If you follow my blog regularly, you know I don’t get serious too often. Ever, really. A lot of bloggers are naturals at this stuff, but it is actually a real challenge for me to write about something serious, especially when it is about me. Humor is safe for me, while anything outside of that realm makes me feel extremely vulnerable. But, with everything going on during the week of a Becca on Fire, I not only have a little extra confidence in my fingertips, but I also feel that it is the perfect opportunity to open up a bit to my readers. So, here goes my attempt to inspire.
Before I began writing this post, I sat with a blinking cursor on the left side of my screen and the “about me” page of my blog on the right side of the screen.
I’m only good at funny. That’s what I do. It is easy to be funny. For me. Shit, this is going to be more of a challenge than I thought. I can’t even inspire Jack to poop inside the litter box, so what can I possibly have to write about inspiration? Oh well, just write.
After all of that staring, I noticed something about how I describe myself. Take a look at my “about me” page. I begin by proudly acknowledging a very important part of what makes me Becca. I was a dancer.
For seventeen years, I was first and foremost, a dancer. Make that a great dancer. A passion that consumes you for such a long period of time is hard to shake and even harder to accept that you must shake, which was apparent by the blurb I’d written. So, I guess I should more accurately say that what I was looking at was a statement about what used to make me Becca.
Before anyone ever put the notion in my head that making a profession of performing arts was “impractical,” I never thought twice about any other course for my life. I entered college as a dance major, was an important member of the college dance team, and had every intention of performing until my age got the best of me (at which point I planned to teach). Everyone knew me as the dancer even if they didn’t know me at all. That is how integral it was to my identity.
After about a year in college, I began to realize that the performing arts program I was in was not up to par with my experience level. This is not a case of my comedic ego either, the program was simply a joke. A cop-out for lazy freshmen who would rather mock an art form than write an essay. On top of that, my parents continually dropped not-so-subtle hints that I may want to consider a different calling. Something more lucrative.
It infuriated me that they didn’t get it. Get me. It infuriated me even more that I pretty much had no other option but to drop the program because of its lack in advancement. It was holding me back as a dancer. It infuriated me, because everyone would think I gave up on my passion to become an office drone (at the thought of which nauseated me).
Before I knew it, I was a performing arts drop-out and a month from being another indifferent graduate of the school of business. What happened? I over analyzed every incoming external influence telling me to cash out before I lost big, that’s what happened. That, stirred together with my own doubts and insecurities as a dancer. I didn’t want to start over at a new university, but I also couldn’t stay enrolled in the Ballet 101 classes that I took when I was three years old.
I had become the one thing that I had almost forgotten I’d sworn not to be, Miss play-it-safe. Sure, I’d find a job. That job would pay well enough for me to live as comfortably as I always have. People would see me as “successful”, but I wouldn’t stop thinking, “Is this it?”. I would eventually become that forty-year-old woman still bragging about how many pirouettes she could do twenty years ago while shamefully dodging conversation about her soul draining day job.
So, back to my “about me” page. Obviously, even five years since I have laced a pointe shoe, I am still coming to terms with “dancer” no longer being my main identifier. While I still have strong emotions associated with that time in my life, l do not regret the way everything panned out. I’ll tell you why. Then you can forget that I ever wrote anything so comically disappointing and go back to envisioning me in my underwear.
You see, had I not experienced this loss, I wouldn’t be here writing this. That’s right, I am tying this into writing, because that wasn’t predictable at all. The fact of it all, is that I could have made a career out of dance, but then I would have never known the dispassionate alternative that I experienced for several years after stepping out of that studio for the last time.
It is my strong belief that I would have eventually become complacent and dropped my dancing career out of pure inability to truly appreciate my love for it. I have been writing again for almost a year now, and because of this, I have the appreciation for writing that I never knew how to have for dance. And now I know what it is like to lose it.
So, while I no longer see dance in my future, what I do see in my future is a passion that is equally as important to me in a different way. Think of it in terms of relationships. You love and you lose. Those losses teach you to appreciate love for what it is. You then find love again in places that you never expected. You become enthralled again when you thought you never would. This time, you know to hold on to it. You know not to abandon it or take it for granted. And you won’t.
- A Red-Headed Woman (clownonfire.wordpress.com)
Well folks, it is official. I may die today. It doesn’t help that every time I glance at a clock I seem to always catch 9:11am/pm, but this is getting ridiculous. Alright, I agree death is a little extreme, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I land face down in some freshly splattered cement or catch a pipe to the dome at some point today. I do work in a construction shop after all. I think I will just sit in my office with a neon fluorescent hard hat planted on my head and call it a day. Just not move an inch. I certainly will not accept any date requests from men named Jason tonight (like I get asked on dates by anyone under fifty anyway, pshh). In all seriousness though, I am pretty elated that I have almost hit 1000 page views Read the rest of this entry
I was a complete slacker this weekend on the blog front. Hey, it was Easter weekend after all wasn’t it? Considering I had been looking forward to a three-day weekend so longingly, I was a bit disappointed. For starters, there wasn’t much going on. I had been fantasizing about activities in my head that I was going to partake in, none of which happened. Most friends were out of town visiting family, seeing the significant other, or working (shudder). This is a familiar scenario for me. Let me explain.
When there is a free day off of work, a party, an event, or anything that is particularly worthy of anticipating with excitement, it never seems to go as intended. This comes from building up expectations, in this weekend’s instance – a three-day weekend non stop fun fest. When expectations fail to come to fruition, I end up feeling… blah. Every time this happens I recognize it immediately, nonetheless I continue to do it. Time after time I build it up. Then, I started thinking about other little life lessons I never seem to learn from. Okay, more like lessons I do learn from but my brain chooses to perpetually ignore. Here are a few examples of this type of failing: Read the rest of this entry
(I’ll just apologize now, all my photos are taken from your basic Iphone 4. I am not a photographer, nor do I claim to be, but I will be taking a class soon. I Might purchase a decent camera while I am at it. Can’t hurt right?)
You are looking at my me spot. My sanctuary. Where the magic happens. The coma inducer. My office. My bed.
I have a pretty epic love affair with my bed. Just look at all those pillows. How could I not? My comforter has multiple personalities, and I am okay with it. One side is composed of a silk soft suede, while the other is a thick and coarse, yet gentle wool like material. When I get under those covers, it is like being stuffed in to one giant UGG boot. Back to the pillows. Those are the real seducers. There is almost a science I have developed to positioning my pillows for optimum slumber. As you can see in the picture, they are also very versatile. One moment they are my little spoon, and the next a desk. Impressive right? Read the rest of this entry
Promised mortifying childhood photo delivered in 3, 2,…
[Elementary School Choir circa 1998]
There I am. On the right. I’ll allow you time to compose yourself.
There was more than one surprise lurking in my inbox yesterday. The second surprise was a notification from Facebook informing me that my friend had posted this charming little photo of me from our fifth grade yearbook. What an action shot huh? While she didn’t take this particular photo herself, she does happen to be a photographer. She is in the inauguration of her photography career, and she takes some stunning photos. She has sense of humor on her as well. You can check her out here if interested.
Back to the performance. With my frizzy curls, bucked teeth, and what appears to be copious amounts of lip stick, I was obviously feeling no shame. In fact, these younger years seem to be the ones in which I was the boldest I’ve ever been. Today I won’t sing in front of anyone. Although I love to sing, if ever I am caught open mouthed, my lips immediately become negative and positive ended magnets. What happened between then and now? Well, I have a hunch about what halted my youthful audacity. Read the rest of this entry