Thought busy school life will kill my dancing feet, but nope, dancing feet always find their way back to haunt me.
I want to give up dancing feet because I know it's not my purpose for life, or what I'm good at. I thought it's not worth my time. I see it not having any important virtue in my life. But above all, they still constantly coming back to visit me, making my feet tape in class and during test. I still write in my dance journal even though I no longer dance. Why? If I've given up this one thing, how is it finding its way back to me?
Dance is too peculiar for an emotionless brain to annualized. My brain, which can see through the engineering of an electrical system, and the construction of buildings, can hardly know why I'm haunted by things I love. In the first, why am I suppose to explain why I love what I love? I can't. I can't explain why am I know living in a parallel universe.
So is dancing a potion, or a poison to me? How much of it I can allow?
I wish I had read this before we hung out on Saturday! I ask these questions too, especially since I know that the more I invest in dance, the more I want to do it. And yet my time is limited. I can't put everything in that I want. We're in the same boat: as far as I can tell, dance isn't going to be my life.
ReplyDeleteYet is there grace given to life that lets us love things in excess? That there is extravagance that mirrors the extravagance of God in His creation for us to do things like dance?
G.K. Chesteron said that "everything worth doing is worth doing badly." I'd like to think that dance for us "non-professionals" or even things like poetry for the non-writers, are gifts from God. They are worth doing even if we do them badly.
Like prayer.