My Name

So I got the name "Dances Alone" when I was a missionary. There's not really an interesting story behind it; I just thought I'd explain. I love to dance. I have no training at all. When I was younger I was into power tumbling mostly, and made fun of most forms of dancing, although secretly I always wanted to do it. I loved figure skating because it was like the skaters could fly over that ice and express things that you just can't walking around. I wanted to find that way to express myself. So growing up the only form of dancing I did was a made up something I like to call "bag dancing." I would jump on my trampoline with a plastic grocery bag and swirl it around my head or jump over it or anything else I could think of. This was my expression.

Well, when I got to college I had a friend that introduced me to new types of dancing, and helped me to see that it wasn't as stupid as I thought. We took a modern dance class together, and that was the start of it all. I loved modern dance and decided I needed to expand my horizons. Since that day I've taken a couple modern dance classes, Polynesian, social, belly dance, and finally world dance. I love folk dancing. I still remember the dances I learned in class three years ago...because I still do them by myself at home. Well, all of these classes I took before my mission, and sometimes on my mission I would try to remember the folk dances I'd learned. The problem is your not supposed to dance on your mission. I think it was okay, and actually got permission from the president to teach some dances to the youth, so I think I was fine. But all of my companions and the elders around me knew that I loved to dance.

So one day my companion and I were in a correlation meeting, I think. A particularly boring meeting, where mostly we didn't need to listen when other people were talking. So we thought to spice things up a bit, we'd make up some names for ourselves. We had four names: a pioneer name, an old fashioned name, a cowboy name, and of course a native american name. I was Bathsheeba, Pearl, I can't remember the cowboy name, and my companion came up with the ever so clever "dances alone," for my Indian name, knowing I loved dancing and also couldn't dance with anyone as a missionary. And it stuck. My companions native american name was "Mighty Spear Chucker," while an elder thrilled us all with his name "Runs from Cats." And that's the story. Awesome.

As a side note, I've made a horrible, life-altering discovery recently. My couch is way more comfortable than my bed. I was sick over the weekend and spent the last couple of days on the couch. I mean entire days. And all that time was spent in very restful, comfortable bliss. Except for the being sick. Well, two nights ago I crawled into bed, hoping for a refreshing nights sleep before I had to go back to school, and you know what? I was miserable. My feet were cold and hanging off the edge of the bed, my neck hurt from my uncomfortable pillow, and I laid there for two hours without the remotest sensation of falling asleep. So I got up and went to my trusted couch seeking slumber. As soon as I laid down, warm and cozy, I realized this was a problem. I'd never doubted my bed before. I've slept on some uncomfortable beds, but I just kind of took it in stride. This time I don't know if I can forget. Last night I thought I'd give the bed another try, and it just wasn't the same. It's changed to me. Too short, too stiff, cold and unfriendly, I'm afraid there's no turning back.