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.)