Has it really been almost a month since I've written?
It feels like a few days, but perhaps that is because I have delved back into my writing thanks to the talents of J.R. Ward and Nora Roberts. Their books inspire me to pop open my laptop and write the night away. However, between Vampires and romance so thick and beautiful it makes you weep in bed, I have been very busy.
The last few weeks have been dedicated to SOFA practice and preparing for my husbands first visit in about a year. SOFA being the wonderful show my Pole Fitness class does twice a year to show off our skills in a three hour long performance. My husband being that sexy man I married last May.
I have been running myself ragged, and it is absolutely lovely. It has been a long time since I've immersed myself into something so completely that I can block out everything else around me. It has been both challenging and fun. My bones and muscles ache, but I have a feeling of accomplishment you just can't get at the gym.
And everyone's first reaction to my being a pole dancer is: Ew. You're a stripper or a slut or whatever other derogatory names you can come with with. No one stops to think how much EFFORT it takes. How much strength and agility, practice and time. They are so busy judging, that they don't see past the half naked women who probably can't even lift themselves to the top of that pole in a strip club.
We can.
We do it so well, it may not seem sexy anymore. Instead, it gives us our strength and our confidence, it feeds our soul with a special kind of love. Our bodies become this memory bank of tricks, spins and dance. We make new friends, we become this big dysfunctional family of women of all ages, races and religions. You walk through those doors and the entire outside world is gone. All you think of is mastering that next trick, and of looking sexy and fluid as you do it.
So I tend to ignore the naysayers and judgmental people. Because while they have arms like noodles and I can open that hard-to-open jar of garlic for a friend when she cooks me dinner. I can help lug a giant couch out of someones house and rearrange my furniture without breaking a sweat. I can dance in heels so high they reach the clouds.
And I look damn good while I do it.
m.l.carista
It feels like a few days, but perhaps that is because I have delved back into my writing thanks to the talents of J.R. Ward and Nora Roberts. Their books inspire me to pop open my laptop and write the night away. However, between Vampires and romance so thick and beautiful it makes you weep in bed, I have been very busy.
The last few weeks have been dedicated to SOFA practice and preparing for my husbands first visit in about a year. SOFA being the wonderful show my Pole Fitness class does twice a year to show off our skills in a three hour long performance. My husband being that sexy man I married last May.
I have been running myself ragged, and it is absolutely lovely. It has been a long time since I've immersed myself into something so completely that I can block out everything else around me. It has been both challenging and fun. My bones and muscles ache, but I have a feeling of accomplishment you just can't get at the gym.
And everyone's first reaction to my being a pole dancer is: Ew. You're a stripper or a slut or whatever other derogatory names you can come with with. No one stops to think how much EFFORT it takes. How much strength and agility, practice and time. They are so busy judging, that they don't see past the half naked women who probably can't even lift themselves to the top of that pole in a strip club.
We can.
We do it so well, it may not seem sexy anymore. Instead, it gives us our strength and our confidence, it feeds our soul with a special kind of love. Our bodies become this memory bank of tricks, spins and dance. We make new friends, we become this big dysfunctional family of women of all ages, races and religions. You walk through those doors and the entire outside world is gone. All you think of is mastering that next trick, and of looking sexy and fluid as you do it.
So I tend to ignore the naysayers and judgmental people. Because while they have arms like noodles and I can open that hard-to-open jar of garlic for a friend when she cooks me dinner. I can help lug a giant couch out of someones house and rearrange my furniture without breaking a sweat. I can dance in heels so high they reach the clouds.
And I look damn good while I do it.
m.l.carista
