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The Double Meaning behind the blog title 'Dream Follower:'
First, for 14 years I was a ballroom & social dance instructor, and have studied both leading and following. I feel that learning to follow is full of nuance and is often misunderstood. I made it one of my personal goals to become a really excellent follow on the dance floor, and will probably talk a lot about the art of following - both in and out of the context of dance.

Second, I am a huge fan of author Michael Ende, probably best known for The Neverending Story. The book is incredible, and the first film captured some of the essence. (Please don't watch the other two films...I urge you to read the book though!) Anyway, at least twice in my life I have been caught in a storm of my own indecision, and my inner Moon Princess yelled to my inner Bastian...'Why don't you do what you dream?' I tear up even now as I write this little blurb. The tension between being practical, keeping my feet on the ground and my head out of the clouds (at the risk of compromising my inner vibrancy, true self, and who knows what else)...and reaching for my true dreams (at the risk of losing everything) is still a very real struggle. In fact, one of those struggles lead to my 14 years of teaching dance, so we can see which voice won the battle that fateful day when I was staring at the want-ad...

And so I strive to be two kinds of Dream Followers in my life. One has to do with connecting with others, and the other has to do with connecting with my inner Moon Princess and the world of possibility that opens when I do...

Saturday, April 5, 2014


Her body seemed to sense the moment he entered the room. Even without looking, she knew and could feel his presence.

Silently, she would find herself tuning in and even though she did not look him in the eye her body positioned itself almost without her awareness or consent in a way so she could sense him.

When he spoke, her ears perked up and she found her mind focusing more on his conversation than on her own.

Like a heat seeking missile, she found herself drawn...

By the end of dinner, she was hoping her flush could be explained merely with wine, as she pushed back her chair and started clearing dishes. Their mutual friends protested, but she felt a thrill of adrenaline rush down her spine as she reached for the same plate he did. Their fingers barely brushed, but it was electric. Luckily the whole group was lively bantering about some pop culture reference she didn't quite get so no one seemed to notice her flush even more.

He seemed just as intent on not meeting her gaze, which only made the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Does he feel this same heat, this same tension, she wondered for a moment, but then she couldn't imagine him not sensing what she sensed to the very tips of her fingers.

Together they cleared the dishes to the sink and the rest of the group started trickling into the living room to gather around the television with their drinks.

Trying to compose herself she decided to dig in and start washing, filling a bucket with warm soapy water. This might keep her busy and out of trouble for a few minutes, and then she stiffened...he was standing at the ready with a towel to dry the first dish she rinsed.

Side by side, they worked in silence, an undeniable flow of warmth existing between them.

She felt like she could sense even each follicle on her head, her whole being thrumming and aware of this man. As she neared the last few dishes, a tiny thread of regret came over her, with no clarity or promise of this proximity in the next room once they finished these dishes.

Some part of her wanted to simply drop all pretenses and wrap her arms slowly around him and tilt her face up to his, her lips tingling with anticipation of a slightly scruffy kiss.

Her breath caught, the project was done, and he had already walked halfway across the kitchen.

Her heart racing, she slowly followed, picking up her wine glass and really hoping her hand would hold steady.

Everyone was already sitting so she found herself on the floor. Alone. In fact he was no where to be seen, and his absence made the room feel colder...she turned her attention to the screen.


A pillow landed next to her, and then a second one. She accepted the offer and readjusted.

He sat down still inches away, but she could feel heat building between their elbows.

A smile crept over her being, and reached her eyes, which though pointed at the tv screen saw none of the show at all. A tiny twitch tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she lifted her glass to hide her smile...

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