Posts Tagged ‘dance’

One Tiny Thing Thursday #18, Calendar, Still not a Verb

Thursday, July 21st, 2011

Welcome to One Tiny Thing Thursday, where we choose to do one lil bit of a part of the scary, instead of trying to tackle the whole overwhelm all at once. Because, starting small is usually better than not starting at all. Join us?

The list I created from last week, now it’s time to start making the calls to schedule the appointments. I’m promising to make two calls. The most important ones, vision and dental. Those have to be done on the phone, but when I’m done, I think my treat will be going online to get a month pass to a dance studio. It’s a treat and gets crossed off the list, Bonus Points!

Update from last time: I’ve got my list and since I’ve been sitting with it all week, I think it’s actually done! Yay, done!

If you want to play along, then just tell us in the comments what you’re One Tiny Thing is. And if you like, you can always come back and let us know how it went too.

Looking to stretch your comfort zone in tiny ways and pick up some resource recommendations? Sign up for Inching Along, and every other week I’ll send you one small (possibly even fun) challenge that you can easily accomplish plus other nuggets that I find.
You know, you can get updates by email or RSS. Yay, updates!

In the comments:

We’re being open here, sharing and saying things we don’t always say out loud. What helps: Sharing your stories and Ideas. Cheering and telling what works/worked for you. What hurts: shoulds, harshness, and such. (I used to teach first grade, I can’t help it.)



Well, I never

Saturday, August 14th, 2010

I have always refused to live with anyone I wasn’t related to by blood or marriage. Until now. Now, I live in a house with five other people plus two NGOs.

Until I started this trip, I had never hailed a taxi. Then, last month, I took more cabs than I had ever before, cumulatively, most of which I flagged down myself.

And then there are the other new modes of transportation: mototaxis, collectivos, chicken buses, in town hitch hiking, and of course, mountain bikes.

Also on the list of nevers, I’ve been making myself do things that terrify me. The other night, a couple of my house mates had a dinner party and one poked her head in to invite me while I was working. Rather than take advantage of the work excuse, I got to a reasonable stopping point for the night and I joined them. All 11 of them. None of whom I’d known for more than a day.

Last night I went to a meeting for volunteers at El Nahual, where I decided to volunteer after the dinner party (pretty much everyone there volunteers at El Nahual). The big scary walking into an unknown group of people, yeah, not so scary, or the people unknown, for the most part, it turned out. I had met most of them at the dinner party. Then we all went out for Callum’s going away night, complete with rum smoothies and shisha.

Tonight I had a choice between salsa class (the almost-guaranteed-look-silly-in-front-of-people-you-know-option) and watch a movie at the school (the safe option). I nearly took the safe option, but at the last minute joined everyone for salsa. While I found the idea terrifying, the room was so small, and like I’ve said before, most people have such a strong focus on themselves, so no one notices anyone else until you run into each other. I had times where I did well, and times where I had no idea what was going on.

And I’m learning to bargain. I hate it. But it’s part of the culture, and I’ve yet to succeed with the whole arguing with reality thing. I’m taking it in baby steps. First I would just stand there and think. Often that’s enough to get a price drop and I don’t have to actually do/say anything. I’ve started asking for a slightly lower price sometimes. I’m still getting comfortable with the idea. When six red bananas cost $0.25, I don’t see the point of arguing.

There’s a karaoke party benefit thing for the school. I have no idea how I’m going to handle that, but I said I’d go. So, this one falls under being open to the experience. Vee shall see…

What’s the one ‘never’ you’d like to challenge yourself on?


I can’t stop time

Monday, August 9th, 2010

In school, I would wait until the night before to write a 20 page research paper. Unfortunately, I could get away with it. Finally, I realized that in an entirely illogical way, I was trying to keep the next day from arriving. So, I started saying, ‘Tuesday is going to get here no matter what I do, so I might as well prepare.’ Literally. Whenever I caught myself putting assignments off, I would stop and talk to myself. Usually it worked, and I started working on projects in advance.

Until I started teaching, when most nights I had the damnedest time making myself go to bed. I would stay up until 2:00, 3:00, sometimes 4:00 in the morning. I had to get up at 5:30, so this really made no sense. Except, I was, again, trying to stop time. Trying to keep from having to go to a job where I had no support from my administration, no help from my mentor, insufficient resources and unnecessary rules.

Only, of course, it still didn’t work.

As much as I wanted to be a witch when I was in Jr. High (hell, I still think it’d be cool). I. Can’t. Stop. Time. Or move things with my will, but that’s not really pertinent.

And last night, I did it again. I stayed up late screwing around on the interwebs before doing the work I knew I needed to do before going to bed. The truth is, I was nervous about my Big Border Crossing Day. I tend to let my nerves run high, worrying about things that haven’t happened yet. I try to keep an eye on it, but sometimes I fail.

