photo by snowpea&bokchoi (flickr)
It’s been over six months since my last post and more than a year since I’ve stepped into the ballroom. Now, I’m preoccupied with getting a full-time job and moving out. It’s probably going to be a while until I make enough to take ballroom regularly again. Such is life.
I’ll be frank: I think it’s time to shut the blog down. I have been dancing during my absence, mostly social Latin, and I’ll be embarking on regular Argentine Tango classes beginning this August. I could blog about this additional dancing, but I cannot find the conviction to do so. I cannot explain it. This was a ballroom blog, with a bit of other genres on the side. It was foundational. And, I don’t think the bachata team I’m in will last much longer. Call it a hunch given the specific circumstances around it. That would only leave Argentine Tango.
I cannot tell all my readers, past and present, how grateful I am. I went into this needing a platform for writing, never expected anyone to actually read or care. And it lasted a little over four years. Such an immense blessing! It’s been a great ride.
May God bless you all,
Dancing is the poetry of the foot. ~John Dryden
Hello, friends. This isn’t about dance. It’s about poetry, but I do believe the two are related. What is poetry, if not a dance with words? I composed this yesterday to honor today: the 15th anniversary of September 11, 2001.
This is, without a doubt, one of the greatest teams in the world.
Photo by Georgia National Guard (flickr)
I admit that being a team player is a weakness of mine. I’m a very independent person that’s always preferred working alone. My reasoning is selfish: If I screw up, I can only blame myself. There’s also the mantra “If you want to get something done, you have to do it yourself.” Unsurprisingly, being a part of Kañanazo has been challenging. My desire to be a leader in the dance-o-sphere compounds it. Yet, practicing this routine given to us by bachata champions has given me a better idea of what it is to be a teammate.
As a member of the team I pledge…
*Sigh* It’s been over five months, and I’m writing today because I sure as heck don’t want to make it six. Truth be told, I’ve been lacking the motivation to write because I have a lot going on in my life right now. I’m still wrestling with all of it.
This will be a short update. Please forgive me.
I feel like they haven’t started properly yet, but life is no novel. These changes are a drizzle of rain, obscuring the vision of what I hoped to see. Before I know it, they become a torrent. Thunder pounds the ears as lightning illuminates the murky sky. “Why do I want to leave the studio? This has been the only dance-home I’ve known. (That rhyme was unintentional.) I can tough it out until it gets better, right?” My doubts have their say, but my more logical half interjects.
We’ve been over the reasons already. Though the torrent is disruptive and even painfully unpleasant, it will recede. It will return to the drizzle it was in the beginning before stopping entirely.
It’s hard to believe this blog is four years old. Happy Leap Day, everyone! So much has changed, and I hope to get everyone back in the loop. If you want to read my last Leap Day post, click here.
Authoress Note: The following is meant to be an open letter of encouragement. It can be applied to any wholesome dream you have, though it’s obviously going to be geared towards dance For those that don’t know, my dancing has taken a huge hit lately with Tommy’s absence. And I’m afraid it’s gotten worse because I can say with great certainty that he’s not coming back this time, unlike his previous leave of absence. Why the people at the studio have never said “He’s/She’s gone.” is something that continually baffles me. We’re all adults there, so we don’t need to know why, just that it’s happened. Whatever their reasons, I refuse to try to comprehend it anymore. Onto the post.
This is dedicated to all the men and women of the US Armed Forces. Anyone that places their life on the line to keep us safe, regardless of personal character or motivation, has my eternal gratitude. If the good Lord didn’t have other plans for me, I would’ve been honored to be among you. Now, I dedicate my pen to you whenever I can.
That’s right; I graduated from university today cum laude! My degree is in Journalism & Mass Communication with a minor in Philosophy.
“What’s next?” Everybody has asked that. Here’s my answer: I don’t know. What I want to do most right now is rest. Even my mother recommended that I take a small break before looking for work. “Why not go straight into journalism, like be a news anchor or something?” I’ll elaborate more in the next post, but journalism isn’t my let’s-get-right-to-it-passion. For now, let’s say that I knew I had the option to start working when I turned eighteen. However, my parents wanted me to go to college, though they didn’t mandate it. I prayed, asking the good Lord what I should do. He quickly responded: I was going to college. I wasn’t unhappy because I knew I’d thrive in college, and I did.
Thank you to all my readers for sharing this blog with me. It’s definitely been therapeutic at times. As for its future, I want to continue it. But, the family is in the middle of a move, and there’s trying to find a job, too. I’m sure I’ll find a way to balance a job and writing this blog.
Until next time friends,
I never liked PE. We had to run laps which increased as the semester progressed. I “excused” myself more than once to the restroom to wait out the running. We never played a specific sport, more like quirky games. That meant more running, not to mention dexterity I had yet to develop. An MVP I was not. Had there been an option to choose team members, I would’ve been one of the last ones. Hmph, if this was what an athlete was, I wanted no part of it. The story was identical for middle school and most of high school. I made myself run cross-country for three years during that period. Whether I legitimately wanted to love it or subconsciously hated myself is an unsolved myself. I only recently discovered that a huge part of consistent exercise was finding one’s niche.
This is my reaction whenever this most unfortunate incident occurs.
In this particular situation, it’s painfully funny how the inspiration for this one arose. Tell me something, dear readers. When you listen to a new song for the first time, do you hear the music or lyrics first? I tend to hear lyrics. What does this have to do with anything? I was looking for more bachata music for the playlist post that I intended to put up before this one. I’ve only had one semester of Spanish, so there’s little I can understand amidst the music and slang. I can only recognize songs musically. It saddens me to say that bachata gives me the most problems lyrically. *sigh* I know I don’t have to look up the translation, but I would like to what my readers to know what they’re hearing if they click on the song links. Then, I find a song with a rockin’ beat and obscene lyrics. Ugh… Thus, the question is “How much is too much?” Just a heads up, this is going to be long post that addresses a controversial subject.