How Did I End Up Here? -OR- Was It Really That Simple?

So apparently I have a blog. This blog to be precise. When was someone going to get around to telling me about it? Must I do -everything- for myself?

Sigh.

There has been even more change in my life since the last time I remembered I had a blog; I'm teaching Pilates, starting a new job in less than two weeks, turned 29, and came to the startling and shocking realisation* that Letting Go is more simple than I thought (though Simple is NOT the same thing as Easy).

I keep expecting to have a moment (or few) when I feel as if I've Finally Arrived. And maybe a small parade and orchestra concert (marching bands just aren't my style) to welcome the Moment. But I'm beginning to suspect it doesn't work this way.

There was no parade when I was 17 and backstage tying up my pointe shoes, while a very young dancer passed by with her mother who commented on my pointe shoes to her tiny daughter; yet that was the moment when I realised* that I had reached my goal as a ballerina - I was dancing a recital en pointe (just barely).

Neither was there any fanfare this past Monday when I had a really fabulous Pilates session with my client and was able to help her feel ten times better than when she had walked in the door. It has been absolutely amazing to see peoples' bodies respond to my suggestions and corrections, and to know that I'm making a true, positive difference in their lives. I've had several clients tell me that after a session with me, they've been pain free for several days. A lot of this is the brilliance of the method, but I like to think that I'm contributing a bit as well.

And just think: if I hadn't been told in May that I was going to be laid off in October/November, I probably never would have done my Pilates training. And it turned out that I wasn't let go, but was actually offered my job back, though I have since found another job that better suits my career goals.
(Yes, there's more, but "there's a lot to be said for not saying a lot".) It's amazing how much God provides for us once we learn to stop clutching to the things we think we want. The trouble is that I'm really quite good at clutching; hopefully that's a habit I can continue to unlearn.



*I figured out how to switch the native spelling on my iPhone to British English. Joy!! Now there's no angry red line whenever I write about the vivid colour of the theatre. The only downside is the deep rooted fear of the letter "Z" that the British have. They don't even call it "zee", they call it "zed". I have no idea why. Guess even a genuine British accent doesn't make you perfect.

(However, if you are a single gentleman under the age of 40 with said genuine British accent, do not despair. We can still work something out.)

It's not Me, it's Me -OR- A side of Perspective

To say that I have never dealt well with change is an understatement.

I don't even like carrying it in my wallet.

If change were the remnants of Rohan (and the Dúnedain) at Helm's Deep, then my acceptance of it is the Uruk Hai army raging at it: ugly, and ultimately futile.

There are so many things changing in my life at the moment, most of which I have no control over. I wear myself to the breaking point stressing over why things must be this way. I know I shouldn't, but knowing and feeling are such vastly different things for me.

I feel rejected, as if I'm not good enough to be wanted. Almost like the broken doll who must sit on the shelf and collect dust as she watches the other toys go off into the world to be loved.

(I really do struggle with tying words to my deepest emotions. It's why I dance - it's so much easier to bare my soul without this clunky medium.)

But for all the drama, there is hope, and I find it in the smallest (and not so Small) things.

And somehow, through all the bumps and heartaches and just plain bad times, I think I have not changed for the worst. I'm still a slightly broken doll, but I have not forgotten how to dance.

"The only thing for certain is that nothing stays the same,
And falling down's as common as the rain ."
-David Wilcox

She's Going to Make It After All -OR- Getting (out of) My Own Way

Happy New Year!

Having recently moved into an apartment, I have made a shocking discovery:

I am not the only person in the Universe.

Did you know about this? I was freaked out at first, but then I realized that just because there are other people on the planet, it doesn't follow that they're as important as me. This was a great comfort.

I think I may need to do a series of essays on Tolkien's masterpiece soon. Apparently, these other people do not know about the history of the Numenorians, and that's only the beginning of their Middle Earth ignorance. (Clearly other people are not as awesome, either.)

Oh, and January being so last century was so last decade. Just FYI.

A red letter day -OR- What is this world coming to

Something happened last week that was so life-altering that I felt compelled to take a break from the hectic month that is National Novel Writer's Month and tell you about it.

Last week, I actually learned something at work.

It's astonishing, I know. Surely by now I should have my own reality TV show and not have to actually work for a living, right? Sadly not. Maybe I just need to change my last name to that of an alien race from Star Trek. Like what's-her-face from Keeping Up With The Cardassians. Suggestions welcome.


Last week I was talking with Cool Co-Worker (note that this is a pseudonym and not just merely an adjective phrase) and somehow elements came into the conversation (I don't quite remember how). Cool Co-Worker (or Apple Dude, as he was referred to himself in his blog, which you should go read, though I don't have formal permission to link to it, but you should still go read it. Google it) mentioned something about Californium.

TallIntel: Wait, you mean that's real?

AppleDude: It is indeed. (and he sent me the wikipedia article to prove it)

TallIntel: Wow! I thought that it was just something Tom Lehr made up in his song about the periodic table of elements. More obscure music stuff. I'm a bit of an amature musicologist

AppleDude: ? Musicologist?

TallIntel: It's every bit as real as Californium (I sent him the wikipedia article to prove it)

AppleDude: You know, that's funny, because Californium does not occur naturally...

TallIntel: Well, the only known specimens of Musicologist have been bred in captivity. Oh sure, there are rumors of sightings of Wild Musicologists, but no one's ever seen one

AppleDude: Poor captive musicologists. Bred to wither and die in a cage...

TallIntel: They don't really wither. Not unless someone plays Katy Perry music

The preceding was an approximate recreation of an actual conversation. In reality, AppleDude was funnier, but I can only remember the funny stuff that I said. No big surprise there.

Cats -OR- Doctor Dolittle, I'm not

First Jo asks for Seagulls, then Lee asked for Cats.

I'm not very good with animals, people. There's a reason why I didn't marry that shepard (besides the fact that he didn't ask). Trust me on this.

But I approve of cats. Anything with such a deeply rooted superiority complex is alright with me. Besides, without cats, we'd have no LolCatz or kittens.

But then we wouldn't have The Musical That Shall Not Be Named.

Well, no one is perfect.

Regarding Jonathan -OR- The Seagull, not the Tenor

Really, Jo. I think you've got it backwards. Penguins are the evil ones, not seagulls.

Seagulls are just misunderstood.

They're really very gentle creatures. When they knock you down and peck you viciously with their sharp beaks until you give them your muffin, car keys and deed to your house, what they're really saying is "I want to be your friend."

Really.

(And there's also the teeny tiny fact that seagulls actually live here, unlike penguins, and are all probably reading this on their purloined - I mean entirely legally obtained- iPads.)

Seagulls are our friends!

Well, it was almost a month... -OR- Something

So, I didn't make it the entire month of June.

I'm going to blame something for this, don't worry. How 'bout Global Warming? That's a popular one.

And just a head's up, I won't be blogging in November, but I will be writing the Great Meredithian Novel (not to be confused with the Great American Novel. This has more greatness, trust me).

Also, I really think I'm allergic to work. Or maybe I'm just allergic to people.