If there is one career I absolutely cannot image myself pursuing, it is that of becoming a Radio City Music Hall Rockette. Seriously. Starting with my lack of rhythm and ending with my disdain of having strangers stare at my body, the list of why I would be extremely unsuited to this occupation is almost endless.
So imagine my surprise a few years back when I asked my sister-in-law, who I think the world of, what she would have been in life if she could have been anything. It seemed a harmless questions as we set together in a hot tub sharing drinks and laughing, You guessed it, in her secret dreams she is a Rockette. I was so taken aback that I didn’t know what to say.
This year for Christmas, her grown daughter took her to see a Rockette performance, and their mutual joy reverberated throughout my online social network . And I thought, good for her. This is great. She is having the time of her life doing something I have no interest in what-so-ever and isn’t it wonderful that she gets to be her.
There was a time years ago when she and I were looking for a movie to see together and I remember her responding to my top suggestion with “oh it sounds like one of those dumb things about outer space and rockets. I hate that stuff.” Of course, I loved movies about rocket ships and all things science fiction back then, because in my secret dreams I was an astronaut. Today, I write “that stuff”, and she cheers on my creative efforts even if she doesn’t particularly understand my interests. She is performing in the chorus of a community play this weekend, and I cheer her on too.
Rockets. Rockettes. Whatever. It takes all kinds and isn’t it nice that you don’t have to be alike to be able to enjoy someone, or to appreciate what they are. It’s enough to make me want to dance for joy. As long as I don’t have to do it wearing sequins and doing high kicks of course.