Ballerina

I had just finished my daily hour long swim this morning at the YMCA when a friend messaged me, asking about ballet classes in New York City.

It has recently been taking an additional hour of sitting with my leg elevated for the pain to subside and for it to stop spasming so I can put it back into that God forsaken boot.

This act of trying to quiet my leg requires that I go into some kind of transcendental state. I try to use this time to clear my head and focus on “light” and positive affirmations, etc. But, inevitably, I question where I am, question how I got here, and question who I truly am.

This “injury” has taken away so many of the things that defined who I am, or was. This morning, I was feeling extra nostalgic for the city and ballet.

When my leg was ready to cooperate, I put on my boot and made my way out of the building. A lady held the door for me. But, it was one of those awkward situations where I was just far enough behind her to make it uncomfortable, one of those situations where one feels compelled to do a little jog to the door so the person doesn’t have to wait.

Well, I can’t jog. I can’t even wobble quickly. So I hopped (after two and a half years, I’m aces at hopping).

She smiled at me and asked, “have you been an athlete your entire life?” I said, “Sort of. I’m a dancer.” She said, “You look like a ballerina.”

Sometimes the Universe has a clever way of reminding us who we are when we feel lost.

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