I'm a 40-minute light rail ride away from the stop I need to be at for my ballet rehearsal today (that's ballet ORCHESTRA, mind you - I ain't no dancer), and it was a rare gorgeous February day in Portland. The sun was out, I could comfortably walk around in a light sweater, and though it may be too early for the season, I swear I caught the faintest sniff of roses from the garden cattycorner from the Keller Auditorium.
Stopped at Starbucks on my 7-block stroll from the Max station, did fairly well for the first ballet rehearsal, and used some extra pocket money to go to Chipotle for dinner on my way back to the train. Devoured much of my book on the ride to and from (Kurt Vonnegut was just outstanding), and walked back in to the apartment that looks so much better now that there's an actual couch in the living room as opposed to the one sad little dish chair that proclaims to the world, "I AM ALONE." I'm feeling halfway comfortable to even invite someone over for a movie one of these days.
These days make all the difference, I suppose. The days where I can get a breath of fresh air, some exercise, some finger-moving under my belt, to remind myself that, unexpected depression or no, I've got a pretty great life. And if I up the standards for myself (not necessarily for the orchestra), I can make this more musically challenging, and rise to the occasion.
I promise that I am a creature that can find and enjoy beauty... I guess I just need a little time to adjust. Six months ago Life put a football helmet on my head and spun me around in an office chair 700 times. I'm only now beginning to straighten myself out.
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