"It could have turned out differently, I suppose. But it didn't."
~~Fanny Price in Mansfield Park
When I was a girl, I had a music box. And when you lifted the lid, a ballerina in a pink tutu greeted you with a pirouette. I would watch her spin, entranced by the simplicity of her movement. In those early years, Frank Mills released his beautiful piano piece “Music Box Dancer”. My parents bought me the 45 and I would dance to it for hours. I even choreographed a routine to the piece, which I performed for my family. I loved to dance. Still do.
I've started taking a Bollywood Dance Class. I really suck at it. Somewhere along the way in life, my body has forgotten how to coordinate movement. But I love the music and I love laughing at the girl in the mirror as she stumbles around trying to figure out what to do with herself.
And I wonder how many of our childhood dreams get lost in the shuffle of life, how things could have unfolded "if only". It doesn't depress me near as much as it used to; there are always infinite possibilities and one cannot live them all. But I do wonder about that ballerina in the music box and think that maybe there's still some of her in me.