Born To Do

            The blades,serrated and thin, sliced and slush with the ease of oil slicked gears. Her thighsare strong and with a gentle push and extension of her arms, she lifts andtwirls. Her spin is graceful and eloquent in execution. Her landing, precise inbalance and velocity, left a long thin line marking where she had been. Thoughher heart raced along with her breath, she felt calm and at peace, as if shehad been born to be here, and belonged nowhere else.

            Her cheeksand nose are red. She wears white earmuffs and her eyes are closed; there is noworld aside from the blades and face chilling speed. She doesn’t smile, butthat’s from determination, not lack of enjoyment. And as sweat starts to buildshe slows down a bit. She puts her hands behind her back and just cruises for afew laps. And its then as the cold air hits her face that the glimpse of asmile emerges.

            There arethings we are born to do. Things we enjoy, things we desire to excel at, thingswe refuse to live without. These things, our talents don’t have to define us,but reaching for them does, maybe. We either live complacently silent knowingthey are there or we wake up at the crack of dawn and nurture our divine giftsinto mechanical precision. Happiness can be found in either choice, but onelends itself to regret. And what a shame it would be to go your whole life andnot lose yourself in what you were born to do. 

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zachoryty2008
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