I keep thinking about Amanda’s post from last week, Quiet. In it, she writes about stringing together moments, like beads:

I can imagine writing daily moments and leaving them unconnected – loose beads, rolling on the basement floor – but that’s not my experience with this month. Instead, at some point, I start to pick up those written beads and string them together in new ways. I recognize that one moment is temporally distant from another, but as I shape my larger story, I examine them and mentally place them together. 

This has been so much of my experience this month. Living a new moment and it somehow making me remember or think of other moments. Two unlikely moments, now strung together. This next one could fill a whole necklace…

A few weeks ago now, Wren came back from a late night at the dance studio. I was already in bed, probably reading slices. She sat on my bed and began bubbling over with excitement. This is how it goes. She either comes in and bypasses me completely or comes looking to share. She had recently had ballet exams and her teacher had given her feedback that night. Wren shared all about the things they discussed and what that meant for her training. “She said she sees me watching in the window before class and how I’m already ready for what’s coming when I get to my own class.”

With that comment comes a flood of memories. Almost from the time she was born, Wren has been an observer. I have often found myself watching her as she observes the world around her. She gets a distinct look when she is in studying mode, her head tilts slightly and her face gets intense. This happened when, as a baby, she would watch my mouth as I talked, or as she got older, observing older kids playing, or even messing around with a gadget or a toy trying to figure out how it worked. Even before she could talk, her eyes would say, “Let me try.”

“You’ve always been watching,” I told her and I explained what I meant.

Last week, one of her dance friends was injured and Wren was asked to step into her place for a dance competition. She had to learn the dance and be performance-ready in just one week. The dance she was asked to sub in for was with kids who were older than her, not her usual partners. Her teacher had said, “I know she is up for the challenge.” So the studying began. She watched videos of the dance on repeat, spent time with a fellow dancer before the scheduled rehearsal times, and I’m sure, replayed those moves in her mind countless times.

As she got ready to take the stage yesterday, I felt my hands get clammy. I knew she did not want to disappoint this group or her teacher. More than that, I knew she wanted to prove to herself that she could do this.

I took an illegal video. I’m usually a rule follower and afraid of getting in trouble-but I wanted Wren to have immediate feedback. I wanted her to be able to rewatch this moment and see how all of her observing had paid off…and it did pay off. The group was beautiful and even ended up winning first place and a special choreography award. But greater than all of that, they all felt good coming off stage- like they had done their best.

When I went to say goodnight to Wren that night, I heard the music from the performance playing over and over again. This time, she wasn’t watching to figure something out for the first time. She was watching herself, evidence of all those years of noticing, wondering, trying.

Another bead.