Today was Little's end of year dance recital. There is something wrong with me when I go to these events. I get all sentimental and gooey and teary-eyed. It's the music and the dancing ... (now don't get me wrong here -- we are talking small town production, i.e. not Broadway). And though the production is amateur, or perhaps because the production is amateur, I'm drawn in. I wish I was a child again, twirling about my bedroom, mama's scarf in hand, utterly and completely lost in play.
Today, smack in the middle of the stage, was a cherubic toddler. She couldn't have been more than three. She had perfect rosy red cheeks and sweet Shirley Temple curls. But, unlike her doppelganger, she did not have a clue what she was doing. Yet she stood up on stage and beamed. I mean absolutely beamed. She was delighted to be caught for all the world to see.
And I got to thinking. At some point we are all going to find ourselves unprepared in unintended places; whether that's a stage or a board meeting or a gallery event. My first inclination would be to cry. To transcend into the fetal position, suck my thumb and whimper to my heart's indulgence. But it seems I have a different option. Alternately I could let go of my fears, open my heart and beam. The latter is quite appealing is it not?
Indeed children have much to teach us. So today I'm tapping my inner child -- I'm going to run and skip and dance and set myself free. Won't you join me?
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