Last night the fat little girl in the baby-pink tutu dreamed once more.

 The Impossible Dream. She went to see –

The Russian Ballet performing Swan Lake.

The soaring music of Tchaikovsky. The beloved story of Siegfried and Odette.

Many years ago, she wanted to be Odette when she grew up. Even if –

· She didn’t have the right body shape.

· Tiny, willowy, cute did not describe her.

· She was dumpy, overweight clumsy.

But mostly, she didn’t have the talent.

The desire, yes, but that wasn’t enough.

Dancing is a jealous mistress. She demands all.

But our little ballerina had dreams. Big dreams.

A fall from a horse at fourteen slowed her down (I told you she was clumsy.) But the dream persisted. Alas, without success.

Years before she had started piano lessons. The music room was her “go-to hidey hole.”

And as the dream to dance failed, another jealous mistress entered our dumpy little ballerina’s life.


She discovered no-one cared that she was short and fat and clumsy. When she climbed onto that piano stool, her shape didn’t matter one little bit.

When her fat little fingers pressed the keys, drawing up sounds of beauty, she was dancing on the keys.

She soaked up the adoration and applause. It validated her worth. She couldn’t dance.

But she could play piano.

She wasn’t good enough at sport to win the coveted red band sewn onto her gymslip.

But she could play piano.

She couldn’t partner with one of the other girls, practicing dance steps after study hall.

But she could play piano for them to dance.

It didn’t come free, this new devotion.

It cost time. Lack of friends. A social life. Interaction with peers.

No, our little wannabee ballerina turned piano student paid a huge price for the accolades and admiration she craved.

She was lonely. This little girl. And the lonelier she got, the more she turned to the piano.

She was comfortable in the music room. Year after year she strived to pass her exams with Honors. Anything less would’ve destroyed her. It was all she had.

So, when she watches Odette soar in the Pas de Deux, she remembers the fat little girl in the baby-pink tutu.

Who turned to the piano.

To follow another dream.

Alas, that dream too, died by the wayside as she navigated the turns and twists of life.

Not of this world. Just passing through. Unapologetic Christian.
Not of this world. Just passing through. Unapologetic Christian.
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