Bit by bit

Slowly, tentatively, shyly. A newfound sense of relief, a quiet feeling of freedom, making their existence known on the periphery. Commute is now to practice, bathing in my music, in my world, as steely faced office workers go about their fluorescent-lit lives. No longer a part of that, not anymore.

Work consists of making people happy, helping them have a pleasant experience, serving them. Was happy and resigned to work at a local burger joint, but ladyluck wanted me elsewhere. The waitressing gig I've been blessed with is at one of Manhattan's best Greek restaurants, with exposed beam and brick and fireplace and candlelit warmth and people who are kind and don't break my heart every day. Not as backbreaking as expected, since there is a busser and a runner and a hostess and a bartender, it has still made for many oldlady-putting-up-feet-and-recovering hours as screaming quadriceps and aching calves adjust to the new demands imposed. Yes, practice has suffered slightly. But I am not concerned, since it is only temporary and I know I will emerge stronger, more fluid, for having gone throught this wringing out process.

I'm thinking, moral of this little story has gotta be, if you can quiet and ignore those pesky voices of doubt and fear and whatifs for long enough to actually go after the dream and take that big leap into what at the time seems like dark chasms of nothing, the universe will catch you on your way down somewhere along the way down. And boy, is the view breathtaking from this ledge.