Fear and Other F-Bombs

I dropped the “F Bomb” at my dance class tonight.  Eyebrows went up in surprise as I bobbed up and down, taking terrified, tentative steps across the studio floor. My reflection wavered before me as I teetered on the edge of complete meltdown.  A surge of tears threatened to surface – horrified, I held it in, forcing a small, tight smile upon my lips.  All class, I struggled.  I couldn’t do it.  Every instinct was telling me to leave, to stop, to admit defeat, and in that moment, I couldn’t for the life of me, comprehend why I would ever put myself through feeling this shitty on purpose. Tonight was awful.  It was so hard to keep going, to keep trying despite how embarrassed I was.  I know that’s the point.  I know that’s why I’m doing it.  It’s about not being controlled by fear.

Speaking of “f words,” I have been discovering a new freedom.  My art class has allowed me to discover a deeper enjoyment of drawing, that it is meditative and calming.  I was drawing till 4 a.m. the other night and I didn’t even notice.   In those hours, I was drawing, nothing else.  I wasn’t reflecting or worrying or feeling anything other than the pencil in my hand.  It’s a great change from feeling inundated by my thoughts and emotions.

On the cooking front, two of my keepers came over last week and we cooked dinner together.  It was impromptu and instigated by my keepers, so I’m not sure if it really counts towards my cooking project.  I am hoping to get started on my cooking project plan/schedule in the next couple weeks.  Not quite ready to update you on the writing project, but I promise it’s still part of the plan!

Despite tonight’s difficulties, this week has a lightness to it.  I feel better. There’s more room to breathe.  When I was a little girl, I asked my dad what happened to a friend of his who had recently died.  “He forgot to breathe,” my dad replied. Makes sense, I had thought, feeling completely satisfied with his explanation.  I, of course, figured out later that he was trying to make light of the situation by making a joke, but these days, his words have more truth than he intended.  I think I forget to breathe all the time; physically, emotionally and spiritually (which, according to dad, is probably why I’ve almost died a few times). Yes, I know, it’s a convenient metaphor with all it’s zen, meditative blah blah blah connotations, but it helps me put things into perspective.  There is a feeling of  “inbetween” to my life right now, of a never ending sense of transition, of trying to get beyond this point to something else, but this is it.  I’m there.  I’m here. I need to get that through my head.  It all goes back to making things simple, that when you think about it, living your life starts with remembering to breathe.

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