When I was little, I had some big dreams for my future:
1. Become Ballerina
2. Write a book
3. Not live in small town
The whole ballet dancer thing did not work out so well. To begin with, I lived in rural Wisconsin and ballet teachers did not hang around long (see dream #3). I was thrilled to take ballet lessons for about six months in my tender youth. I had to wear Sally’s hand-me-down black ballet shoes with the little elastic strap, but I did not care. Then the teacher moved away. I had not even scratched out Sally’s name in ball point pen yet and inked in my own. At that point, lessons were a 20 mile drive, and that was not an option. Now, parents will drive a long way, for, say, harpsichord lessons in French, but this is now and then was then and that was the end of that.
Those too-small ballet shoes moved with me to college in Madison, where I was free to take as many dance classes as my business school schedule would allow, and I did just that. I loved it. By then my dreams had evolved (speak Italian, published author, make lots of money); I already knew that I would never, ever, ever be a ballet dancer, but I loved the classes anyway. I wore the suede bottomed ballet shoes when I walked to accounting class. I had pink ones and lavender ones that laced up the ankles with delicate strings. Bad for the arches, but good for my soul. The big buzz-kill came when my college boyfriend told me I looked like a pale pink sausage in my matching leotard and tights. I think the brand Oscar Meyer was specifically mentioned. It was a funny joke, but I made the choice to believe the words.
I will continue to keep you posted on the status of dream #2.
As for the small towns, I’m over it. I have lived all over and traveled a lot and now realize that home is wherever all my boys are, no matter the size of the town. My dreams have continued to evolve (play the harp, published author, successfully grow rosemary indoors). I am open to the possibilities of anywhere. I’ll pack my long-stored lavender ballet shoes and go.