Lesson learned

When I was a child, my dream was to become a prima-ballerina/archaeologist/surgeon/fashion designer. When I ran out of aluminium foil to create clothing for Barbie, I would amputate her legs, bury them outside to dig up later after they had "fossilized," and then practice my pirouette in the kitchen while clutching Barbie's naked, limbless body. My parents spent a lot of money on both Barbie dolls and ballet lessons (perhaps they should have invested in therapy for me instead), but neither of these things led to much that was helpful later in life.

My primary goal was to be a ballerina. I lived, ate and breathed ballet, and I have to admit, I always thought I was a wonderful dancer. Although I never received a lead role in a recital, during the show I was always the one tree dancing out of sync with the rest of the forest. When the other trees would scamper left, I would throw my arms into the air and spin in a circle to the right. Ballet was much more dramatic that way, and by dancing to my own tune, I received far more attention and smiles than the other girls. Even then, the power of hamming it up for the crowd was not lost on me.

I didn't learn much ballet technique since I was so intent on charting my own dance waters, and until today, I thought I hadn't learned anything other than the fact that I'm a bit of an attention hog who dances to her own beat. However, I thought about my childhood ballet lessons this afternoon when, on the way to lunch, I tripped down the stairs and sprained my ankle in front of a group of my co-workers. I. Wanted. To. Die. But as I stood there with my eyes full of tears that were more embarrassment than pain, I heard the faint, far-away voice of my ballet teacher (In my memory she sounds much more Glenda-the-Good-Witch than normal-woman-from-Oklahoma).

"If you make a mistake, just keep going!"

So, even though my pride was severly wounded, I didn't run away. I picked myself up and continued on with the day. I guess my parents' money wasn't completely wasted.