Heart of Ginny

  “Do you know how sexy you are to me right now?” I said to David the other day.

    He lifted one eyebrow and opened his hands as if to surrender himself to further, ruthless teasing. He was wearing jeans and sandals and a faded shirt with his college nickname, Zombie, on it.

   “I’m not kidding,” I said.

   “Right. I’ve had this faded shirt since college, my hands are full of grease, and I didn’t take a shower this morning. My hair is sticking up funny and I forgot to bring my hat. I’m definitely a sex symbol.” 

     We had been up late the night before, working on our new house and we were tired. We’d made arrangements to purchase a baker’s rack on craigslist to hold jars of pasta and baskets of potatoes and onions in our kitchen because our pantry is too small to hold anything much, and the only time the seller could meet us was at 8am on a Wednesday – the only window of opportunity the man had for getting into the storage facility, or so he claimed.  David took half a day off from work to make this exchange. So, we rolled out of bed, tired and sore, unloaded the stuff in David’s pickup and met the seller at an abandoned apartment complex downtown (which explained the man’s inability to access the place at will).

    While going up the abandoned service elevator, the man shared the story of why the 20 plus story tower was evacuated. The foundation had begun to sink and stability was threatened and owners and city commissioners were in a legal battle about what to do or how to solve the complicated dilemma. People who owned condos in the building were forced out and now couldn’t sell their property for what it was formerly worth, and foreign investors have begun swooping in to purchase the real estate for a song, knowing that the building might be torn down and something else will eventually be built there – which makes sense considering the amazing view of the bay.

     Anyway, David had had a lengthy conversation about building structures and stress equations and the financial implications – a conversation touching on all kinds of things that his mechanical engineering background qualifies him to understand and give an opinion on. As usual, I was impressed with his body of knowledge.  

    When we got upstairs, the baker’s rack was as nice as we hoped from the picture, but it was heavy and too big to move, so David pulled some tools out of his pocket and began dismantling it, discussing the most efficient way to get the cumbersome structure downstairs and packed into his truck. On the way, he discussed another problem regarding the inefficient elevator and for no other reason than because his mind is always circling efficiency and creative ways of improving things, he threw out a few ideas about how he would fix that if he were in charge.

    I offered to help move the furniture, but David grinned and said, “We’ve got it handled.”  – He is not one to expect a woman to take on burdens that are traditionally a man’s task if her help isn’t absolutely necessary. So he maneuvered that heavy furniture on his own. And once we were in the garage, he smoothly loaded the baker’s rack into his truck with blankets that he thought to bring to protect the finish, and he tied everything down and paid the man with cash and opened the car door for me, forever the gentleman, and bent over to give me a kiss before he drove us off to a restaurant where we planned to have a nice breakfast to steal a few moments together before life demands took over again  …..

. . . And at that moment, I thought it would be nice to get more than a kiss from my boyfriend, because he just seemed really sexy in that faded college shirt and jeans and his old Indiana Jones hat and sweat collecting on his forehead. I saw him not as a scruffy, tired guy, but a man with a head so full of knowledge, and a heart so full of grace he was simply beautiful …. So I made the sexy comment, which seemed a joke, but wasn’t.

   “I know this sounds really stupid, but for me, competence is sexy.” I explained. “And everything about you is competent and smart. In the simple, everyday moments it hits me. What can I say? It turns me on, Babe.”

      “Well, I’m all yours, sweat and all,” he said.

      We went to Firstwatch for breakfast and the subject was dropped, but that night when we were in bed he rolled over in the dark and said, “You awake?”

    “Yes,”

     He’d been thinking about what I said, rolling the day about in his mind as he tends to do when he finally gets the chance to sink into the sheets after a long day. A mind like his stays active even when his body is ready to cave.

   “I know what you mean when you say competence is sexy. I feel the same way about you. I’ve never been with a woman who not only gets things done, but does everything so well. You contribute so much to building our life together. Every woman I’ve ever been with before has acted like it’s my responsibility to be the provider and the one taking care of every aspect of a functioning life simply because I’m the guy. They all wanted a good life, but they didn’t dig in to help make it happen. You are different. You clean the house, make me a lovely lunch to take to work every morning, do the laundry, garden and work outside, AND you work diligently to build a business too. You take financial responsibility for as much as you can and you have ambition and an incredible work ethic. On top of that you volunteer your time to less fortunate people, and in your spare time, you write books that move me to the pit of my soul. The other day you rearranged the entire living room while I was at work. I’ve never dated a woman who imagined herself strong or healthy enough to do something like that, much less one who would be willing to work that hard herself rather than wait for me to get home so she could order me to do her bidding.  You have business sense and common sense and yet you are nurturing, loving and you wake up with a cheerful attitude and you maintain a positive outlook even when times are tough. You appreciate me – and you have no idea how much I appreciate that you appreciate me. In short, you are extremely competent. So, I know exactly what you meant today. Competence IS sexy.”

    (So is having a lover make a flattering speech about you like that, but I didn’t make a point of it – at least not verbally.)

     From that day on, “Competence is Sexy” has been our catch phrase. When I painted the front door one afternoon, David took all the hardware off and installed a new doorknob. Rather than purchase a bunch of new keys, he rekeyed the system himself. In the middle of the job, he paused, looked over his shoulder and said, “In case you didn’t notice, I am not only installing a great new doorknob but I am following the directions on this complicated rekeying device in the most competent way….. Control yourself, Honey; I know that watching me handle this screwdriver efficiently is bound to make you overcome with desire…..”
      When my blow dryer kept blowing out the fuse in the bathroom, David went to the garage to reset the fuse.He was gone for ten minutes.

     “What took so long?”  I asked.

     “I just rewired the plug and altered the electrical hook ups so we didn’t have so much energy running through that outlet. Whoever wired this house really didn’t think through things…. But never fear, I fixed it. Just another day in the life of a competent boyfriend….” (and he held his hands out as if to welcome the hug and kisses he assumed I’d want to shower him with…)
     One day I complained that my finger hurt because, even though I couldn’t see it, I was convinced I had a tiny splinter from a cactus I picked up while gardening. When I came out from the bedroom, David had set up his nifty microscope, and he put my finger under the viewfinder to locate the invisible splinter. He showed me the miniscule thorns that kept it embedded in my skin and carefully removed the offending spike. For fun, he took the opportunity to teach me some interesting things about science while we had our morning coffee. Only a competent man thinks to pull out a microscope just because his girlfriend’s finger has a nagging sore spot…. and it felt so lovely, sexy in fact, that he cared enough to go to the trouble.    

     For all that this sounds silly, competence IS sexy, and I often feel compelled to let him know how much I admire his ability and willingness to do anything and everything he can to make our life “work”. Every day, every hour, I marvel at the productivity and efficiency of the man I’ve chosen to marry. There is a saying, “Jack of all trades, master of none….” But in David’s case, he is a master of all trades.  

    When I act impressed or appreciative, David, master of humility (as well as all trades), insists that the reason he knows so much is simply that he’s lived so long. (He is 59.) “Anyone who has been around as long as me is bound to have some life experience to draw from,” he says with a shy shrug.

     I appreciate that he has such a lack of ego that despite his having an amazingly high IQ and a wealth of accomplishments, he doesn’t broadcast his experience or demand respect from others simply because of his past accomplishments. He earns his respect daily with every choice he makes. He is a quiet man, but oh, what an amazing one. And while he is not self depreciating and he well knows he is more intelligent than the average man, he has a quiet stregnth about him that makes it unnecessary to boast or showoff.
    In fact, he has a sense of humor about his own mental appitude. One day I said, “I’m afraid to kiss you for fear your brain is so overloaded with knowledge that one day it is going to explode and splat all over the walls and take me out !”
      He said, “No fear. Until my bulging brain pushes every folicle of hair out of my head, you don’t have to worry.” And he ran a hand along his balding head and added, “You’re safe. For awhile yet, at least….”
   The longer I live with him, the more I understand how he became the renaissance man he is today. He deeply curious about the world and has a fascination with learning. Most importantly, he never makes excuses and I’ve never seen him shy from a challenge. David digs in and takes control of life’s problems and challenges when they come up. If the most practical solution involves getting a degree, training or learning something new, he doesn’t hesitate. I guess, when you tackle life in that way, you’re bound to end up a productive and accomplished person.   

