Today, at mycompletely funky jam aroebics class there was an older lady (who later confessed to having had a hip replacement) dancing. It is a bit trite for me to enjoy her as an example of living. By this I mean the sophmoric idea that these things, these snapshots really, can give us insite into a life well lived. Because they don’t. No one can see that.
What I did see was a woman, an older woman that could dance. She had a long white braid and she could dance. I, myself, love to dance. I don’t openly share this. I am in fact, graced with a strong and graceful physicallity but I keep this to myself. My happiness makes others sad.
What I was left with tonight, was the realization that I could be dancing for years and I am glad that I have the ability and that I could learn how to keep going.