Grace (or lack there of)

Physical grace, this time.

Here it is Wednesday and I'm still sore all over from my Monday night yoga class. After 20 years of squishing my body into office chairs and tightening it at the gym I'm suddenly trying to leeeennngggthen out the tightly coiled spring of my back and spine. It feels as if I've spent some time on one of these medieval torture racks...

I wonder if I'll be taller a year from now. Will I be able to stop shopping in the "petite" department and finally get to wear the obscenely long offerings of J Crew? Will I be more graceful, like a willow? Or will I continue to walk, as my mom once noted, "like a linebacker." True enough — I'm never without lipstick and am often in a skirt or dress, but my tomboy swagger is deeply ingrained. I didn't realize how deep until my yoga teacher had us walk in wide circles around the studio, using the inside muscles of our thighs to sway our hips back and forth (yes, even the men). She made it look so easy, a fairy dancing above the floor, while I was mired in thinking "ok, push your hip out to the right now — no left! no right! Now why aren't my arms swinging?" Sometimes I feel more tarzan than Jane, honestly. Had she asked us to head outside and fling logs off the woodpile, caveman-style, I would have had a much easier time of it.

This afternoon was my yearly work review, which takes place at the restaurant of my choice (unfortunately there are very few choices in the area). As I stood sleepily in the doorway of my closet this morning I thought I'd be a proper professional and wear heels for a change, instead of the comfortable Merrell boots I've been living in since they arrived on my doorstep in November...

Except that when lunch rolled around and I made my grand entrance, steps in front of my boss, my right heel slipped out from underneath me and sent me toppling onto the floor between two tables which were, thank God, unoccupied. The restaurant fell silent as I quickly sprang up, saying, "Shit!" perhaps a little bit too loudly for, well, a restaurant. But hey, I'd just fallen on the ground in front of my boss at the start of my work review, so I figured I might as well add an expletive to the mix while I was at it.

At least I can laugh about my utter lack of coordination, which is what I did for the remainder of my day, alone at my desk, giggling until tears rolled down my cheeks. When a printer called to talk to me I picked up the phone, croaked "hello" and burst into hysterical laughter. Is it a full moon or something?

To ease my bruised ego I'm going to make two rhubarb pies tonight (yay spring!) — one for J and I, and one to bring to my yoga and meditation teachers. Then, as the wise Se'Lah suggested to me today, I'm going to ease the rest of me into a hot bath with Epsom salts so my boot-wearing, linebacker-swaggering self can aim for a little more comfort, and perhaps grace, tomorrow.