21st December 09
The year finally turns
Pirouetting en pointe
The Dancer meets the Dance:
I am renewed
I have been waiting for this day since the evenings began to creep in back in September; and yet, now it’s here, I feel no different. The poem isn’t a lie but it isn’t how I feel. It may well be the truth, a statement of reality that I have to slowly wake up to. But the walk I had today, in woods and beach frozen and layered with snow, makes me feel that winter is still going to grip my soul a long while:
21st December 09
Snow on dark holly
Sunlight on ice, sparkling bright:
Lovely but so bleak
Silence fills cold air
Crunching feet on frozen snow:
Stillness reigns again.
I’ve only just got out of bed despite it being early evening; I woke this morning with enough headache for three people and was forced to ring in sick. That’s a day’s pay lost. I’m not brilliant now; all fuzzy and the pain is still there but I can at least stay upright again.
I’m thinking about why people cannot accept that another person does not or cannot enjoy something they love. This comes via an exchange on Facebook, that utterly banal waste of time where one dear friend commented something about dancing in the rain; I’d answered, well I don’t dance, full stop end of story. There followed a couple of people saying to the effect “Oh you should try it, you’d like it!” or “Oh you haven’t lived till you’ve danced at least one dance!”
I’m forty three for ****’s sake! Does anybody seriously imagine that in all that time I have escaped dance altogether? I had even made this a part of my answer. I’ve tried most things; I don’t have to like them all. I hate dance. I don’t even much enjoy watching it; most people dance as though they had electrodes attached to their private parts. But I accept that they enjoy it and I am glad for them. Why then do people blindly and blithely assume that I’d like it if I only tried it, or tried harder? I know what I like and I know what I don’t like. I try not to go round telling other people they’d enjoy what I enjoy if they only tried it. I wanted to write, “Oh I’m sure you’d adore higher maths if you only tried it!” or “You simply haven’t lived till you read The Illiad in the original Greek!”
We’re each different, with different tastes. Mine are my own, so why do people endlessly try and make me like what they like?
Go dance, in the rain or where ever you want. Just don’t imply that by refusing to join you I am a lesser human being.
Pissed off of Lowestoft