cOw

I recently took up ballet lessons again, after a near-20-year hiatus. When I was young, I dreamed of becoming a ballerina, dancing on tiptoes, dainty and graceful. Somehow, that never happened.

Fast forward 20 years, and you have a lumbering cow (me) amongst a group of lithe, flexible, pretty, completely stretchable teenagers. It takes one adult ballet lesson to really show you how old you are.

Just the other day, while my classmates all did splits on the floor, I was standing there looking on in horror and helplessness. When will I be able to achieve that level of flexibility? Will that even be possible at my age?

Yet actually, I am blessed enough to still be able to sign up for adult ballet classes. I still have control over my hands and legs, however uncoordinated they may be. I can still walk and run and bend and jump, even if not gracefully. I can still breathe every breath with purpose and with strength.

I suppose I am contented with being the lumbering cow for a while.