    Anyway rather than tell a hundred stories about David’s history and background to explain how and why he can do so much so well, I will share the highlights of what he’s learned in 59 years. Most people couldn’t do half as much in a lifetime.  Amazingly, I continue to discover new things about him as time goes on….. It will take a lifetime to understand the full diversity of this man’s gifts. Good thing for me that he plans to be around that long…

IN a nutshell, David’s Life Skills include (but are not exclusive of…):

• Licensed Mechanical Engineer

• Licensed Electrical Engineer

• Certificate of marine corrosion (or something like that) which is a part of water engineer competence (for working in fields involving boats)

• Degree and advanced skills in Computer Programing. (doing this now for work)

• Has a truck license (for towing his boats etc..) and he can trailer and park any size vehicle anywhere with remarkable accuracy    

• Speaks Spanish fluently
  
• Plays guitar, piano, and the sitar (Indian string instrument.) He is musical and artistic, as well as scientific. Knows theater, (lived with an talented actress, model, singer at one time) so he “gets” my crowd and many of my theatrical friends. 

• Commercial Pilots license (and plenty of flying experience)

• Sea plane flight license (And plenty of experience)

• Hot air balloon pilot (flew in the Olympics in 1984)

• He’s built a plane himself, owned hot air balloons and has pursued other flight hobby interests. Works on designing aeronautic improvements for sea craft as a consultant after his current “day job” tasks are done.

• Interesting hobbyist. Spent 4 months building a big model clipper ship that is striking- now under glass in our study. Owns a motorcycle but it is not in Florida as yet…. Taught motorcycle safety courses.

• Loves the water. Accomplished sailor with two sailboats, one 26 feet and one 42 feet – both for sale if you know anyone.

• Won awards from many paddling competitions on a canoe competitive team for years.

• Hiker, long distance runner, long distance champion swimmer, biker (has both a speed bike and collapsible mountain bike.)

• Builder – has remodeled and built homes that are not only ascetically amazing, but did this for remarkably little investment. He plans well. Budgets. He can build anything, use a lathe, and has done some blacksmithing too. Great at landscaping. Planning a water feature for our home now. Can fix anything – from small mechanical appliances to cars.

• Accomplished writer with one book finished and he is hoping to work on screenplays next. Planning to get an MFA himself when our life evens out a bit. (Writes the best love letter I ever had the good fortune to receive.) His artistic side is evident in his drawing, his love of watercolors, his art appreciation, and his poetry. He even journals.

• Fantastic cook. Puts me to shame. Great with a barbecue too.

• Loves animals – my bird loves him more than me…. So does my dog. (the traitor)

• Enjoys and is good at horseback riding, bowling, sequence & ping pong.

• He is a Master Gardener (certificate from North Carolina… he says he needs to study Florida gardening to really garden successfully in this area.)

• RYT-200 Certified yoga teacher now (having been through my 4 month program) Also certified in Aerial yoga. He teaches two mornings at 6:30am at my school now. Might pick up an aerial yoga class one night a week.  Excellent yoga teacher)

• He is a Reiki healer (also from my program) but only Level 1. We are soon going to complete levels 2-4 together. David has an open mind, deep spirituality, and authentic sensitivity.

• Formerly worked as a paramedic and has all kinds of knowledge of the body and medicine. He’s taken over the 20 hour anatomy portion of my yoga teacher training and is a remarkable lecturer. Now helps me train future yoga teachers.

• Ran an engineer design business successfully for 20 years. Is a devoted father, devoted son, and has a close, loving and respectful relationship with his family.

• Has a gift for loving his significant other with such intensity and tenderness it takes my breath away daily.

Yep. He’s competent and competence is sexy.

He’s a keeper.

Note to self: A girl never needs more than one cherry tomato plant. Any more creates an impossible amount of cherry tomatoes to cook with, eat, or give away, and duh, they are too small to use in salsa or homemade marinara sauce. Girls who have three cherry tomato plants as well as one hanging on her former horseshoe coat rack (now a nifty garden decoration holding lots of beloved plants) is going to have to serve that nice sauted cherry tomato recipe every week for months. Uh Oh…. Only the most devoted boyfriends will pretend to love your green thumb and your cooking that long.   


Note to self: When you have more than 50 hot peppers on a plant, or a dozen jalapenos, or more than 6 huge green peppers, all at once, you may want to consider harvesting and changing the evening’s menu to include pepper soup with pepper steak and pepper salad, and of course, pepper pudding for dessert.



Note to self: One small eggplant does not a meal make. Get creative. And remember – fast food is a matter of walking out your front door, picking some tomatoes, peppers and basil and throwing together something quick and easy and good for you.


Note to self: Wait to see if your cucumber plant goes crazy and takes over an entire fence before you decide you need to buy four more starter plants just in case…….. and start collecting pickle recipes cause if flowers are any indication of the future, a windfall of cukes is on the way.

Note to self: You learned in Georgia that you can never use up all the squash and zucchini on even a few plants, so planting a dozen just because they come 6 to a tray is gonna make you like Mickey Mouse in the Sorcerer’s Apprentice – drowning in buckets of squash instead of buckets of water. 

And next time your bean plants look done in, you may want to wait to replace them with brussel sprouts, because if only one bean plant survives, you will then have to come up with dishes that only require a few beans, and that is no fun….

Most important note to self: It doesn’t matter where you live. What matters is how you live and if you keep your priorities intact and your focus on what you want from life. We all plant seeds. The garden we do or do not harvest after the fact is dependant upon hard work, diligent caretaking, and your willingness to get your hands dirty to create a life of poignancy and creativity. Oh, and do all you can to keep out the weeds. And don’t open the gate for those who like to stomp on tender things, just because they let their own garden wither and crumble and they were so impatient for signs of growth that they nurtured weeds instead of more worthy plants!     

Last week it was my birthday, and I was given the greatest gift of all time. David bought two Perception kayaks (best on consumer reports) and he arranged for us to spend a day paddling through the mangroves. For me, this gift was not about getting a new boat, even though owning two kayaks is a dream comes true. These boats are a symbol of something deeper – proof that I’m going to spend my life with someone who listens to and considers my dreams important. Every day, David does things to demonstrate his commitment to making me happy. His acts of love are deeply moving.

I’ve wanted to own two kayaks of this sort for over 20 years. Each and every time a car drove by with two kayaks perched on the roof my family had to endure my sighs and exclamations of desire.  But no matter how much money we had (and we had plenty), or how often my ex said, “Yeah, we’ll have to get some of those someday,” it never happened.

For years I subscribed to canoe and kayak magazine.  I also subscribed to Outside magazine, budget travel and a few other publications that represented my deepest desire for an active, adventurous life. The signs of my interest lay strewn around the house, and I would read the articles wistfully and share pictures and quotes with my husband as we lay in bed at night, openly sharing my hopes that we would someday create a life where our time and money could be balanced to include a combination of sporty adventure, nature and quiet contemplation as well as work hard and a nice home. When we got an offer on our business, I even made my husband promise our life would include recreational “toys” to bring us together as a family and get us out in nature. If fun and leisure wasn’t going to be a part of our future plans, I didn’t want to sell. We openly negotiated and agreed to spend 1% of our windfall (only 1% mind you – not like I was demanding more than was reasonable or affordable) on recreational “toys” for the family.  But despite our agreement, I couldn’t get Mark to say yes to a boat no matter how many times I dragged him to see older, used boats on sale. I tried getting him to agree to a pontoon boat for only a few thousand dollars, and we looked at a used motor boat that the kids could ski behind. We had plenty of land to park a boat on. But for all that he said he’d love a boat, he just never could bring himself to pay for one. Over time, I gave up and allocated the 1% on animals and I spent my outdoor recreation time at the barn accepting that we were never going to live the sporty life we consistently talked of having one day as a couple.

I had given it my best effort. I once bought a used double kayak from a friend. I toted that boat from home to home for 8 years, keeping it clean and ready in hopes we might someday start using it, but we only took it out once on a camping trip. The boat was solid and big – too heavy for a woman to lift alone, and who wants to go kayaking in a double seater all by themselves? And even if I did want to use it with my son or something, I had no way to transport the heavy, long kayak. I bought some Styrofoam braces for the roof of my car, but tying it up that way didn’t work. The darn thing didn’t really fit in the back of a pickup either, even if I could convince Mark to loan me his truck, which was iffy since it was always filled with wood or landscaping supplies or whatever he was into. I complained about my inability to handle that boat all the time, reminding Mark how much I wanted to use the boat since we lived where the greatest kayaking river was a stone’s throw away. He kept saying that he’d love to go out with me, but he didn’t feel up to it because of his health (his hips or knees or back, or a sprained ankle, or headache, – whatever the current injury was. Sometimes it was stress, or his weight, or the fact that he really rather go to the mall. All I know is for ten years we talked about living a sporty life, but he just  wasn’t interested enough to get all sweaty and messy.  Eventually, I gave up and sold the two seater kayak – it had become a painful symbol of the life I couldn’t have, rather than inspiration for a life we could have if we just chose to put excuses aside.

