Do you ever feel like your life is barreling towards something and you're about to hit it head on and you still don't know what it is?
Yeah, that's me.
Today was the annual dance recital, but for the first time since fourth grade, not counting Bolivia, I wasn't in it. I did my best to be included but not annoying. I showed up at the same time as the performers and volunteered my expert bun-making services. I wielded hairspray like the pro that I am. I found loose strings to tuck in and runs in tights to stop with the ever-so-magical clear nail polish. And when I was done with all that I sat down in the audience and wondered what the heck I should do with my life.
Class after class, these beautiful, strong girls and boys sparkled and sweated and grinned onstage. Some looked scared, and more than one looked a little uncomfortable in their body/shoes/hair piece. Dance isn't always a beautiful experience for dancers. There were a couple of years that I cursed my body every time I had to get into a leotard. On the whole, however, it does wonders for them. It might be that when the lights mix with applause and strength, superheros are born. I have never felt so beautiful as I do on stage. Never so special. Never so wonderful. And there were a couple of people tonight that felt the same; I could tell.
I have a mental image of bricks flying at my head with words spray painted onto them: major, minor, school, degrees, money. And then a million question marked bricks. To avoid being knocked out/potentially killed, I jump side to side. I duck and weave and swerve. Maybe it's a dance. Maybe it's all dancing and that's what I should do.
The recital was beautiful. The dances were great. Could I create that experience for others? Should I go in for teaching? I'm not deciding yet.
