On Being Born With Two Ears and a (Fairly) Small Nose

Okay, so that title really has nothing to do with nothing.

Other than my boredom.  Which I guess is something.

I have made several interesting discoveries that I am forced to admit to–including one about boredom, which is that it is really just a lack of motivation on my part–esepcially considering the whole art studio of a room I have in the too much space for too much money I am currently living in…

Back to the subject.

So I discovered last night in the middle of clumsying about the dance studio floor that I have not lost it.

That is, the awkwardness that turned me shy so many moons ago.

Oh my gosh, I felt like I was in my 9th grade Sunday School fashion show.  There are pictures I won’t publicly share but per chance you find your way to my high school scrapbook you will see: me in neon plaid Skidz (remember those!) with the equally bright blouse (tucked in only the front as was required of wannabe fashionistas of the time) and the big ta-da: my hand covering my mouth and my head nearly bowed (that was shaped into of all tragedies: a female version of a high  top fade) as if that bowed head and nail bitten hand would be enough to hide me from all the eyes watching me walk the runway with the grace and pace of a donkey trying to escape his chores.

Okay so maybe not that-t-t bad.  But truth is I have been ungraceful since Skippy was a pup.

If I walk slow enough (and I am molasses when it comes to the endeavor to hear my dad tell it), I can feign a facade of poise.  But dagnabbit (Aunt Sarah’s politeness for an exclamation less polite) last night was not good for my self esteem.  Not good.

I mean, the next Debbie Allen, Katherine Dunham, Judith Jamison, nor my homegirl Raina did I ever expect to become.  But golly gee, I didn’t realize how quickly a girl can forget to stay humble after one too many good plies and a nice sweat after Kou-Kou.

Let me tell you: I was ready for my reverence last night.  But, you know what, like the remedial student I am I stayed after class for a “little extra help.”

Two bits of advice to self:
When you stumble, make it part of the dance.
Wild dreams are the only ones worth dreaming.

See you at the barre,
das

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