The money was used family expenses, but I talked about how I intended to purchase  a couple of one man kayaks to keep those resources in some kind of outdoor toy. I felt that was only fair. So, a year later, Mark gave me an inexpensive small kayak for Valentine’s Day. I was deeply appreciated of what I imagined the gift meant.  We had built a dock on our little backyard pond, so the timing was lovely. But giving me only one boat sent a mildly disturbing message – kayaking would be a solitary pursuit if I wanted to get out in nature anytime soon.
“Maybe I’ll get you another kayak someday, so you can go out with somebody,” Mark said. “In the meantime, it will look great out there on the lake tied up to the dock.”

Of course, I could have gone out and used the boat alone, and frankly, lots of people would do just that. But my dream was not really to kayak as much as to be a part of a couple who shared adventures together. If I was going to carve out the time to enjoy singing birds and the rush of white water, I wanted company to share my thoughts and smiles with. I just didn’t have an interest in spending my afternoons all alone on the water. So the boat was never used beyond a few spins on the backyard pond by the kids.

When we decided to get a divorce, I took a trip home to spend a few days with my parents, asking for their advice and financial help in what had become a desperate situation.  Mark was in survival mode and so he decided to unload as much as we could to get some quick cash– which meant everything that was mine was deemed expendable.  The art I loved was put into a consignment shop, my bees and all my outdoor animals and equipment was sold to his friends. Nothing I cared about survived our separation because we needed money and my “stuff” was the easiest thing for him to let go of. Frankly, I was OK with that, because the family did need money. I told him to get rid of anything we needed to get rid of, the boat included. But I expected him to make the same  kind of sacrifices. Instead, Mark kept everything of his, (tools and his recreational things) while giving the things I loved and valued most away for practically nothing.  He sold the boat while I was out of town and later gave me “my half” – a whopping $50.00.  I was more than a little disappointed.  I offered to give up the boat because I thought we’d sell it for fair value. Had he considered what the sacrifice meant to me, he would have understood that 50.00 was too small a return to give up something you truly love.  More than once I regretted leaving town and forfeiting a say in these matters because if I had kept the boat, I could have joined a kayak group and meet friends in Florida. But it really wasn’t the sort of boat I needed for real kayaking anyway, so I suppose it didn’t make a difference.  Still,  I missed my boat – mostly because of what it represented to me. The boat was mine –or at least, it was supposed to be. Ah well.. Bad times.

Anyway, with all this kayak history –   the fact that my boyfriend now not only shares my interest in sporty fun, but the evidence that he has listened to my stories, and in response, does all he can to help me experience the rich, natural life I crave, means getting that dang kayak means the world to me.

Knowing David, I wasn’t at all surprised by his purchasing two kayaks for my birthday, because he bends over backwards to make me happy and he loves the water and is a serious hiker, runner, boater, etc… but we have financial stresses right now, so I did not expect any kind of recreational toy for some time.

After work, I went out to the parking lot,  saw two kayaks on a car, felt that familiar stab of envy, and looked around.
“Where’s my car?” I said.
David chuckled and said, “Um… that IS your car, babe.”
It took a few moments for me to process what was happening.
He also bought and installed a roof rack for toting these boats which instantly transformed my car from some economical, dented, boring practical car to looking like a car that belonged to someone who lives large. I so appreciated his thinking through his gift and considering the practical issues regarding my being able to use the boats, and any other outdoor recreational things (bikes etc..) I might want to haul with my little, practical car. I can honestly say I love the roof rack as much as the boats. 
“We can’t afford this right now…” I mumbled.
“I’m been saving for quite a while, planning to do something special for your birthday for a long time, so don’t worry. I ordered these boats months ago and worked things out to make it manageable . The investment makes sense because, we work way too much, and we don’t have a lot to invest in recreational fun. Now, we will always have the means to for entertainment and much needed down time in nature. We only have to carve out a few hours from work whenever we need a dose of peace and pleasure. ….”

Amen.

At home he presented me with a big birthday bag of boat goodies – a spray skirt to keep water out of the kayak cab,  a nifty cellphone holder that keeps your phone dry and floats and hooks to the boat, a compass, a map of all the kayaking routes and water in the area (over 14 amazing places to explore in my town alone, including salt and fresh water rivers, creeks, bays and more.) a package of 3 dry sacks, float cushions, and a watertight box for keys etc….

I wasn’t surprised by the handy extras. I always tease him, singing the Inspector Gadget theme song when he shows me something he has bought or owns, because he is like  that cartoon character with everything associated to him having parts and extra features or special capabilities…. David’s idea of a perfect world would be everything having multi use and being as flexible and practical as a super duper Swiss army knife.  Whatever doesn’t come that way, he invents – in his mind if not in reality. It’s an engineer thing, I guess. 

Anyway, the most meaningful birthday gift was the other half of David’s present – my paddles.

David knows how much I appreciate homemade things –they represent the gift of time and talent. I consider a homemade gift way more loving than just buying someone something. Knowing this, he spent weeks working on homemade paddles for the boat. Always the intellectual, he researched the most effective paddles on the planet, and decided for our use, he would go with West Greenland paddles – a narrow, streamline paddle used by serious kayakers. Then, he worked diligently to hand plane and sand the wood, making a graceful, perfectly shaped paddle from beautiful cedar. He added inlays of white oak (a very hard wood) along the edges so they would be tough enough to sustain white water action. My paddle is designed for me, the length and width proportioned to my body. (A few months ago, at the dinner table, he made an excuse to measure my hands and the length of my arm – now I know why.) The paddles are unusual looking – skinny and long – but very beautiful with two tone wood and an artful grain running through the wood, all offset by a natural oil finish. These paddles would cost hundreds of dollars if he didn’t make them himself, but David is brilliant with woodworking, and he not only enjoyed working on the project, but knew I would assign special meaning to the gift. Great way to earn boyfriend brownie points.   I consider the paddles a work of art as well as a fun utilitarian item. I almost hated using them, wincing as I dug into oyster beds when I ran aground to get a closer look at a bird in the mangroves. But David assured me his hand carved paddles would sustain hard use, and besides, he could always make us more if anything happened to them.

It was a beautiful day. David took the day off from work, made arrangements for me to have a day off too, and we spent the morning enjoying perfect weather as we explored Philippe Creek and the mouth of the bay on our new boats. We waved to other kayakers, couples out enjoying time together on the water, and I was thrilled to think I am now one of “those people” who  actually make active fun (rather than shopping or eating out) a part of their daily lives.  We stopped midday to have a seafood lunch at The Oyster bar, dining waterside on coconut shrimp and red potatoes. Later, having satiated ourselves with food, exercise and nature, we slipped the boats back on the car as conveniently as packing a suitcase for a trip.  We then stopped for dessert at yogurtology and ate our concoctions outside as we discussed future adventures we might plan with the boats. David said that if Neva was at all interested, we could get a third boat when finance ease up, because my roof rack would handle it. He knows I want my children connected to nature and I’d love our outings be a family event. (The way he wants to provide me and my children with what we need to feel balanced means so much to me.)  I sat on the white leather couch looking at my car loaded with kayaks, remembering how envious I was the dozens of times I saw cars sporting equipment like that before and thought how small  shifts and changes can add up and change a life drastically for the better.  We then stopped to get a coffee at Starbucks and did some people watching, and leisurely walked over to Elysian Fields to browse books on philosophy and organic living. Fun.

I said, “I can’t believe you bought me a boat…  you just don’t know what that means to me.”
David said, “I didn’t buy you a boat. I bought you two boats. Let me make it perfectly clear that I didn’t by myself a boat and then give a boat to you. I bought you two kayaks so you will never have to go out paddling alone. And I bought you a roof rack so you never will be dependent upon someone else to figure out a way to use your boats. And if anything ever goes wrong between us (but it won’t) and you and I separate, you will still have your boats. That is what a gift is, Ginny. I will never take them back or sell them or tell you how to use them. You own two kayaks now….  And by the way, thank you for letting me use one of them today.”

