Ever have one of those moments when you step back for a moment and look at your life, and just for a moment, wonder what it's all about? I had one of those moments last night, when I went roller skating. Something about the way the little wheels moved beneath my feet, and the way the air rushed past my ears, made me realize that freedom is found not in lecture classes that last three hours, but on the skating rink floor. After watching all the roller skating stars, at least half of whom were over 40, as they jumped and twisted and skated with a skill the likes of which I've never before seen, I've decided to quit school and spend the time I'm normally in class to head to the rink and practice. I'll start as soon as the socket joints in my legs are reattached to my displaced hips and that one muscle that runs right along the underside of my right foot is back to normal.
I anticipate that by the time I reach at least semi-professional dance skater level, like the guy I talked to who was moon-walking in his quad skates (he skates every single day and even occasionally performs shows around LA; he also mentioned it's great exercise and helped him lose over 60 lbs; I'm sold) I figure at the very least I'll be able to join that "America's Best Dance Crew" competition by offering a new edge, and maybe eventually I'll even work toward making roller figure skating (with separate blade and quad categories) an official sport at the Summer Olympics.
At the very least, I'll be a hero in the eyes of some forlorn and very tired graduate student out there.