of Broadway shows, dance performances, and ballets. I was rapturously entranced by the ballerinas and fantasized about becoming one, despite my physical problems and my unusual size. I developed excellent technique from growing up in a dance studio my whole childhood. When I turned twelve, my well-meaning teachers at the after-school arts program thought I was too fat and rebellious to be a ballerina. They advised me of the only realistic options: (1) starve myself, or (2) quit ballet. I could have food or my dream, but not both.

At this point, the normal thing to do for a big-boned girl like me would have been to quit ballet in frustration and resentment, hate myself, and go crawl under a rock (a large one). I was a great dancer, I just didnt look like one. I couldnt let my dream die without a fight, though, so I tried starvation on and off for a solid week. Needless to say, severe calorie restriction didnt last. I love food way too much. In a fit of frustration with not losing weight and my disgust with required thinness, I stopped dieting and dancing in one fell swoop.

To fill the vacuum that quitting created, I hung out with the wrong crowd and did drugs. My wasted teenage years stand as the most self-destructive and confused time of my life. I lost my center, a sense of who I was, and spun wildly out of control, even dropping out of high school just a few weeks before graduation. My parents kept telling me that my life didnt make sense without dance because I had a calling, and they were right. With my options limited, I grudgingly put my leotards back on and started teaching classes at Dads studio. Rediscovering my first love felt like a homecoming. I got myself back together, I went back to school and earned my GED and threw myself into a renewed life, with dance and creativity at its core.