I'm a Zumba-Model . . .

Okay, so this sounds like a much bigger accomplishment than it really was. Let me paint you two pictures. One is reality. One is fantasy. I'll let you figure it out.

Story #1: I hear via facebook about auditions for Zumba dancers for the new Zumba game for Playstation and wii. I get all the details, go to the auditions, where hundreds of sexy-adorable Zumba girls from all over Utah are lined up, number in hand, and I await my turn. It finally arrives. I stand in front of a camera; they take my photo, front back, then some video footage. They say, you'll know by tonight. I wait by the phone anxiously all evening. It doesn't ring. I check my messages the next day. Nope. I figure, oh well. Tough competition. But then Monday I get a call. They sent me an email, probably to the worng address-- they need me, they want me! Today! I scramble for a sitter for the kids, try to work out their schedules, throw my veggies and turkey into a cooler, and go. When I arrive, I'm rushed to hair and make-up. Everyone adores me, tells me what an amazing dancer I am, raves about my natural beauty and awesome tan. I see other Zumba dancers I know, and we pow-wow and swap choreo. We high-five and hip-bump and say zumbalicious and we love Beto. We hug good-bye, promise to facebook each other, and return homes to our families, who are of course awaiting to hear about our adventurous day.

Story #2: A production company is not too thrilled with the original cover of the new Zumba video game. They hand the task over to another studio, and I happen to know a guy who works there. He hooks me up with the info, I go audition. It's nice and easy. No one else is there. I see a short list of names of people they've auditioned so far & ask how many they're taking. Oh a couple girls and a guy. They'll let me know by that evening. I don't hear anything, so I figure, oh well. It wasn't inconvenient to audition, so no harm done. But then Monday I get a call. They want me! They need my expertise! Today! I scramble for a sitter for the kids, try to work out their schedules, throw my veggies and turkey into a cooler, and go. When I arrive, I'm introduced to several different people, the camera crew, the hair and make-up, the models. The professional models. The professional, gorgeous, flawless models who have never Zumba'd before. I'm asked to show the models how to do some Zumba moves. Realization hits: I'm not "the looks". I'm "the talent." I get that same heavy feeling in my gut that I felt at Governor's School for the Arts in high school when my faculty advisor recommended that I direct instead of act. Once they see these models dance, though, they ask hair and make-up to get me ready. Now I get to be in the shots, too. Though I'm not sure if they'll actually use these, because I'm not color-coordinated with everyone else. They switch the male model's outfit so he matches me better, and I feel a bit more relieved. They wanted me bare-midriff, and I feel self-conscious about my stretch marks next to these young, dewy-skinned female models with long torsos, petite waists, perky round boobs (real or not, I still want 'em) and abs you could bounce quarters off of. I feel old. And wrinkly. But man, I've got the moves. The director keeps asking the models to move more like me, swish their hair like I'm doing, and follow my lead. When we have breaks, I stop dancing, drink water, call my kids. The models watch themselves in the mirror and a couple nibble on some packaged Nabisco mini-cookies. One model doesn't. She's the one who just competed in the bikini competition on Saturday at Cottonwood Hieghts High School and won for her category. She complains of eating only oatmeal and egg whites, and right now I'm envying her because I wish that were my diet.

Okay, okay. You've guessed by now that story #2 is reality. I want to pause to briefly defend the professional models. Despite their unintentionally making me feel so self-conscious, what with their flat abs, straight white teeth (yes, I'm still wishing my parents had gotten me braces), perfectly-wide-apart eyes, cute caucasian noses, and thick, non-graying heads of hair . . . they were actually quite nice. If I looked like that, I'd watch myself in a mirror every chance I got, too. Hello. The hair and make-up girls were kind enough to feed me the "you don't look old enough to have 3 kids" line. And let's face it, the production crew really did NEED me. But to all my gorgeous Zumba friends . . . I didn't get this spot for being an amazing Zumba dancer (I can immediately think of several who are better than I am within a 20-mile radius). I got it because I had a connection. And I am so grateful for that connection.

Connections. Connections lead to ooportunities. Opportunities lead to adventures. Connections only come when you're willing to let people into your life. When you appreciate people, even if they're not all exactly like you. Even if they don't share your beliefs. Even if they don't match your personality. Even if they don't love sushi, or like to exercise, or read books. This is the way I try to live my life. Some people think that's superficial, that it's best to only have a few close friends who are exactly like you, and everyone else is, well, a waste of your time. Persnally, I like my way better :)