Ha. 
But there was something so comforting in that speech. Because I don’t feel the boats are a “favor”, or that  they will be taken away as punishment if I displease him in some way – and I don’t have to ask his permission to use them anytime I wish. I can let my son take the boats out with a college friend when he visits without feeling guilty or worrying about getting “permission”.  In other words, these boats don’t have strings.  I’ve never been given anything without strings.

At 5 we dropped Neva at school for backstage call for a school show she is in, and to kill time until the theater opened, we went out for wine and a turkey burger at Square One burgers. The day ended with our enjoying the Booker High School musical with my parents. It felt natural, family-ish and perfect. Thanks to David – the day was wonderful.

I won’t go into much detail here, but I should explain why a nice birthday means so much to me… I have a history of my family being very mean to me on my birthday. It’s a long and weird story, but for some reason my former husband and my children couldn’t stand for me to have a decent day on my birthday. In rebellion to feelings that they were obligated to acknowledge my day, they always acted out and purposely ruined my birthday.  I actually hated my birthday because I had to brace myself for ugly treatment and disregard. It was so reoccurring that it became a family joke  – everyone knew that on my birthday I’d be purposely hurt or treated badly by one or more of them, and they all laughed about it, as if being mean to me on my birthday was a funny tradition they were honor bound to keep. But what no one paused to consider was that their treatment truly was hurtful and disturbing to me. Mark never put his foot down and demanded the kids change their attitude on “my day”. I always went to great trouble to make their birthdays wonderful and so being treated in an unloving way on my day left me feeling unappreciated and undervalued. I never understood it.

Last year, I spent my birthday with David. We had been dating for months, but this was the first birthday we spent together. He had planned a lovely weekend at his home in Lake Placid. He made me a fantastic Japanese dinner at his house, serenaded me on his guitar for the first time, and gave me lovely sports watch wrapped in a swath of his favorite shirt (a symbolic gift)-  My reaction to his kindness was to cry. Needing to explain my odd behavior, I shared some stories of previous lousy birthdays and how I hated celebrating the day because it dredged up memories of a family that never felt I was worth any kindness or respect. He listened, shocked. He just never heard of someone being treated awfully on their birthday for any reason.  And he didn’t forget it.
This year, armed with insight and a better understanding of some of the wounds I’m still licking from a sour past, he took it upon himself to change my association to my birthday. It isn’t easy to be the one who mends the open wounds and slights of the past, but David seems to have taken on the challenge with a vengeance.

I should mention here that my daughter didn’t acknowledge my birthday, thus keeping the family tradition intact.

Neva stomped into the kitchen in the morning, ignoring me. Normally she is cheery and pleasant, but it was my birthday, so she was predisposed to be in a dour mood.
I said, “Have anything to say to me?”
“Oh yea, Happy Birthday,” she said as if it pained her to voice the sentiment aloud.
And that was it. She didn’t acknowledge my birthday in any other way the rest of the day.

The child’s hobby is making greeting cards and I’ve spent at least 400 dollars buying her supplies, embossers, paper, cricut machines etc.. to support her passion.  She has at least twenty birthday cards in reserve already made and she is always looking for a way to get rid of them, but she didn’t bother to sign one and hand it to me.

When she saw the new boats on the car and I expressed my delight, she said, “What do you need a boat for? You had a boat and you never used it. You got rid of it…….”
I didn’t point out that I wasn’t the one who sold the boat.
I did tell her, “I’ve  always wanted to own kayaks and I deeply appreciate that David has given me a gift that I’ve wanted all my life. He is taking me out kayaking for my birthday.  Could you try being happy for me?”
“Whatever…” she said.

Later, when we came home I asked her how her day went at school. “Fine,” she said, turning her back on me and going into her room.
She didn’t ask  how my day was or if I enjoyed kayaking. She didn’t ask if I was having a good birthday. It didn’t occur to her to perhaps make her bed or do some dishes or make me a cup of coffee as a birthday offering . She just asked me to cut up some fruit for her to snack on, and told me to be ready soon to take her to the show on time . She also reminded me she needed her laundry done.
David watched, deeply disappointed in her, and deeply disappointed for me, recognizing once again that everything I’ve told him about my past family is true, even when stories of selfishness or lack of respect sound so bizarre you’d think I was kidding. But evidence of that madness reveals itself all the time and he has long since realized I’m not exaggerating..
“She needs someone to set her straight,” he said, gritting his teeth because he has a great deal of class and he always treats others with honor and respect. He has very little tolerance for people who are rude and yet he is too polite to ever say anything in response to rudeness (which is kind of funny if you think about it.).   
I told him to let it go. I have long since taught myself not to take the behavior of my family personally.

“Your kids haven’t been taught to treat you with respect or with the reverence a parent who works as hard as you do deserve. It just seems wrong.”

“You more than make up for it.” I said.

Later, I gave thought to the difference between how I am treated now compared to my past. 
David is unfailingly giving, patient, kind, mannered, and brilliantly competent.  He takes care of me. Loves me. Is  considerate and tender. It occurs to me that whether or not I deserve all his beautiful treatment, I’ve earned it. Because life has a way of finding equilibrium and his exaggerated goodness balances out and corrects everything my life was missing before.  

Every day is my birthday now.

I went to a dance competition this weekend, the first I’ve attended in 7 years. Basically, I went to appease a parent of a student who has been longing to get involved in competitions again and to scope out this arena of the dance world with fresh eyes. My daughter wanted to go and I thought it might be good for my few of my new to dance students to see the level of dance that exists beyond the borders of my very small, beginner studio. Unfortunately, what might have been an easygoing, gentle exploratory weekend went sour.  One student from my group (who has already chosen to leave my school) allowed attitude and grievances to rear an ugly head. I’ve acknowledged her choice to change schools gracefully- even told her it was a good decision and made it clear she is going with my blessing. Still, the parent and child started acting weird and finding reasons to complain to justify their choice. Sigh. 

I do not embrace self-created crises in my life anymore, and I certainly have no tolerance for dance school drama, so it’s hard to draw me into an emotional tug of war. I do not get defensive or offended or even bothered as this stuff happens. I guess you can say I look at the world through yoga eyes now, and if anything, all I feel is a subtle sadness when people act out because they are wrapped up in ego and social expectation and false assumptions.  Anyway, I felt rather removed from the swirl of talk and action around me, as if I was watching it all from a distance.   
 
It was an interesting weekend. Not a good one, and yet not a bad one either. I have long since evolved past the point of believing experiences must be successful to be positive. Sometimes failures and challenges provide the insight we need to make good choices.  I was deeply appreciative of the fact that I’ve had time and distance to clear residual attachments so I could see the entire competition experience as it is.
 
There was this added element to stir further reflection. A brand new school from our area was there. The school is made up of approximately 60 students who have become a tight knit competitive dance team. They have been dancing for years together – beginning at my school years ago. They left  FLEX after we sold and the school went down, then went to a new school opened by one of our former student’s.  They trained there primarily with two of my former students – now grown and good teachers in their own right. But the school owner was so focused on the dance team rather than on growing the business in a practical way that this school folded too. The dancers went to another school run by yet another one of our former student’s. Left that school a year later to help another teacher start a new school and they stayed one year. Leaving her abruptly (and it looks like her business will fold as well) they have backed yet another teacher –and so it continues with another young teacher starting a new school to hang onto this group and give them what they want . For the time being, everyone is happy.
 
I find it fascinating that this group has such influence over the ultimate success or failure of the local dance scene. It’s like baby boomers impacting the world simply because they are big in number and have purchasing power. This group of parents insist they have been through so much, but so have all the people they support and later leave in some quest to find an alternate home . They just want to stay together and have control over their dance experience, but they’ve done this by backing teachers, encouraging them to open a school designed to cater to their needs and desires, with little thought to the long term. Survival is the teacher’s problem….  

I am glad I am not a part of the madness – but then, I couldn’t possibly be because my understanding of both the dance business and human nature means I would never design a school to meet the needs of one focus group. Since I would never put a single group of dancers above more practrical considerations that would secure the business for the long term, I’m sure they would never land with me.  It doesn’t make a difference. This wave of “power students” and the drama that unfolds in the wake of their slippery judgment will pass in time, not unlike the bad economy. Phenomenon like this are better explained in the book the Tipping Point- the influence of certain individuals can set off a reaction to influence large groups and that can impact lives, social structure and the business environment. They are causing change in the local dance world, but eventually, they will go off to college and things will return to normal.
 
