A couple random notes about me.
For a sincerely large part of my early teen years I thought that I would be a concert pianist. Actually what I really wanted to do was be a violinist playing in the Vienna Philharmonic. The problem was I didn’t start playing the violin until I was thirteen and at thirty minutes of practice a day I was hardly on my way to Juilliard. So I compromised with my ambition and said I would become a concert pianist instead. I saved up my meager wages and went to a Helene Grimaud concert (sitting in a very close front row) and listened to a lot of piano recordings of her and Vladimir Ashkenazy, and Van Cliburn and Murray Perahia etc. and for the better portion of my junior year I even practiced for two hours a day. I was pretty good. And then for whatever reason I seemed to become “just good enough” for my ambition–or possibly just got scared because I didn’t want to be solo and center stage. Whatever reason I went limp noodles in the practice department. I still love to play though and still listen to a lot of Rachmaninoff, and even if playing that music is becoming something of a miraculous enactment it’s still wonderful to me. I don’t have any ambition to perform that kind of music anymore but I am definitely richer for the experience.
My mother pulled out an article from a magazine a few years ago. I don’t even remember what magazine it was but it contained an article about a couple who, though quite wealthy and could easily afford a brilliantly decadent vacation home, had instead opted to have a yurt country home. It struck a cord with me and I was fascinated by this beautiful tent they had set up in the arid Utah climate. Despite the cord being struck, I promptly went and forgot about it for a few years until once more my mum inspired me, this time by checking out a library book on ‘small houses’ or something of the sort…maybe it was portable houses. Whatever it was it once again had a yurt and suddenly I could hear the ringing of the once struck chord still vibrantly resounding. I researched yurts, bought a book about yurts, looked up yurt websites and have told more than one person that at some time in my life I intend to dwell in a yurt. I might even go to Mongolia just so I can see a real Mongolian yurt. We’ll see.
I think Acroyoga, or partner Yoga if you prefer, is ridiculously hypnotic, cool and very “now” to watch. I’ve allowed more than one moment of my life to slip away while holding a mesmerized stare at the youtube video’s of people stretching and dancing through their yoga routine. Yes I even fancy myself to be that dreadlock lass in the photo above. It’s slick, it’s suave, it’s a lot more flexible then I feel at the moment–and those are shorter shorts than I’ve fancied myself wearing since I was past age five. However I’m still a young lass and anticipate that there may yet be an acroyoga, short shorts flashing, dreadlock sporting, future for me still. Yes, this is a someday plan I hope is coming soon.