It's a routine I've known for at least 30 years. I know it like I know the feel of each bump on my skin as I rub my arms. A familiar 8 count of part self-flagellation, part-curiosity it's a dance I do in the wee hours of the morning when my mind is still running around like a kid on pixie sticks at a birthday party rental at the dance studio. I point my toes and leap, deep diving into the familiar dance routine and steps...search google, look up "XYZ" and just tap dance through posts to see how life is treating them.
It's when you stumble trying to remember dance steps that you did when you were in your twenties that you realize you're getting too old. The bones hit the floor harder these days and when you come across a post dated 2015 where you are referenced as a "much-needed and much-desired divorce", you realize that the old wounds from your early years still throb a bit every now and then. Mind you, I wasn't completely floored by that "review" of my younger self. The "much-needed and much-desired divorce" was definitely needed. I was trying so hard to figure out who I was after the death of my Mother and I was with the "perfect on paper" guy who really wasn't the right fit for me. I suppose though no one likes being told they're not a good dancer and it is a reminder of that fact.
I was under the impression we had left things okay that we had accepted the rejection. We had come to an understanding, forgiven one another for the bullshit of our youth and thought fondly on some of the actual good things that were part of that relationship. But...perhaps that's the pollyanna in me. Maybe in someone's mind I am just like a much-needed and much-desired pair of pointe shoes that when you're young you just can't wait to wear and dance in...only to find out that they are pretty, but a lot of work; and to be honest, they hurt like hell most of the time. At one time like all dance shoes, they served a purpose, but there's no use in hanging onto them anymore. They are just in some box somewhere, adding to the cluttered pieces of memory.
Still, I do this to myself. I occasionally get out the box of should have been discarded dance shoes, dust them off and try to do the steps that I should have realized I've long outgrown. The steps very faintly familiar and the sadness of trying to retrace them just reminding you that like all dances, they are intended to be performed and them moved on from. The next dance, the next performance...appreciate what you learned and then build upon it. So while I the steps are still faintly there I have realized in the wee small hours of the morning that I am finally tired. Mostly, I'm tired of trying to keep dancing with my past.
Good night.
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