Anyway, the students are beautiful and talented and they have evolved to become strong competition dancers. They are flexible, can turn like tops, and have a lovely grasp on the popular contemporary styles that are considered cutting edge cool today.  I see technical weaknesses and artistry problems, of course, but they are irrelevant in the competitive dance arena, so what difference does it make? Frankly, I was impressed and enjoyed watching them perform. I am, after all, the artistic grandmother to this crowd. I am in no way taking credit for them as dancers, because I haven’t trained them since they were 7, but my own students were their primary teachers and inspiration, so these dancers are my students once removed. Knowing this, I feel the pride of being central to their dance journey. Frankly, I sat there in the audience watching them and couldn’t help smile at how deeply I’ve impacted the Sarasota dance world. I do not feel obsolete or finished or “old school” or anything else. I just see this complicated timeline of dance evolution that began when I moved from New York to Sarasota. I would never have guessed….
 
I came to the competition with 5 dancers – all beginners in my estimation. One very talented boy who has only danced for 7 months, my daughter ,who has only trained for a year and has had some personal problems standing in the way of her focus, a daughter of a former teacher of mine who has not trained for 3 years, another 13 year old beginner, and one 12 year old dancer who dared come to my school when no one else would. Her mother broke from the fold of the tipping point group because she was independent of mob influence, and she had faith enough in my background to be the renegade. (She is the one who is leaving now.) 7 months ago, I was teaching these kids how to do a single pirouette. The kids didn’t know how to point their feet or straighten their legs, and their alignment and line and transition were so weak that I was like, “Lets lie on the floor and learn how to contract properly… and maybe soon we can learn to stand up…… “I was starting from scratch, working slowly, which is totally boring to young people…  At this stage, I’m no fun.
 
Anyway, the kids danced beautifully in my opinion. I wasn’t looking at them in comparison to the other groups of experienced competitors in this high level event – dancers who have sunk 10 grand into the process of vying for plastic trophies and bragging rights this year alone. I was looking at my beautiful students with an eye to how far they’ve come. I was busy assessing what they need to continue evolving – making plans for their future training to get them where I want them to be. They did not score well. I did not care. Others did. Apparently, the world around me was looking at them differently – judging, feeling smug, losing faith… there were lots of different responses.
 
I will share a few of the things I experienced because I was presumptuous enough to attend this competition.
Students from the “other school” took my dancers aside and told them they really had to change schools and join their new studio
because I was giving them work that was dated. They were told they should be embarrassed by their scores because it proved I was inadequate as a teacher.  (As if my beginner dancers would perform with the same proficiency as their team just by association if they changed schools.  As if the seven years of practice and the wads of money spent and events attended by this group were not accountable for the difference in level today. And as if my beginners would get there faster by moving to a school where they couldn’t possibly get the personal attention and same opportunity to be featured as they have now.) Silly really.
 
My student’s shared the conversations they had with the other school’s dancers and parents with me openly on the way home, telling me they were directly solicited and it made them feel icky.  I told them that if they wanted to become competitive dancers and had the resources to keep up with this crowd, they should go……
They said, “I rather stay where I am and work hard with you…..”
David (my fiance) said, “It’s like dance survivor…. everyone is trying to steal members of your team… Crazy.”


We discussed the “dated” concept. I am older now. Fact. I explained that most of the contemporary work popular today is rooted in basic modern dance, combined with lyrical elements and a smattering of hip hop. I have a foundation in all of the above, and the more the work sways towards modern, the easier it is for me to understand and emulate. Actually, it is circling back to styles that I can teach much easier than what was popular 7 years ago.  Not like it would take me long to study what is popular and find the best way to pass it on to students. But perhaps this work is better left to the younger crowd.  I told the kids that I’d be happy to hire a contemporary teacher and perhaps step out of the training process altogether. I will just be the director of the school and keep it healthy and growing through management and program design. I have an entire yoga career blooming and other responsibilities. I am not the only person who can build a dancer…. 
They looked mortified. We still want you training us……. Yes, we’d love you to find us a young, kick butt contemporary teacher, sure, but that would be in addition to your class not instead of it.
 
This made me laugh. It is a little like people who believe in God, not because  they are religious, but just in case there is a heaven – they chose to “believe” as insurance to be sure they get in.  I said, “You all want my class not because you are convinced I have anything to offer, but just in case everything they say about me is true and I am indeed the ticket to your becoming a sophisticated, stronger dancer.”
 
That’s about it,” They admitted.
Can I tell you how much I love their honesty and the fact that the communication we share is gut honest and real? So I am on the lookout for new teaching talent…. but I am picky…..
 
Other things that I was subject to this weekend….
The parent who is already leaving with my blessing (and I truly like her and her blunt quality thus no reason to start problems) came into my room at ten the night before the kids danced to complain that about how mortified she is by the impending failure that would ensue the next day. She explained her daughter would feel like shit because of me. She wanted me to know that she spends 10 grand a year on competition and for that she expects better results.  I told her perhaps she should wait until they actually danced before complaining about how badly they perform…..  and I asked her if devoting so much of a family’s resources into this superficial dance high was really worth it – was it truly in the best long term interest to her child? Perhaps we should take a moment to put things in perspective…. But nothing I said calmed her agitation…. She was hell bent on making this experience negative. David was in the room, and he said it was the most odd thing he’d ever heard. “We are only getting started, Dear, This is nothing. Imagine 50 of those parents all needing diffusing….. “

I couldn’t help but notice that the hotel and ranks of the audience was filled with mothers and daughters, but the fathers – often the ones footing the bill, are sadly missing. I imagined the drain on each family’s resources for this ego trip. Frankly, the mom’s justify this cash drain by pretending the kids are training for a career in dance – but I seriously doubt it. That is the subject for another philosophical essay all its own, not something I will address today.
 
Anyway, I thought about what these people spend on costumes, tuition, competition and convention fees, hotels and food – not to mention the cost of their being away from their family and work and their homes etc…There is no way this obsessive, expensive hobby doesn’t strain a family budget or a marriage. But since these moms are all in it together, it feels natural – like “everyone does it”… They are sucked in and don’t have enough space to see that everyone doesn’t. And this is not the only way to become a great dancer.
 
There is an opportunity cost to every choice you make that goes beyond the physical cost (something you learn in business school) When resources are devoted to one project, you pay the price of missed opportunity by not devoting them to another area that might have a greater return on the investment.   Paying 10 grand a year for competitive dance might be fun, create some great memories, and might make the kid feel special, but over the course of 7 or ten years, that same money invested in other opportunity for your child could have a powerful impact.  I have witnessed people spending droves on dance, but when that same child turns 18 and is ready for college, the family suddenly says, “She needs a scholarship. We really don’t have money for school.” And the kid gets laden with school loans that bleed them dry when they graduate, so they really can’t afford to follow their dream to be an artist – they need to get a “real job” to pay for their now useless college dance education. Or they have to wise up and forgo the dream because suddenly, the reality of dance not being a road towards financial security is made plainly clear.
 
Imagine that same money put into a trust and left to build over the next 50 years. The child would never have to worry about retirement, because millions would be there for future security. This means they could do what they love for a living rather than something practical because their long term needs were already taken care of. Money invested now means future freedom; – they never would have to stay in a bad marriage or a bad job because they can’t afford go get out. It means a life without so much stress, more opportunity. Yes, I imagine having the discipline and foresight to put 10 grand a year aside for your child (and still enjoying dance but not so aggressively) might be a gift that supersedes any scrapbook of pictures from ten dozen competitions where the kid performed the same dances over and over, swam in similar hotel pools, ate sandwiches from your cooler (suppose ably to save money).
But the weakness in that scenario is discipline, because few parents would actually put the money aside if they didn’t have a costume bill consuming their expendable income. And where is the fun in saving?
 
If you love competition, I think it’s great, but I will always be a bit skeptical at the drain on resources. You are in effect paying for a chance to have an audience. In real life, it’s the other way around.
Imagine that money used to purchase a second home for the family – and rather than weekends devoted to a child and mom getting away, the time and the resources would now be devoted to building more family memories.  The vacation home could be later sold to buy that dancing daughter her
first house outright.
Oh, the mind reels with the possibilities of lost opportunity costs.
 
But I guess it is good to pay it all to the dance people who made a business out of exploiting young dancers and enthusiastic moms too…… At least they found a way to make dance work for them.
 