And then… my Big Border Crossing was so simple. The bus arrived in Ciudad Cuauhtemoc and the Customs Office was across the street. I went in and waited while two men had an interminable conversation. Eventually, one of the men took my passport and tourist card, stamped my passport and I was done. (The day before, I realized that I did not get a passport stamp when I arrived in Mexico and my brain started whirring. Then, I thought of something Ori wrote on FaceBook ‘Worry is a misuse of the imagination.’ and made myself breathe). And of course, everything turned out fine, the only blip was in my brain.

Then I caught a colectivo (shared taxi)  to the Guatemalan side, where I walked from one office marked ‘Inmigracion’ to another until someone pointed me to the office where I could get my passport stamped. Really, my wandering couldn’t have taken more than five minutes. The Customs Officer took my passport, wandered off, and returned it to me stamped. Easy.

As soon as I walked out the door, I nearly ran smack into a man who graciously offered to exchange my pesos at an awful rate. Of course, given that I stood at the border in a town that exists solely to get money from border crossers, I expected this and only had enough pesos to exchange to get me through the first couple of days. So, I took the crappy rate and was on my way.

The only way (other than walking a couple of kilometers with back packs) to get to the buses is by mototaxi. Think tuk tuk driven by a 13 year old. Even the mototaxi ride was uneventful, except for a few ‘Oh-Dear-God’s.

At what may or may not have been a bus terminal, I got my first sight of a chicken bus. Ever wonder what happens to school buses when they are put out to pasture? Yeah, they don’t go to a bus ranch. They get suped up and turned into chicken buses. I boarded one of these to Xela and was finally, really, on my way.

Recently I started following Havi Brooks on Twitter because she says funny smart ass things and has a duck, Selma. Turns out, she also has a really great blog that I lurk at. Havi is amazing… She:

Talks to monsters

Works on a Pirate Ship

Dances through to clarity

Many other things I’m sure I haven’t even discovered yet

Which brings me back to finding a better way of talking to myself and maybe tackling some of my other weirdnesses too. I love it when what I need gets dropped at my doorstep… er, laptop.

What are the magical powers that you lack but still try to use anyway?


High heels and short shorts

Saturday, April 10th, 2010

I’m a dancer, or at least I was. Most people have a short list of words they use to define themselves. If these words no longer applied, they would begin to doubt who they really are. My List: Intelligent, Artistic, Curious, Logical. ‘Dancer’ was on that list for many years, even after I stopped practicing and performing.

little ballerina me

I started dancing when I was three. Over time I started taking more classes, and eventually joined a performance group. We danced at local events, put on regular performances at the amphitheater at the park, and once performed with what I remember calling ’The Florida Symphony’ (could be the Florida Orchestra or the Southwest Florida Symphony) and Mickey Mouse. At the time I was more impressed to have been on stage with Mickey. We went to watch the Boston Ballet, and I knew that I would be on stage as a *real* ballerina one day.

During my sixth grade year I was supposed to go ‘on toe’, but my family sold pretty much everything we owned and moved to Mexico. And I quit dancing. I made a couple of half hearted attempts in high school and college, but it was never the same. And I think taking ‘dancer’ off the list may have changed who I have become.

While I would try different videos, take salsa lessons, and learn belly dancing, I never saw it as anything different than aerobics or tennis lessons. While searching for a form of exercise that I would stick with, I was ignoring my soul. Every DVD I bought could have led me to realize that I needed to dance, not to loose weight or gain strength, but because I’d been pressing down who I am. I walk like a dancer, toe-heel. When I stop to open a door, my feet are in fourth position. When I have to stop mid stride and turn around, I execute a pivot turn. (Cue Popeye)

Small jump in topics, but stay with me here, there is a point.

A few years back I started thinking about learning aerial silk, but I wasn’t strong enough. Plus there wasn’t anyone in Dallas teaching it. I did find a place in England that did workshops, which required a background in pole dancing, for strength. There wasn’t anyone teaching pole dancing in Dallas then either, that I could find. The pole dancing situation has changed in Dallas. I can immediately think of at least four places, one of which I signed up with today.

I’m anxious about the class. It sort of reminds me of being a kid and making kissy faces in the mirror, but with an audience. Only, really, they aren’t going to be paying any attention to me. They will be watching themselves in their mirrors. So, heart in throat, I’m going to buy my first pair of shorts, in almost forever, tomorrow. And on Wednesday, I’m going to risk looking goofy in front of strangers while wearing minimal clothing and hope I’ve got enough grace left to keep my dignity in tact. But even if I don’t that is just a part of who I am.