Dance

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I Miss . . . Me

Screen Shot 2016-05-20 at 11.37.56 PMThe girl I used to be (okay, ‘girl’ might be a bit generous) has been AWOL for some time. The kid who sang, not perfectly but at least on key, and loved to dance could be a lot of fun. Divorce, single motherhood, and a lot of tough times shaped her appreciation for every and all moments of joy. As she slowly discovered her true self, she kinda liked what she found but she also uncovered a healthy dose of protective skepticism. That skepticism might have precluded the urgency to get married again — but one guy blew all her fears out of the water. And despite her best efforts, she became a wife again.

Even with the boatload of medical challenges that came with our “I do’s”, I was suddenly, unequivocally and authentically happy. That is until the one night the man whose unconditional, profound love made me a believer — died in a heartbeat. The love boat I had neatly packed with all I had become — capsized. And I’ve pounded the treadmill of ‘what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger’ ever since.

Yet, if I had to take my emotional temperature right now, I’m not sure I could decipher the results. I’ve never been here before. But, as Lewis Carroll said “I can’t go back to yesterday because I was a different person then”. Duh. Since that terrible October night, Pollyanna has been in full makeover mode and it’s not always pretty. That’s not to say I don’t grudgingly appreciate the woman I’ve been slowly becoming; she’s actually not all that bad, sometimes even bordering on cool. Her head is a little messy sometimes (I don’t mean just my hair; my war with that is legendary) and at moments, she can get a little off-track and teary. But with no Fodor’s guide for grief, she’s doing the best she can. She may not be crushing it but she’s doing pretty damn good at practicing.

Married life is never static — for anyone. It doesn’t hold steady at one temperature every single day. The changing weather of just being human makes sure life isn’t a constant fluffy bliss ball. Sometimes you have to pinch yourself for the profound happiness right next to you; other times the pinch is more like ‘what was I thinking’. In the end, the right marriage to the right person is a ride you never want to end. That’s why it sucks the big one when it does. Continue reading →

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Shall We Dance?

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I’m pretty sure when I was born, I was rockin’ to the beat in the delivery room. A typical tutu-craving little kid, I started ballet at 4 years old, and made toe shoe status by 10. Today I might be pirouette-challenged but the need to move it, move it is still instinctive, a fact that always (and gleefully) embarrassed my once-upon-a-time teenage kids.

Though I may now groove a little differently, one dance rule will always be carved in stone. When you trip the light fantastic – don’t step on anyone’s toes. From the nervous 13 year-old partners of my youth to men keeping up with my spontaneous footwork, I’ve always tried not to plant my size 7 ½’s on theirs. It’s just well, awkward.

Speaking of awkward, there’s no place more critical for well-placed steps than today’s political landscape. Walking into that minefield, it’s a good idea to tread carefully. The more I read Facebook posts or talk with friends and family, I realize stepping carefully is more than just a decent social tip. No matter how correct your dance moves are, smashing someone’s toe in the process is never the best idea.

Shot through with quicksand and sudden storms, today’s politics have spawned very contentious differences in thought, belief, need and fear. You have to be really quick on your feet to avoid falling into a sink hole. Skillful choreography can help circumvent  a spiraling tornado of words though it might not change the deeper divide. The growing chasm will take real thought to maneuver. I’m not talking about having rational,honest answers, standing up for rights, and even fighting for them. You go! I’m talking about remembering what we valued, cherished before we stepped onto this new dance floor, which can be a really slippery place. Continue reading →