Confused….Again.

The plan: Tell ballet teacher you can’t do the next term, but still want to do the recital because you’re so far into the dance.
What actually happened: She wants to know why. Okay. I told her: The syllabus is too different. She accepts that, and says she’ll see if I can do the recital without signing on for the next term. So far so good, right? Right. Since Caitlyn was observing a class, I sat downstairs and drew until she came out. What happens during that time? Ms. Ginny comes out of her other class and sees me. She sits down, and we start talking. This is the conversation from my memory (parts have been changed because I’m planning to use it in a story sometime:
“Ky, I just wanted to let you know you’re doing well. Both Ms. Lisa and I think so.” I looked up from my drawing.
“It’s not that…” I began.
“Is it the style?”
“Yeah.”
“But you’re doing so well! We want to see you do another year and pass the exam.”
“It’s just that the syllabus is so different.”
“I know it. But look at it this way: There are so many different styles of ballet. I don’t want you to quit just because it is different.”
“I kno w- it’s just that I’ve done Vaganova for eight years now.”
“And there’s no one here to teach that.”
“Right.”
“Well, give it a think before you quit.”

I nodded and left to go upstairs, leaving me with tears welling up in my eyes. What was I to do now? She seemed to understand me so well. But I knew that I could never keep doing the RAD syllabus. It wasn’t right for me: Same combinations every week, no technique correction, and no close relationships. Almost the opposite of Milligans. But she was right: I shouldn’t quit just because it was different. Caitlyn and mommy came downstairs and we left, though I didn’t stop thinking. I didn’t feel like God was calling me to do fencing anymore. It would be fun… but I was just starting to sort of like it at the Ballet Center. We got home, and immediately I ran up to my room, threw my dance bag in the closet, and then sat on my bed and cried. It had seemed so clear the week before. And now it was so foggy…

The plan: To do the recital for Guitar and quit. My teacher doesn’t understand me. I don’t get what he does – he can be hypocritical. And worse yet, I’m like the Boromir of the Denethor. He thinks the best of me, and therefore is always reminding me I have to do something because I’m his best student. The only motivation I ever have to practice my guitar is orchestra. And I view practicing other than that a chore. I wish I didn’t have to practice. I would love guitar so much more if I didn’t have to practice.
What happened: I love the pieces he gives me. I love playing them. I don’t like the One hour long lessons. I thought I wanted to play flute. Now I’m not so sure. Is it flute, oboe, violin, cello, or neither that God wants me to do?

Anyone who is reading this: Stop and think for a minute. What do you think I should do? And more than your opinion, I need your prayers. Nothing is clear right now. I’m just playing it by ear. Thank you…

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