Anyway, a former student of mine’s parent came up to me at competition and said, “Do you really want to do all this again?”   I shrugged and said “We’ll see…” But inside I was thinking, “No way in hell. At least not this way.” My life is about balance now and teaching others to embrace it. That is what the entire yoga element of my business is – it’s helping people dig underneath ego and drama and social expectation to pursue a life that is poignant and responsible and filled it joy.
Dance can be joyous – inspirational – self-esteem building – it can be an expression of the self. The artistry of dance is remarkable – but it isn’t something you get at competition. Dance should not drive families into financial stress, or be filled with emotional intrigue, drama and subterfuge. 
I don’t believe you can get to the place where dance is a source of deep joy through obsessive dance competition pursuits. I can play the game and go once in a while, but I will never feel the attraction to competition these people feel.
 
Because I know the world is filled with professional dancers and amazing talent that never set foot on a competition stage. Perhaps that needs to be considered when building a business model for leading young people into the dance world. Or perhaps I should pack it in and leave the dance world to a different mindset. Perhaps I should be just damn grateful for all dance has given me, personally and professionally and leave everyone else to figure it out on their own…. Sometimes swimming upstream gets exhausting…..   
 
I think the entire weekend could be summed up in one conversation.
The dance school parents from the new school were talking to me and they said, “So, aren’t you shocked about how much the dance world has changed? How do you feel about what you see here?”
 
I sort of shrugged and said I was rather surprised that the dance world was so stagnant – nothing seemed changed at all to me. I mean, the movement has evolved and is more contemporary now – costumes and trends have changed. The bar has been raised regarding physical ability too. But other than that (elements which have been a consistently changing factor in the arts for as long as I’ve danced) everything seems stagnant. All around me were kids wearing team jackets, overstimulated and hyper excited, they danced around the halls and gathered at the vendors. The same schools were there that I knew from the past – Robyn Dawn, Rolanes School of Dance, Mary Joes and others. Moms were doting on their kids, bringing them lunch during breaks. The teachers on stages were working the crowds, keeping things exciting; hyping up the energy and acting cool (I remembered teaching on those stages for years doing the same thing to be popular). Money was exchanging hands – fights occured, laughter… gossip……  The only thing that changed was the faces of the kids and moms….. It was just a new crew of people who all feel as if all this is new and exciting and different because it is new, exciting and different to them.  
 
I have no doubt that my comment came across as arrogant and like I was some kind of dinosaur refusing to admit that the dance world moved on without me. They wanted me to sigh and say, “Yea, it’s amazing. So much better than it used to be. So sorry I left… I could never catch up now at my age…… ”
But that is not how I felt.
I had just had a different conversation before running into these dance moms ……
 
A dance teacher with a power school whom I’ve known for years saw me at the registration table and about fell over. She was sort of our friendly nemesis years ago – at competitions the battle really got down to her students or ours, and we had a mutual respect and appreciation for each other as the two heavy hitters in the dance school competitive world. She said, “Ginny, I haven’t seen you in years. Where have you been?”
 
 “I sold my school and retired 7 years ago. I’ve just opened a small school so I’m back, checking things out.”
 
She nudged the man running the competition and said, “You should have seen her school – it was amazing. I went there to work with her kids once. It was huge, beautiful and the students were remarkable. Never seen anything like it.” She turned to me and said, “What in the world has happened to you since? How could you leave that fantastic successful school? Tell me everything..,”
 
I paused and said, “You first. What have you been up to?”
 
“Things are great – the same. Mom’s good. The school is doing good. We are in the same space. The kids always win now….”
I asked a few questions and found out that she is living in the same home, still unmarried, still doing dozens of competitions, only with new dancers since the other ones have all gone to college to become accountants or nurses …. Some tried dance but eventually landed in a more practical career. The big change is that she lost 25 pounds.
 
I made an excuse to go and said I would talk to her later and we would catch up. I had no intention of telling her my story. I really didn’t see the point in my sharing what would be the flipside of that conversation.
 
Because, it would go like this….
 
“Well, I sold my school 7 years ago and walked away with 2.4 million dollars. Was supposed to be more, but we never got the balance owed. Greatest financial success story ever told in the dance studio business nevertheless. Our students were not happy however, and a volatile series of events unfolded that tarnished our reputation and relationships with people we cared deeply about. The school went down within three years and broke into 7 new schools and a dance war began. We were blamed for much of what happened next, even though we were now in Georgia. 
The plan for Mark and I was that we would simplify and live in a humble home in the mountains, pursue our artistic dreams and focus on family. Unfortunately, from the moment we moved, Mark and I didn’t see eye to eye on how to manifest this simple life we discussed. I wanted to let someone else build us a humble cabin so we could travel and celebrate our freedom and just live. He promised he could build our home less expensively and better. Instead, he went crazy spending a million more than we had on his exciting home building project and the obsession took him away emotionally for two years. I got an MFA degree and quietly worked on writing, lonely as I experimented with farm life waiting for him to come back to earth. I got involved in yoga. Meanwhile, Mark made increasingly erratic financial decisions and we started disagreeing on how to save what we now had to acknowledge as a serious mistake. He plowed on, building and spending a second house until he lost everything we had (Only took three years) creating financial and emotional stress that was worse than anything we ever experienced running a dance school. Our life fell apart as he cut me out emotionally, physically and financially. Still, I was willing to regroup and work things out. 

He explained he couldn’t stand to be around me anymore because I was unhappy and cried often, worrying about my kids and our future since we had no career and lived in a place where we couldn’t make a living, and rather than taking my grief as evidence that his wife needed him more than ever, he considered my unhappiness a drag. I was a witness to his failure and he thought it would be easier to start over than deal with repairing our wounded love so he asked for a divorce. B
y then, I was ready too. We agreed to do so without a fight. I had no choice but to move back to Florida to get back to work because of financial issues and Mark helped me pack and hugged me and sent me away with a promise that when school was out in a few months, after I found a place to live, my daughter would join me. A month later I was hit with a lawsuit claiming abandonment and a lawsuit suit for custody. A huge expensive and ugly fight ensued, and I lost my children for two years due to his accusations. ( My fault- I was naive and I trusted him to follow our “plan” for the second time).
At this time, I haven’t talked to my oldest daughter in over two years and I have to accept the fact that we probably will never reconcile because time makes it worse and builds more resentment, at least for me – Meanwhile, the other two kids and I had our struggles. I went crazy with grief and depression over all this. I wrote a book about the experience and it won the Royal Palm Book award.  Art is where we pour our souls, I guess. Some good comes out of all pain.
Mark continued to make erratic and irresponsible decisions and the mistakes mounted up even faster now that I was gone, because my role was always the voice of reason and the devil’s advocate stopping him from himself. The kids were soon living on food stamps, every man out for himself, and they were subject to all kinds of changes and emotional challenges that left them confused, lost and feeling insecure. I was the now the full fledged enemy so I couldn’t help or console them. I suffered, watching their life tank more and more, as any mother would.
Mark got married the same week we got divorced – he’d been dating a family friend for less than a year. She is only the second girl he has ever dated (me being the first). He made this decision on a whim, without asking the kids blessing, or even telling them his plans. Only a month before, he insisted he had no interest in marriage to this person. Suddenly, my kids had a new mom – new living conditions and more stress. My son went to college, and as he broke free from the influence at home, we reconciled – a huge and important step for us. My youngest continued to resent me, barely visited and she was subject to more and more turmoil. She developed severe depression and emotional problems and got involved with a friend that was a bad influence.Mark was wrapped up in a new building project now that he had money again.  Meanwhile, Neva was getting worse. She ended up hospitalized on suicide watch and only then did the kids and I find out Mark had gotten married secretly. He claimed he did it for insurance and because that was the only way to get a house . I soon discovered he and his new wife had lots of secrets, their marriage being the least shocking… they knew my youngest was self-mutilating and she had two attempted suicides (minor incidents, but certainly a huge warning sign), but they didn’t share this information with me. I was cut out of my child’s life just as I had been cut out of my marriage. Later, my daughter told me lots of “secrets” she had with her new stepmom – simple things that was kept just between them – like things about her health and money and intimate, inappropriate relationships. Needlesstosay, I was not amused. 
Now things had come to a head. The therapist in the hospital suggested my daughter try a different living situation and overnight, arrangements were made for my child to come to Sarasota to live with me – only now we had all kinds of emotional and trust issues to work through and health issues etc… Financially, things were beyond dire – which makes it scary to have a child with problems. I had just moved in with my boyfriend, and I kicked him out – not nice but necessary. I put my relationship, my business and everything on hold to attend to the broken relationship with my daughter and help her regain feelings of security . I was unprepared, but delighted for this gift of motherhood again. Thankfully my boyfriend proved understanding, supportive, patient, and caring, a good revelation at a time I needed it.
Thankfully, I also had yoga to help me deal with the stress, confusion and anger.
Mark’s new wife left him for another man within three months.  He told everyone about it. Then, when things didn’t work out, she came back – but by now Mark had told me and everyone else about “her issues” which makes reconciling awkward. My children now know too much to about her and what transpired to ever accept her as they once did. Another mistake. Since then, Mark has gotten two hip replacement surgeries. He has been trying real-estate for years, but it hasn’t been successful. He is going through physical therapy and health issues, as well as facing a financial crisis (because he took his settlement and overextended himself on another house building project rather than paying his debts again, believe it or not, thus continuing his pattern of financial mayhem.&nbsp. IIssues in his private life point to further adjustments he will have to wade through. I try to be friends, but he wants no part of that. He refuses to answer my calls or e-mails or respond to my attempts to be nice. I am still struggling to get to a place where we can work together to raise our daughter to meet her emotional needs, but I am on my own.  I miss him often, still care deeply for him as the father of my children, but distance has shown me the serious problems I worked to hide from others for years are so ingrained that nothing will change them. That makes me sad – for him, for those that count on him. But I am relieved to be off the roller coaster after twenty years of struggling to make life work. Frankly, I’m exhausted from it all and some days I wonder if I will ever feel free of the emotional depletion that transpired over years and years of drama .
 
