P.S.A.

So yeah, I took another ballet class and came home and was all "why the hell did I stop doing this?"

Friends, my therapy is ballet.  I know, weird, but having practiced it for my entire life, it is actually a meditative activity for me.  The muscle memory, the music, the strength, the stretching, the balance, the disciplined moving through space .... dancers out there will get what I'm saying.  And I am back with a teacher who worked with me for many of my adult years, who gets my body and makes corrections just right (she happened to be the sad sack who had to schlep me to an ER a few years ago when my calf muscle snapped while doing jumps, but that's another story....)

OK, this isn't the blog about creaky-kneed middle-aged ballerinas, so I will make my point.

Everyone and their brother out there instructs you to find your joy.  But those are just words, and I know that they are meaningless when you are not getting pregnant after god knows how long, or coming off a failed ART cycle, or mourning another lost baby.

So here's your homework assignment: You have to identify what. those. words. mean.

Clearly my escape  - my crack really - is ballet.  The zumba classes are a hell of a lot of fun, keep my heart healthy, and allow me to fit into my clothes (sort of).  They also get me to smile and shake my ass with the women in my office whose company I actually enjoy.  Communal ass shaking after a long day at the office is a good thing.  But it's nothing compared to the brand of release I get doing something that I have loved to do since the age of 6.

Your crack will be something else.  It may be yoga (which I will admit is SO NOT my crack).  It may be gardening.  Knitting.  Hiking.  Running.  Drawing.  Organizing your closet.  I have no idea what your crack is, but I assure you, there is something out there that puts you in a frame of mine that leaves you peaceful and fulfilled and yes, joyous when you're done.