People get down. People get irrational thoughts when they are down. People either break, or get through it. This weekend I thought a lot about two people. Tracy Fulks and Wayne. They both have overcome some things that are pretty much equivalent to that asteroid Bruce Willis had to blow up. I will stay firm in my belief that this is why the world didn’t end. Owe you one, Bruce. Anyway, I just wanted to recognize that there are some strong people around here. I look up to those people. Thinking about their battles and triumphs stops me when I begin to sulk over the petty.
Wayne gave me two awards recently which really boosted me, but I haven’t been able to participate in keeping those going. I think I made a subconscious decision not to participate in those anymore simply because I have too much already planned to work on. I feel a bit bad about this.
So here is what I am going to do. I am giving Wayne and Tracey my own personal award. The Fly Blog Award (holiday style). I am also giving it to Jillian, because she is one of the most supportive bloggers ever, and I know she will appreciate it. Basically, you can do whatever you want with the blabel. Use it as media in a post, put it on your sidebar, laugh at it and walk away, whatever. But, those are my own real long johns in the background, so treat them with care. Don’t worry, you don’t have to kiss anyone’s crotch either. Unless you want to…
You can pass it on or not. If you chose to pass it along, there are no award rules except that you can only pass it to one person that embodies your definition of fly. Give that person the spotlight they deserve. You don’t have to answer any questions, thank me personally on your blog, or link back to me. Read the rest of this entry
If you follow my blog regularly, you know I don’t get serious too often. Ever, really. A lot of bloggers are naturals at this stuff, but it is actually a real challenge for me to write about something serious, especially when it is about me. Humor is safe for me, while anything outside of that realm makes me feel extremely vulnerable. But, with everything going on during the week of a Becca on Fire, I not only have a little extra confidence in my fingertips, but I also feel that it is the perfect opportunity to open up a bit to my readers. So, here goes my attempt to inspire.
Before I began writing this post, I sat with a blinking cursor on the left side of my screen and the “about me” page of my blog on the right side of the screen.
I’m only good at funny. That’s what I do. It is easy to be funny. For me. Shit, this is going to be more of a challenge than I thought. I can’t even inspire Jack to poop inside the litter box, so what can I possibly have to write about inspiration? Oh well, just write.
After all of that staring, I noticed something about how I describe myself. Take a look at my “about me” page. I begin by proudly acknowledging a very important part of what makes me Becca. I was a dancer.
For seventeen years, I was first and foremost, a dancer. Make that a great dancer. A passion that consumes you for such a long period of time is hard to shake and even harder to accept that you must shake, which was apparent by the blurb I’d written. So, I guess I should more accurately say that what I was looking at was a statement about what used to make me Becca.
Before anyone ever put the notion in my head that making a profession of performing arts was “impractical,” I never thought twice about any other course for my life. I entered college as a dance major, was an important member of the college dance team, and had every intention of performing until my age got the best of me (at which point I planned to teach). Everyone knew me as the dancer even if they didn’t know me at all. That is how integral it was to my identity.
After about a year in college, I began to realize that the performing arts program I was in was not up to par with my experience level. This is not a case of my comedic ego either, the program was simply a joke. A cop-out for lazy freshmen who would rather mock an art form than write an essay. On top of that, my parents continually dropped not-so-subtle hints that I may want to consider a different calling. Something more lucrative.
It infuriated me that they didn’t get it. Get me. It infuriated me even more that I pretty much had no other option but to drop the program because of its lack in advancement. It was holding me back as a dancer. It infuriated me, because everyone would think I gave up on my passion to become an office drone (at the thought of which nauseated me).
Before I knew it, I was a performing arts drop-out and a month from being another indifferent graduate of the school of business. What happened? I over analyzed every incoming external influence telling me to cash out before I lost big, that’s what happened. That, stirred together with my own doubts and insecurities as a dancer. I didn’t want to start over at a new university, but I also couldn’t stay enrolled in the Ballet 101 classes that I took when I was three years old.
I had become the one thing that I had almost forgotten I’d sworn not to be, Miss play-it-safe. Sure, I’d find a job. That job would pay well enough for me to live as comfortably as I always have. People would see me as “successful”, but I wouldn’t stop thinking, “Is this it?”. I would eventually become that forty-year-old woman still bragging about how many pirouettes she could do twenty years ago while shamefully dodging conversation about her soul draining day job.