I am back in Sarasota. I used my settlement to open a business, a dance and yoga studio, but it hasn’t been easy. The yoga element of the school is successful, but getting the dance off the ground has been a challenge (not something I saw coming.) I have dug into yoga so intently that somehow I’ve become a master in the field and now I do trainings in yin yoga, RYT training, chair & yoga therapy and more. I am the leader in aerial yoga training in the south – a long story. A reiki healer. All kinds of new agey, health things have eased into my life and world . Don’t know how I got here professionally, but that is where my choices have led. I love my work, am excited  by all I”ve learned, and have ambition to grow into something unique that combines dance and yoga and holistc healing. Still it’s a day to day struggle to keep my business afloat.  I am learning a lot though – about people, how the body and brain works, and about myself. I’ve seen my past with remarkable clarity thanks to yoga and the way it sheds ego, excuses, justifications, and social training.   
Once Neva healed (she is doing marvelously now), I felt it would be appropriate to get engaged to my boyfriend, a man with the highest IQ if anyone I’ve ever known. He is remarkably accomplished – an engineer, computer programer, balloon & plane pilot, master gardner, builder, sailor, athlete, and more. (More on him another day) Most importantly he is kind, honest, wise, and has a gentle spirit. But I am still healing so I need time before I can set a date for a wedding. I guess I am afraid to take the plunge because I keep imagining Mark’s & his wife’s scenario – I don’t want to make the mistake of thinking someone is perfect for me when the truth is, it  takes time to know someone – to learn the truth of their story.  David, my fiancé, is a source of support, encouragement and healing. He is deeply loving – his attent
iveness and good treatment is something out of my comfort zone after years in a different kind of relationship.  I am tip toeing along…… cautious… it is hard for me to believe that a happy, loving relationship can really come so easily. 
And now, I am here at a dance competition for the first time in years. Someone made a smug comment that it must be hard for me to show up with these unaccomplished dancers considering what a big wig I once was…. as if I should crawl under my chair because I haven’t go the biggest school or best dancers in the room. I am treated with respect for the past, but at the same time as if I am obsolete and have no promise in this field. Ha.
I look at those beautiful students, so fresh and with such great attitudes and I know they have come farther with me in a short time than they could have come with anyone else. I am very proud. I look at my daughter, smiling (and above ground) and know that in a few moments, after she gets off stage, she will run to me and hug me and make a joke about her mistakes. She has a killer sense of humor and we have rediscovered our loving relationship at long last. The people around me have no clue that I feel much more successful now than I ever felt when I was here with ten dozen dancers who could do multiple pirouettes.

I have a new house. A new relationship, no debt, a dog, a business with promise, a good relationship with two out of three of my kids (not perfect, but not bad). All things considered, I feel I’m on track towards happiness at last. 

You see – that would be my side of the story. The other teacher’s big change is that she lost 25 pounds. My big change is that I have 25 pounds of emotional luggage attached to my ribs now and I am back at square one, facing a long hard road if I want to ever retire and pursue my dream to write again. In two years Mark knocked me back twenty.  Ah well. 
 
The point is, when I said the dance world seems stagnant to me, it is not because I can’t appreciate or see that the style popular today is different than what was winning gold trophies 7 years ago. Get real. I see. I process. I learn. Quick. People shouldn’t underestimate me. The thing is – the dance world really hasn’t changed. But I HAVE CHANGED. I’ve evolved. I’ve had additional training in physical movement and anatomy with yoga that makes me see bodies and movement differently. I do not react to others as I once did and my patience has expanded thanks to yoga. I feel a sense of poignancy and tenderness when I see young children. I worry about the psyche of young artists and their future with dance…I deeply honor the relationship between mothers and daughters in a whole new way. I see everything about dance differently now, more clearly. I have wisdom and experience and a whole different perspective on life and art. Frankly, I’m teaching better than ever before, and I can still dance thanks to yoga and some weird force in the universe that makes my body sing when music starts playing. The other day, a parent shook her head and laughed as I left my class and said, “I’d like to see the lady on dance mom’s do what you just did.”
Recently,Neva looked at me and said, “It’s weird that my mom can be so fierce on the dance floor. But you are…. ”
Yes, I’m older but I can still dance. And I believe the dance world needs me more than ever before.
 
Am I ever going to be a heavy hitter again – the mover and shaker of the dance world.  Do I even want to be? Not really. Am I “important” as I once was? It all depends on what benchmark you use to define “important.” I certainly am not here to make money and prove myself as I once was.         
I think the real question is “am I going to make a difference in other people’s lives by returning to the danced world? Have I made a good choice for me, for students, for my kids, and for dance as an art? Can I use what I’ve learned to be a better teacher or to create a great school that has an important place in the bigger scheme of life?
I’ve thought a lot about that this weekend and I have an answer.
 
You betcha. A better question might be,  will I ……  or will I decide that the opportunity costs of building a strong school are too much for someone who wants to live a life that is balanced and happy?
Time will tell.

Saturday was a good night. Warm and enthusiastic writers, agents and publishers crowded into a huge ballroom, eager to see who and what would happen at this year’s Royal Palm Literary Awards . The conversations all around me were vibrant, creative and filled with talk of books, writing and plots. My book came in first place, Memoir. The second and third place winners were accomplished, published authors with some meaty subject matter (One book was about a mother who’s son was in the war in Iraq, the other, a story told by a cancer survivor). I was very honored that my book, a tale where a donkey serves as a metaphor for grasping for a dream and failing, held up so well. Most startling was walking up to receive the award and hearing the announcer read my bio. With credentials including an  MFA, teaching experience, and a list of other awards I was lucky enough to win since the last time I received a Royal Palm Award, I realized that while I often feel I’ve not accomplished any of the things I had hoped for when I moved to GA, I really have made great strides despite the challenges I’ve endured. And THAT made me feel prouder than any chunk of etched glass that symbolized winning an award. Our lives are nothing but the accumulation of small steps, and walking up to that podium, I realized that even if I am not yet at my hoped for destination, I’ve walked miles in the right direction.  

Later, I had a wonderful meeting with a very established agent who not only asked for my book, but took the time to share insight as to why my queries have not been getting the responses I hoped. She said no one will touch a memoir that runs 110k words, even if it’s amazing. I have to pare the book down to 80K words to be saleable in this market. OK then….. so tonight I begin the arduous task of cutting material from the book to prepare it for a new agent and a fighting chance to earn a place in the publishing world. I embrace the task. Every change, painful as cutting can be, makes for a stronger book, and bidding good-bye the fluff is bound to make My Million Dollar Donkey a more intense and poignant read.

