It is with a full belly of cultural amalgamation (bits of taco, bits of paella and bits of chinese noodles anyone?) that I sit down tonight to write and reflect about small things to be grateful for. I do realise this is alarming. I, the resident creep with a penchant for filling my nostrils with assorted objects, want to discuss things beyond my apparent maturity level? Yes. Hear me out.
I came home tonight from my routine Sunday night salsa class. Having tried my hand (well, foot) in salsa sometime in October, I've now been at it for about six months. I don't leave straight after my Level 4 class wraps up. I like to stay on for the next class, the beginner class, because I like to brush up on my skills. A new routine is taught every week, and Level 3's routine tonight was the very same routine from my 2nd ever Level 3 class. I remember being a clusterfuck that night - a vicious cycle of wayward limbs and the associated shame. I refer to that was the worst night of dancing I ever had - I was completely and utterly off my game, it was like I was gearing up for baseball... in a synchronised swimming arena. I don't take well to mediocrity, let alone failure, so I sulked my way home that night. I didn't end up coming back for weeks.
After biting the bullet and strapping on my dancing shoes - first my left foot, then my other left foot, I eventually came back. And tonight, after laying that old grievance to rest for months, it resurrected itself, and I looked it right in the eye as I grabbed it by the proverbial balls.
I could not believe how naturally the dance flowed. My feet, my hips, my smile... tonight just seemed privy to this language I had only ever heard in whispers. And I said a silent plea of thanks to the universe - for feeling so careless but simultaneously so attune to the rhythm, and for the wisdom brought on by fulfilled perseverance. We fail, we learn, we grow. I learned this tonight. So I guess my point in sharing this is to hammer in that age old adage of "never giving up". It's cheesy, yes, but I ain't ever gon' complain about extra mozarella in my four-cheese pasta!
And in other news, I finally cashed in my music store voucher that my Momma bestowed upon me during Christmas festivities. I have been unable to let go of my new steel string bad-ass-black Takamine. It still is yet to be named. Suggestions?
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And it's the season of lent. I've been tossing up between giving up either a) men or b) chocolate, but this is proving to be an epic struggle. I have decided then that the only rational thing would be to compromise... and so it is that I shall be giving up c) chocolate covered men. I am freaking Mohammed! And if Mohammed don't go to the Mountain, the Mountain better go to Mohammed. And damnit the Mountain bows to me this time. He bows, alright.
Posted in:
babyporridge,
i can be profound sometimes,
nikki malvar
on
Sunday, March 13, 2011
at
at
10:29 PM