So, back to my “about me” page. Obviously, even five years since I have laced a pointe shoe, I am still coming to terms with “dancer” no longer being my main identifier. While I still have strong emotions associated with that time in my life, l do not regret the way everything panned out. I’ll tell you why. Then you can forget that I ever wrote anything so comically disappointing and go back to envisioning me in my underwear.
You see, had I not experienced this loss, I wouldn’t be here writing this. That’s right, I am tying this into writing, because that wasn’t predictable at all. The fact of it all, is that I could have made a career out of dance, but then I would have never known the dispassionate alternative that I experienced for several years after stepping out of that studio for the last time.
It is my strong belief that I would have eventually become complacent and dropped my dancing career out of pure inability to truly appreciate my love for it. I have been writing again for almost a year now, and because of this, I have the appreciation for writing that I never knew how to have for dance. And now I know what it is like to lose it.
So, while I no longer see dance in my future, what I do see in my future is a passion that is equally as important to me in a different way. Think of it in terms of relationships. You love and you lose. Those losses teach you to appreciate love for what it is. You then find love again in places that you never expected. You become enthralled again when you thought you never would. This time, you know to hold on to it. You know not to abandon it or take it for granted. And you won’t.
- A Red-Headed Woman (clownonfire.wordpress.com)
My trip marked my second time ever flying in an airplane, my first time traveling out of the south as an adult, and my first big vacation that I have funded entirely on my own. Naturally, I anticipate taking photos of my time there.
I know what you are thinking. Does she not have an omnipotent smart phone or something? Of course I do. What am I a cave woman? In fact, some would say I qualify as a camera phone abuser as I even take pictures of pictures. This is where the problem exists, and upon admitting my denial of said abuse, I did reach an epiphany. Read the rest of this entry
This was supposed to be an inspiring post about how I am no longer blindly following the suggestions of
mainly my parents others, but learning to guide myself. A story of revelations and the events that lead me there. A graceful notion about journeying to find passion I never considered before. How what I thought was supposed to be, was a world away from what is evolving in my life at present. Then, a clever transition into the detailing of obvious reasons I found that convinced me I belonged in another town. Somewhere not yet named. Finally it would come full circle by me relaying the list of goals this story inspired me to write and plaster to my fridge last night.
I actually wrote a lengthy detailed post. I began to edit. I realized it was an explosion of tiredly nauseating mind garble. Ctrl-A Backspace. Apparently the pictured quote up there goes for my blog posts as well. I’ll just blurt this out:
I downloaded a free trial version of Photoshop for the purposes of learning… *ahem*… attempting to learn. I am increasingly intrigued by web/design stuff. Basically,
Any advice, tips on where to start, discussions on web/graphic design, or crazy glances welcomed.
B. On the flip side, I am in the process of researching Pilates trainer certification schools outside of Louisiana. I need some movement in my life. Any one out there who has any insight on this would also be greatly appreciated as well. I am not new to Pilates by any means, but I don’t know much about the certification process.
At least it is not Tuesday anymore. And, I just got delivered a free bucket of soft peppermints. Jackpot.
- From AIM to CSS (25andfly.wordpress.com)
- Responsive Web Design – Ideas, Technology, and Examples (onextrapixel.com)
- Why do pilates? (thenoiseinmyheadtoday.wordpress.com)
I make an effort to buy two different flower arrangements (the cheap ones that are usually ignored but are still just as pretty) once every week or two for each of my vases. I starting doing this when I heard or read somewhere that it can help brighten your mood. I’ve kept doing it ever since, so I guess it works. These flowers were my favorite of the two I picked up yesterday. I didn’t even catch what the name of these were, and I don’t even care. Lie! If you have an eye for this sort of thing , speak up… learn me something. The point is, when I wake up with this little bit of life staring me in the face and give them a whiff, I am suddenly able to hone in on my optimistic side. It’s the little positive things… Do them because you can.
Before my horticultural hunt Sunday morning, I slept in until my eyes would stay sealed no more. That’s when I made a grocery list (laughing at myself later for forgetting trash bags). So, while my trash would be chilling in the nude shortly due to my lackluster list making skills, I did manage to grab something not on my grocery list (naturally). Coffee. I have been the obviously not so proud owner of a single cup coffee brewer since I moved away from home six years ago. It has never been used. Quite sadly, not once. Read the rest of this entry