My Grace is Gone

You killed it. I let you. Why? I suppose because it was easy to let someone take my passion and put it in the neat little box in which they best thought it fit, than to fight and try to prove myself to someone where there was no faith or respect. On either side.

We now have entered Nutcracker season. Beautiful tutus and little lambs stealing the show. I miss dancing. I miss it hard, hard, hard. There is something so satisfying about stretching your body in such a way that you feel the stretch from your fingertips down to your toes. Yeah...that feels nice. (ouchie, ouchie ouchie!) I loved to dance. I had found my center and a way to express myself that did not involve speaking out loud. Bliss.

But, you killed that love. And, I repeat, I let you. This was a two sided deal, the dissolution of my passion. You placed me where I could best suit your needs and never looked back. I knew there was absolutely no way to fight your compartmentalization of my life, especially when I wasn't 19 anymore and easily manipulated. So, you won. Sort of.

I still love dance. So, perhaps you seriously damaged it and sent my love to the intensive care unit, but you underestimated my ability to fight. For me - I fight. I do have that monkey heart, after all. I'm already on borrowed time - according to some doctors. Take that! HIYA!

The largest blessing of your compartmentalization was the continued development of my mind and my writing skills. I studied hard in my graduate program. I worked hard for people who actually recognized my potential and for this am a better, more accomplished individual in a lot of ways.

Had you not put me in that box, I would never had worked for the Amarillo Symphony. I would have never had the pleasure of meeting those wonderful patrons and Kimbo. Ahh...Kimbo. And of course, my lifelong friendships I developed from that job.

I would have never had the huevos to leave it all behind and move to New Orleans. Throw caution to the wind and KNOW we would land on our feet. I'm like a cat, you know. I almost always land on my feet.

So, in a way, thank you. Thank you for damaging that passion. I know that when I'm ready, I can step into a dance studio again and do just fine. You didn't teach me anything I didn't already know, except not to trust everyone who crosses my path. You didn't provide me with improved skills as a dancer. Those merits go to my previous teachers. They were awesome. They saw potential. And, they were kind.

Art is delicate. So are people. Please remember this as you continue on your journey of shaping young dancers and their dreams. You never know when these actions will turn around and bite you in the derriere.