Last September when I was unpacking from our move from Logan, I found a box of pretty things. My ballet clothes.
I pulled them out, one-by-one, looked at my body and cried. I threw them back into the tote and exclaimed, "I am so over being fat!! I want to dance again! When I lose weight I'm going to take ballet again."
Today, about 25 pounds later I pulled them out again, only to sigh for monetary reasons.
I want to dance again. Not only to wear the pretty things, but to dance. It's in my blood. I love water and I love to dance. These two things sustain my happiness. Whenever this song comes on, I dance around the tiny corridors of our bed and walls and Belle looks at me with a "Mommy, be careful!" expression.
I started ballet at three and stopped when I was 17. A course schedule full of college-credit and AP classes plus a job and applying for every scholarship in the world didn't allow for ballet AND art classes. Art was cheaper. But I cried.
I started taking adult ballet up in Logan when we first got married. I loved it. Spencer would pick me up from class on his motorcycle and we'd laugh because it was so Center Stage. He even got to see me perform in a recital. But I had to stop when I got too sick. And I cried.
While my parents waited for me, they spent the years from 20-25 by buying and decorating a house, buying a boat, traveling, and my mom took calligraphy and porcelain doll making classes. My mom always told me it made the waiting a little easier. I always figured that's what I would do too.
Then, I grew up, went to college, got married, and the economy said, "Eff you!" Life doesn't always work out how you planned. Remember that post on finding joy in where I am right now? I'm still working on it. Maybe it's the lack of that tub that's getting me...