Saturday, June 8, 2013

720 BATHING SUITS AND BALLET :)


Ahhh!  Success—another reason to smile :)

Oh the courage it takes to walk into this little shop of horrors! :)


Since I'd found a suit that suited me, last year, why would I squeeze myself through the ringer, again?  For this reason:  Whenever a perfect suit calls your name, you answer the phone, because of how rarely perfection rings our chimes :)


Amazing ... the effect on most women of all ages ... this trying experience of trying on bathing suits ... yes it's that time of year, again—most especially in the sun beaten desert—where the only time we're outside in summer for longer than several minutes is when we're in the pool, and though I'm most commonly seen in jeans, I've not figured out how to take a dip dressed in denim, without someone calling the men in little white coats :)

Had I known the traumas of bathing suit shopping at five, I'd have followed my ballet teacher's instructions instead of twirling and improvising in class on my own.  Upon hearing the instructor state that Annie repeatedly distracts the others and perhaps is not cut out for dancing class—Mom chose to end my formal instruction.

Holy cow—insight leaping out, twirling high in the air, plain to be seen!  So that's why I'd thought myself a 'bad' dancer until a friend and I enrolled in tap, about sixteen years ago, and much to my delight, I followed instruction, kept in time with the beat and loved every—shuffle ball change—until ... we advanced to the intermediate class and truly could not keep up once the tempo had picked up the pace.  In our beginner's class, where elementary steps had been taught, the pace had been just our speed, meaning that having been at LEAST twenty years older than anyone else hadn't mattered a bit.  Once everyone had mastered the basic elements of tap and the pace picked up, my friend and I, dancing as fast as we could, couldn't catch our breath to save our lives... Literally :) Think Lucy and Ethel, gasping for air, toes tapping ten steps behind a row of synchronized dancers, who'd had no trouble keeping in time with the rest of the line :)

As this breathless state took place at a time when I was still power walking with a neighbor, down hill skiing, working with weights and walking the treadmill ... any hope for improvement seemed irrational beyond belief.  Thank goodness, this mindful decision to quit dancing class felt bright unlike last time, which had been darkly perceived by my five year old mind as a sure sign of failure.

Anyway ... the fact that a dancer's body was not to be mine placed me in the bell shaped curve along with most women, who openly discuss the element of trauma associated with bathing suit drama, which has been evident long before Miriam entered the Nile to fetch the original Moses basket.


To my knowledge, the only women not traumatized by trying on bathing suits are dancers, athletes and stick-thin models, aged nineteen and younger.  As for the rest of the untoned bell shaped curve, we've got extra curves here or there that only the 'perfect' suit can help us to abide while turning this way and that, checking ourselves out before a full length mirror, in the little shop of horror's dressing room  :)

Since this particular suit had winked at me from the window of the shop at a time when my leg was in sorry need of elevating, I came home and with leg perched on pillow, called Angie.  Angie, I think the perfect bathing suit called out to me, today—want to go back with me, tomorrow?  As tomorrow has a habit of turning into today, Moral Support drove over, picked me up and thank goodness, I'd mustered courage to spare, because upon walking into the little shop of horrors not only did that perfect suit prove to be
 mine but the timeing was perfect as well, because my plan to synchronize swim with aqua pro exerciser in Angie's pool headlines twice weekly on Monday and Thursday nights after the worst of the heat lets up :)

Sigh—if only I'd have stayed on my toes, dancing in time to instructor's baton during my youth a toned body would have been mine, but—oh well—what's past is past, and if not the perfect body at least the perfect suit that fits my shape is mine, and—breathless or not—insight into why I'd considered myself a 'bad' dancer since the impressionable age of five has emerged, proving the benefits that penning this post provides concerning gaining awareness into my enjoyment of shuffle ball change, which offered me the opportunity to change a negative perception for a positive attitude that lightens my spirit with each word I write.

Good thing I chose to listen up and change my attitude when pleas of niece and cousin implored me to set writing book aside in favor of scribing blog, which opens my mind, daily, to insight into limited perceptions, which create a gaggle of personal limitations in need of reconsidered expansion.

During all of the years that countless men swept me across dance floor after dance floor, I feared stepping on their feet.  With no clue as to why fear interfered with pure dancing pleasure, I'd no antidote to remedy that mental dis/ease.  Whenever the comments of observers suggested my movements as light as a feather, I'd laugh and dismiss their perceptions as daft.  When men, much older than I had mentioned delight in watching me dance, I'd opened my arms and asked them to join in the fun.  Oh no!  They'd reply.  I can't lead a woman who dances as well as you do.  At that I'd laugh, again, and reply.  I don't dance well—I just follow and step on my partners' toes, all the time.  Then they'd laugh and not believe the fact that every word I'd spoken felt true—through and through.

At five, I thought of myself as a 'bad' dancer.
At fifty I took tap and found out that which observers had seen for years ...
I danced just fine :)

Recently, I danced with pure enjoyment at beloved nephew's wedding ...

While writing this post I can see how thinking myself a bad girl had tossed confusion into the mix, and confusion reigned over reason until I became aware of the subconscious reason why I saw myself as a bad dancer—today :)

Hmmm—if one insight leads to another, then perhaps it pays to wonder when I first felt bad while trying on bathing suits—I mean if that moment in time ever comes to mind, perhaps thoughts of walking into the little shop of horror will stop tormenting my sense of well being, as well! :)

Wait—perhaps I don't need to know what that first reason was.  Perhaps I just need to reconsider how I want to feel about myself as a wholestarting right now!

Uhhhh—I just felt something shift—kind of lift—inside my head—wonder if whatever seems to have lifted will prove to be a shift in—attitude ... :)

I AM WOMAN
HEAR ME SING
OF AWARENESS SMITING FEAR
SEE MY SPIRIT DANCE
WITH THE LIGHTNESS OF PLEASURE
PLAIN AND PURE!

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