Today, I woke up with a half hour to get dressed, prepped, and to class. I almost didn't make it on time.
And in the rush to get out the door, I couldn't find my hat (which was sitting on the table in plain sight. I are hasing vision, really...). This wouldn't be a big deal, except that I showered late, and therefore slept on wet hair. Therefore, I stumbled into class, sat down, and informed my friends "I don't want to know what it's doing." I was informed that it looked like the mushroom cloud over Hiroshima. I subsequently attempted to get it to look a little less like massive destruction.
Today, in class, we watched a video. I had seen it before. That didn't change how much I love it. And then, since we are studying Ireland and our teacher is big on kinetic learning, we sat down and drew celtic knotwork. Really, really simple knotwork. I and one of my friends were pointed out as resource people for this drawing, since we'd both done it before. I had to keep qualifying myself to my classmates. "I've been drawing since I was three. I'm not especially talented, I just have nineteen years of practice." After that, we all got taught to dance a jig step. During this, several of my classmates latched onto me as a guide for what to do. We were moving and I was grinning and giggling a little, and it felt good to get up and move and be jumping from side to side and making loud noises on the floor. I didn't really realize that I was encouraging and guiding my classmates until, with my back turned, I heard someone say "I'm just watching what Rori's feet do." Some time during the dancing, the teacher informed me that I was "Perfect, of course."
I was... pretty taken aback. I didn't feel like I was doing it perfect. I didn't feel like I was good enough to be followed. I felt like I was a lumbering bull with jiggling fatty bits and clumsy steps and clunky boots and shin-splints and bouncing hair. But I had done it before. The steps had stuck with me. The rhythms were something that had been engrained into me since childhood (Thanks, mom!), and I felt confident enough in my own skin to get up there in the middle of class and help the other students learn to dance.
Come to think of it, this year has been the best I've felt in my body since I was very small. Yes, I'm on the heavy side. Yes, I have these strange jiggly bits hanging off the front of me (even with a chest binder. They're huge. They jiggle.). Yes, I'm tall and gawky and more likely to fall flat on my face than successfully get off the bus or god forbid dance. But I am feeling good in my own skin. I am beginning to be able to see what I look like in a mirror.
I think it was Zoie who said it, years ago. "Sure, you're kinda average as a girl, but DAMN do you make a hot guy." As a girl, the best I could be described as is "Plain". But as a boy, not only do I look better, but I FEEL better, which I'm sure contributes. Sure, I'm jiggly and have hair like an Axolotl when I wear a hat, and like a mushroom cloud when I don't, but that's okay, because I think Axolotl(s?) are adorable, and mushroom clouds are a sure sign of great and terrible destruction, which, as anyone who knows me will tell you, is sure to follow once I step into a room. And I can draw. I can draw because I've been drawing for nineteen years. There are things I'm not good at. I'm not good at the guitar. I'm not good at running, and I can't do a cartwheel.
I'm not perfect. But I'm working on it. All it takes is practice. "Practice makes perfect", right? I'll get back to you on that in nineteen years.