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Perhaps it was the two beers my friends were so kind to ply me with before class. Perhaps it was the cell memory finally coming back to me after 15 years. Perhaps it was just luck. Whatever it was, the second day of grown up pottery class went easier than the first.

Our task was to trim down the pots we’d thrown the previous class. This was a bit easier than the original throwing, since the clay had dried out some and taken on a texture I was more familiar with. The pottery wheel moved as I asked it to, the pedal setting itself at a speed I was ready to work with. The tools even seemed to make more sense.

The pot I’d made the previous week now kicked off long thin streams of excess clay under my sure hand. I hunkered down over the thing with a concentration that I recall having in the pre-internet era. I carved that bitch down and I was the zen master.

Once it was done, we were given the option to make a plate or throw another pot. Since plates would be frivolous, I decided to opt for the latter. I still needed a hand to get the lump centered, but after that, my luck stayed true and the wonky clay yielded to the imagined design in my mind.

It’s not often that I get good at something quickly. But the moment like this when I shine makes me feel invincible, if even for a small moment in a carefully manufactured moment in a tiny corner of my otherwise chaotic life. And for that blink of an eye, when things go exactly like I want them to, even if it is just asking a malleable piece of clay to not bend and flop over, I am invincible.