Last night, I had a dream that I went to a kitchy, alterna-retro convention. There were tables and tables of tchotchkes lined up-- crinoline skirts embroidered with bright flames, rhinestone-studded hornrimmed glasses, shiny black lacquered mini-cars, velvet Elvis throw rugs. And in the courtyard, swing was playing, so I wandered out. I was wearing something like my beige slip and black lace dress, but with a circle-skirted bottom, and heels. I watched the dancers, who were dressed with rockabilly flair. I remember feeling like I really stood out-- I looked nothing like them in their sleek black, with their carefully-gelled hair. So I leaned back against a chain link fence and watched, hugging my arms to my body defensively.

And then someone asked me to dance. He was a little taller than me, with long blond hair. A solid body, strong arms. In a way, he kind of reminded me of chickenhat, which makes sense, I guess, because I have danced with Sean. Embarrassed and sputtering excuses, I hesitatingly accepted. And the dance was a little rough at first-- something about his beat seemed off, until I noticed the complex pattern of syncopation in the music. I closed my eyes and let myself feel the beat, the movement of my partner's body, the dance itself. And my feet started to move.

He did all sorts of moves that I have never done before. I relaxed my body when he picked me up, got a good swing into an overhead aerial. I thought of it as gliding, my own personal version of a flying dream. I remember thinking, I feel so light, so weightless. This is how it should be. And when the music ended, I opened my eyes. We'd ended in a low dip, and my body was taut like the string on a bow. I looked up into my partner's face, and sweat beaded our brows. He looked exhilarated, proud. It felt good to share that connection with someone. And then we looked up, and everyone else around was watching us, watching this outsider who somehow managed to blend in so seamlessly. As he pulled me up, he introduced himself, but in waking, I have lost the name. He said something about a dance the next Saturday with 'the gang,' and that I should come and he'd show me a little more. And then I woke up, exactly one minute before my alarm went off.

The dream was reassuring in a way. I mean, I already know that I don't have to stop dancing, and that our regular group loves me. I have support behind me all the way. But I've had this nagging fear that things might not ever be as good, as fulfilling, to me as they had been now that my favorite partner and I are no longer romantically connected. So much angst in our break is wrapped up in that, in the connection that I always felt so strongly when we danced together. So if even dream-me is able to take a step in the right direction, I guess that's a good thing. It's also a reaffirmation that I'm capable of learning new things instead of doing the same steps over and over. Sure, they look good, but I'm hitting a plateau, and hungry to learn more. What impresses the first-timers no longer impresses me; I've learned those steps by rote. They will too, and it might be enough for awhile, but the newbie awe does wear off eventually, and that's what separates the wheat from the chaff, as it were. Some people will always run away to the next shiny thing in the face of hard work, or stay resolutely ensconced within their own comfort zone, afraid to risk. Not me. I think the lesson of 2007 is going to be that comfortable complacency is not what's best for me. If I don't feel that slow burn, that good stretch, I'm not doing it right. For things to be good, I have to be actively engaged, positively challenged, and completely connected.

On other positive fronts: I have not bitten my nails in a week. This is a major triumph for me. I will have pretty, French-manicured tips in no time. I just have to fight against my nervous habit of nibbling.

Also, I just bought tickets to see Rachel Brice and the Indigo perform in DC on the 21st. You're jealous, and you know it.

A lot of you are having a rough time right now. Being so far away, there is little I can do, but I can do this. When things get hard, and they are, I tell myself a few things over and over again. I whisper them as I fall asleep. And it's enough to get me to take that next breath. So, for you:

Angel: Buffy, please. Just this once... let me be strong.
Buffy: Strong is fighting! It's hard, and it's painful, and it's every day.
--Buffy the Vampire Slayer, "Amends"*

"When you're going through hell, keep going."

Sometimes you gotta just tell yourself over and over again to keep that chin up. That this too shall pass. All of those hokey things that keep us just alive enough to make it to the next day. But you know, it's not really true that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. What doesn't kill you can still be deeply damaging. All of our pride, our harsh words, our emotional withholdings, our suppressed issues, our fears-- they can cut deeper than glass. Once the hurt fades, the best you can do is to wash your face, look into the mirror and see that even with red-rimmed eyes, you're stronger than this, and that you will not give up. There is too much good in this world to give up. Protect yourself. There are those who will inevitably take your vulnerability for weakness-- know your limits. But be honest. Speak with words of love. They might fall upon deaf ears, but at least you'll know that you said them instead of nasty, hurtful things. And trust me, this is usually the hardest part. But it's worth it. It is so very worth it. As my dear Abby likes to say, morality is who you are in the dark. You will know what you're made of when you've got next to nothing left. I would rather look in the mirror and see someone who spoke words of love, not ones of derision. And if you have to walk away, walk away with your shoulders straight, knowing that you did your best.

If any of you need anything, you can call me. My contact info is in the sidebar of my journal, for those on my friendslist. Or you can write, or email. Just know that you are not alone.


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