My date, David, had great class. He helped make the evening special, doing all he could to make me feel beautiful, accomplished, and talented (I suppose the Chardonnay helped me feel good too.) I appreciated his genuine support and efforts to make the celebration all it could be. 

After reading my last blog, my friend George texted me to wish me good luck. He said, “Pack light, Ginny. It’s time you start lugging only a carry on with you.” Made me laugh.
George has always been both practical and wise, and his words came to mind more than once that night as I sat in that crowded room among strangers. I felt grounded and at home because it occured to me that special friends are with me always, in spirit, in heart, and in the smiles they inspire; smiles that resognate long after the moment of first impact.    

Ginny, the writer, is back. It feels right and good to be blogging again, but I’m afraid not tonight. I must attend to my editing…..

    This weekend I am going to a writing seminar, the first I’ve attended in years. On Saturday night I will go to a banquet where the winner of the Royal Palm Literary Award will be announced. I am one of three finalists in the memoir category.

    I am not particularly excited or anxious about the results. I’m just going to see what happens. This particular contest fills me with memories and reflection and serves as a poignant reminder that life can be filled with important lessons, the kind of lessons that must be viewed through an honest lens.  

      I won the Royal Palm Literary Award ten years ago for the first full book I ever wrote, a historical romance called SISTERS OF FATE (the book was renamed more than once during a long, slow evolution.) I was thrilled beyond belief, except for the fact that my husband and I had a fight after the awards ceremony. He felt I didn’t thank him enough during my moment on stage and the focus of my winning this exciting award was quickly diverted from my writing and personal accomplishment, to his feelings that he was not appreciated enough or given enough credit for his part in my success. In retrospect, his needing to be given credit for anything and everything I did and his having to be the center of attention was a common theme in our marriage and not something I will get into here. But because of that memory, I know that when or if they call out my name tomorrow night, my delight will be dampened by the nagging resonance of my disappointment and hurt over a 20 year love affair that was completely out of balance. Memories and the baggage we can’t seem to put down are a bitch.  While some people can shrug and move on easily from a broken past, for others, the sorrows of a failed life linger like ghosts making the hair stand up on your arms for reasons you can’t quite explain. I fall into the latter category.  Sigh.

     Writing. What a journey it’s been.
 
     Winning this particular award way back when gave me something much more important than an ego rush. Dumbo was handed a feather and told that as long as he held it, he could fly. Damn if the elephant didn’t take to the air after that, convinced he could defy gravity just because someone gave him a symbol proclaiming his potential. Confidence is a wonderful thing.

     I had been dabbling in romance writing for some time.    I’ve wanted to write since I was a child, and in those tender years when I was expected to pick a career, I came darn close to going to school for journalism, but dance had such a grip on my heart and had a short shelf life, I moved to New York to pursue that dream instead. Still, I clung to the notion that when dance was done with me, I’d tackle the writing dream. I held that plan close to my heart for as long as I could remember and years of writing articles for magazines and journaling privately while I worked as a dancer kept writing a vibrant hope for me. 

     I opened a dance studio out of necessity to support myself way back when I first moved to Sarasota as a single mom, and some ten years later when it at long last became stable enough to afford me snippets of time and energy I could allocate towards something other than survival, I started writing fiction again. I wrote romance for reasons I won’t go into here, but to be honest, I was living vicariously on paper. My personal life was greatly devoid of physical intimacy, but I loved and adored my husband, so I found myself acting out, having the affair of the century with a complex, handsome man who lived in 1847 England. He was sexy and had ethics and absolutely loved his woman with conviction. He was everything I longed for, and the romance I plunged into on paper provided me with the passion and tenderness I needed and lacked in my real life.  Acting out on paper was a good thing, because it won me the Royal Palm Literary Award for Historical Fiction. In that way it is fair to say my husband WAS the reason that book won the award, because sheer loneliness and isolation in my marriage drove me to write the dang thing.

     Anyway, I won the award and, with it, a lovely burst of confidence, but selling a book is much harder than writing one, especially when you are unwilling to make compromises and write books that are format friendly for the genre publishing arena. I suppose I could have plowed on and eventually made enough adjustments to the book to get the dang thing published, but I chose to go another direction. If everyone was so convinced I had talent (I kept hearing this from teachers and agents and publishers who felt the book needed more work, but the “writing” was deeply promising) and if I was winning awards on sheer talent without so much as a lick of training, imagine what I could do if I seriously studied the craft! I didn’t want to be a published author. I wanted to be a GOOD published author. So, I applied for some very competitive MFA programs and low and behold, was accepted by Lesley University in Boston.

     I got my acceptance notification on the very day we received an offer from someone to buy our business. Fate was giving me a sign, I thought, so I readily and willingly let go of dance to embrace the second dream. I had worked hard for 20 years building a business at great personal cost, and now I had earned the right (and enough money) to retire and try my hand at something that meant the world to me. At least, that is how I viewed the choice to sell FLEX and walk away from my dance career at the time.

     The rest of the story is told in my memoir, My Million Dollar Donkey, which may or may not win the very same award that started it all. Life has a twisted sense of humor sometimes. I did all I could to get my ducks in a row to achieve this latent dream, but my chance was stripped away by someone with a different agenda.  It was a bit like Jack in the Beanstalk, selling the cash cow for a handful of beans. Only in our case, Mark didn’t plant the beans in rich soil so a towering beanstalk leading to another world would rise from his choices. His choices were not out of character for him and after a 20 year history of watching him make similar mistakes, I should never have expected things to unfold differently. What happened next makes for a sad and miserable personal life story, but a good book – one that just might be good enough to win me the Royal Palm Literary Award again. There is good in everything, I suppose.

     Anyway, this weekend I will sit there in a room with other aspiring writers and while I should be gaining inspiration, my mind will no doubt slip to the dream that almost was, the man I loved more than I ever should have, and everything I endured to lead me to my writing this memoir. 
     I worked like a dog to get through my MFA program,  harboring a wonderful anticipation that when I was through, I’d be ready and able to pursue a writing career full steam. But no sooner did I have the skill and the education to follow “the plan” than life took a turn and my entire world fell apart. Instead of love and happiness and the happy, creative life that was right within grasp, my life became a nightmare of financial stress, isolation and loneliness. Voila – I landed back where I began 20 years prior, a single mother needing to open a business to support herself out of necessity, (and this time with far fewer resources and time to accomplish the deed than when I began last time.) Sadder still is that this time, I am dragging that heavy bag too – a bag that I continually strive to let go, but seems chained to my wrist, a perpetual warning that love takes more away from your life than it gives – or at least that has been my experience. (And now we know why this girl can’t write romance anymore.)

       Maybe I’ll win the award this weekend. Maybe I won’t. It doesn’t really make a difference. What counts is that life often comes full circle, giving you opportunity to see behind you without your having to turn around or walk backwards to see where you’ve been. This award is symbolic in that way, a tangible reminder that dreams never die, they just get buried or sidetracked or chained up by someone else so that no matter how much you do to give them their darnest shot, they may never get the space to breathe.  

    I will meet with two agents on Sunday. They will probably ask to see the book, they always do, because it is impolite and awkward to sit fact to face with a hopeful writer and say no. I understand that nothing may come of the opportunity, but there is always the long shot chance. Because of my personality, I have no choice but to hang in there, throwing darts, because someday, eventually, I believe if I keep writing and winning awards and hoping and dreaming, someone will say “yes” and one of my books will at long last manifest on paper. When that happens, I have every confidence that, thanks to my grit, determination and natural gift for business, the story will sell well. That, in turn, will affect my teaching, my career; my attitude and most importantly, it will give purpose to all I’ve endured and explain why my life has unfolded in such challenging ways. That would be the best gift of all.

     It is not enough to be a good writer. What counts is that you have something of value to say. Having a voice that resonates with the world at large begins with a broadened perspective of the human experience. Life certainly gave me that.
     This weekend, I’ll be remembering every step I’ve had to take in this long painful journey to get where I am now . . .  right back where I began. Bags in tow.  

I just looked up my last post. It was 423 days ago. Eeesh. I am certain I’ve lost my former audience (once up to 8 thousand hits) . But trust me, the time spent away was important – a time of healing  – the kind of thing that must be done in private. 
So, I’m ready to blog again and see where the words take me. Since I doubt anyone is really going to read this, I wont’ bother to write an involved catch up passage. I’m now single. I have a new business. I’m living in Florida and piecing together a new life with slow, deliberate determination. That sums things up.
It feels good to be back.
It feels even better to feel good enough to be back.