My sister loves to dance. When she dances she displays a certain joyous abandon that is a delight to observe. You know, it’s one of those happenings that makes you happy because the person in the moment so obviously Is happy. And my vision of her dancing in a little Indian-Princess Halloween costume when she was probably about seven years old is the image that reminds me to act when the opportunity presents itself – before the moment is past.
So here’s the story. It’s Halloween in the mid-1960s in a small backwater Florida town. Enter a corny master-of-ceremonies urging a group of tiny ghosts and goblins, witches and black cats onto a stage for a costume contest. I was, as I think I was for much of my youth, dressed as the proverbial black cat. Mine was a fairly unimaginative costume that consisted of a black leotard with a tail pinned to my backside and some eyebrow-penciled whiskers drawn at the base of my nose.
It was my sister, costumed as an Indian Princess, who thrilled me. She was Pocahontas -- brave and noble. She wore a tribal headband with a feather erect between the center part of her black yarn braids. Her dress was a simple brown shift of the finest buckskin (in our little girl imaginations). And she had beads that clattered about her bosom-less chest and moccasins that allowed her to creep through the forest with the greatest stealth. She was, after all, Native American royalty. And that alone should have won the contest.
But for some reason the adult-in-charge wanted us kids to dance. And in my heart, I wanted to dance. I wanted to join in the fun and make my faux-feline tail jerk and whirl to the music. But I didn’t. I sat frozen on my mother’s lap, while my sister regally made her way onto the stage. By the time I had gathered the four-year-old resolve to join the little group, the moment had passed. My sister had -- to the delight of the crowd -- danced up a storm and already was making her way back to our seats. She was the brave little princess who had followed her heart, while I could only wish that I had had the courage to follow her tiny moccasin-clad feet. That moment to dance had passed for me. Thanks to my sister’ radiance, the lesson did not.
For the rest of my life, whenever an opportunity has presented itself I remain keenly aware that demurely declining that which I truly desire means choosing to sit out the dance. Second chances are rare and prized. I see the specter of that little Indian Princess and I choose to dance.
Why anyone becomes a “doer of stuff,” is a mystery, I think. There are dreamers (my dad is one) and there are doers. At least a bit of what contributed to my doer constitution is not unknown to me. It is because I have a sister who loves to dance – and her pure joy in the moment makes us all want to join her on the stage of life.
Does it matter, really, whether you can connect to the source of your doing? I think probably it does not. What matters is that you intentionally identify your rhythm and dance, in the moment, without regrets.
Snowman Training Notes: Yesterday’s workout was another Sprint/Lactose tolerance day – this time on the Octane Trainer at the gym – 16 sprint intervals of 30 seconds each over 32 minutes – followed by my trek strength training routine (1:10). Today it was back in boots for a seven-mile hilly hike (1:45). Legs are feeling a little tired tonight after the past three days of training.
Thought for the day: “And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance.” ~Lee Ann Womack
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