I used to take modern dance classes in Essex, Vermont, at the Movement Center. My dance instructor was Jae Diego. Even her name seemed meant for stardom: the place I was so sure I was headed.
She told me once that I should take ballet. Not because I had real talent, but because every person should if they wanted to understand their bodies while dancing. I knew, though (perhaps it was the panic in my heart) that ballet was too scary. But in that conversation, that small brief moment of my life in which someone tried to convince me to get to the roots of dance, I heard an amazing metaphor. She applied it to dance, but I apply it to everything.
"Ballet," said Jae, "is the vitamins needed for any other dance movement. It all began there." Without ballet, without those vitamins, nothing else can move with strength.
My sister and I took vitamins when we were small wee little lads. Yeah. We ate the entire bottle of flintstones vitamins and had a grand day at the hospital throwing up yellow mush into small fingerhut plastic bowls. Then we moved to a place that smells of wholeness and wellbeing. The trees barely hit the house, the grass was always crazy with whispering and the cupboards full of organic breads, milks, fruits, and vitamins. At first, we wrinkled our noses. Such weird stuff!
You should see my cabinets now. I made a deal with Jon that I go shopping for the expensive foods that would help the environment, the individual workers and farmers who made it, and our [ health ]. I would seek out what will taste best, last longer and make us feel good. He would give me 50% of the bill. Inside, I have this hope that he'll grow to love it. That he'll help me build a garden of our own, that he'll say, "Man! I'm craving that great stoneground wheat bread with some stonyfield yogurt and honey plopped on top!" The very same kind of snacks that made me gag when I first saw them eaten.
The other night for dinner, I made some spicy peanut thai tofu with shaved carrots, green peppers, mushrooms and scallions, sauteed in sesame oil. On rice . . . mmmmmm. Fantastic food! I try to take my vitamins every morning; I try to emulate the people I admire who run at 50 and put lotion of their glowing skin ( kiss my face! ).
My first great feeling that I had done something truly for me was the day I decided to become a [ vegetarian ]. But greater things have happened since. Realizing that I love olives. Realizing that yogurt and granola make a great snack. Realizing that me, stressed always about money, can see the importance in spending it on wonderful food that's heavy just to hold, but heavenly to eat.
Granted, there are still some that I need to work on. Some things that I am trying and praying I will like when I eat them. Most, I think, I have forced myself to love. Now, I want so much for Jon to feel the same way. To feel re-energized (not that I do all the time, but there are moments). To feel that vitamins do him good, that the lack of meat in his system somehow makes him feel cleaner.
Have I had these reactions? I can't say that I have honestly. But in reflection, thinking about the changes I've made, I feel good. I love that I love honey on bread. I love that I take my vitamins. I love that I'm eating a mango at work! Where have all the cheez-its gone?
My point, though, is that I have found the most basic of vitamins: food. From here, who knows how strong I'll be in mind, body and soul. Soul is what I feel first. Knowing that I made a choice, completely unhindered. My vegetarian friends always gave me room, and once I made the decision, I recognized what will and strength really are. I'm pleased to finally have a cause.
beam me up, scotty
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