All alone in a studio with mirrored walls she’s spinning in circles.
Spinning on bruised feet.
Keeping her center so she won’t lose balance.
Trying not to get lost in the blur – the streaks of light and life outside of her turning – outside of the window – the busy hum of the city.
There’s an ache in her muscles begging her to stop.
There’s a flash to the left and a noise to the right that beckon for her attention.
If not for her dedication to her center, she would have fallen.
If not for her unrelenting practice to be great, those outside beauties – those attractive lures would whisper to her.
They’d fill her head with deceptions of fear and pain.
They’d distract her with glory and fame.
They’d tempt her with relief and ease.
But their gifts aren’t as valuable as fulfilling the call – completing the dance.
So she spins on.
And when practice takes it’s place on stage and the piece is done, they’ll remember her poise.
They’ll tell stories of her elegance.
But it was really the aching – the practice – the ability to find her center and stay there that made her remarkable.