As I sat outside at the open-air cafe chomping on jerk chicken salad and staring past the bust of Buddha in the middle of the bougainvillaea-filled entrance, I couldn't stop thinking about the power of choice. Not just because the custom salad I chose was chock full of savory chicken breast and within the parameters of my new weight loss plan to "get my dancer's body back". But staring back at me was a Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses; a huge symbol of my past.
I was about six months deep into my two year contract and island fever crept up on my ass like a stranger in a dark alley. Up until that point, I had settled quite comfortably into my new lifestyle as the Pilates/Fitness instructor on a private resort island in Turks & Caicos. The stress of NYC’s daily grind, my chaotic schedule plus the sensory overload of the concrete jungle were buried in the depths of tranquil Caribbean waters.
