by Christina Carson
|All Life Dances|
With the days acting a tad more like spring, at least in the South, and a reasonable feeling of commitment from the weather that it is not going to freeze our bums off yet again, this seems a fairer question than it might have a month ago. Are you ready? Here goes. What does your dance of life look like? Or better yet, which one of these little tads is you?
I hate to say it but years ago, I was definitely the child on the right, working so blinking hard to do it right, to follow the rules, to please my keepers. As time went on, I started collecting the alleged rewards of that choice, feeling increasingly trapped by the whole affair. Then one day I started pushing the lines further apart until they wouldn't move any further. At that point, I jumped outside of them. At 20 it was quite an adventure. At 50 it was scary as hell. At 68, I now dance down my street after coming in from a run, ipod providing the music, my heart dreaming up the steps. For a while, I feared the neighbors catching sight of me. Now I don’t care. We didn't come here to follow anyone else’s moves, we came here to figure out our own steps and dance for our lives. Go take one more look at that little gal who hasn't agreed to the rules yet. May she carry that joie de la vie through the rest of her life.
With thanks and love to my young friend, Adrienne, who saw this and sent it to her dance-loving friend – so I could embarrass her yet again with my spontaneous high-stepping.
Keep an eye out. Within the month, I will publish my latest endeavor, a trilogy entitle
Accidents of Birth. Three years in the writing, it’s finally done. If you think you've known someone who knows how to live and love, wait until you met Miss Imogene Ware.