Dancing Back to Myself
I have been through this before...periods in my life when I wasn't dancing, at least not formally. I dance in my room, in my kitchen, in the shower (no singing but dancing!), in my car, but it is in a dance class is where I really appreciate my body. As you can tell, I dance everywhere, but the feeling of being in a class and working on something specific allows me to focus a tunnel vision, just me and my body. I look into my own gaze and flirt with my reflection, I dance in the very first row, I am not shy, I am strong, I am powerful, I am grace, I am me.
Again, I am in a period of life with less dancing. With graduate school and very limited income, I can't fill my plate with all that I used to, and this has caused a grieving process for me. I have learned to do movement in other ways, by going on hikes to the beach, for walks by the marshlands by my house, yoga at the local community center, and then the dancing in the kitchen, the shower, my car...
Well, I was very lucky this week because my professor cancelled class and I got to go to a Samba class at the community center. As we women waited for the teacher to arrive, I became aware of my body in the mirror, in the front of the class, I was unsure of myself. I was unsure of the camaraderie of my peers because the women were using the minutes before class to do crunches and leg lifts, and chat about spin classes. What an unfamiliar setting, what a strange feeling to feel like an outsider in my own element.
The teacher said nothing to the class as she started the music. We stretched and moved and undulated our hips. Then we moved to floor and did an intense cycle of crunches and our bodies contorted in various positions. I was aware of my belly, how it sat touching my thighs as I drew my legs in close. I noticed how my breathing was more audible than the woman next to me. I started to feel embarrassment creep in as the teacher eyed me and encouraged me to straighten my legs, which were in a fury of shaking because they were working so hard. As fit as I am, crunches are not my strength.
After calisthenics, we stood up and the teacher changed the song to a loud, primal drumming beat. The sound of the ancestors, ancestors that I claim, that I make my own, that I give every cell of my body to as I dance. As we danced across the floor, I pushed at the air harder, I moved my hips wider, I stomped and jumped and swung my black curls to the rhythm of the dance. My teacher rushed over to me, put her hands out and held mine and said, "Where did you come from?" I told her that I dance Samba. She told me that I was a beautiful dancer and looked at me with eyes full of love and adoration. My next step threw me off--I was dizzy. There was something that shifted in me because I knew I was coming back into myself and that step, right after she noticed me was a step moving me in the direction of myself. She gushed over me at each transition, wanting to know more about me and the type of dance I did, asking if I would come to her other classes for advanced dancers. I let her words wash over me like a warm bath of crystals, adorning my body and giving it thanks.
This is what I know...I was the biggest woman in the dance class that day and the other women probably thought I was different and maybe that I was out of shape because I couldn't contort as they did...but what I know is that I danced that day. I danced for every day that I haven't since I started grad school, I danced for every cell in my body that feels love and gratitude and passion and for a body that people cast off as big or overweight or not good enough. It made me feel so good that my body had not forgotten to allow me the movement that it always had. This body, right now, is enough for me to express my joy. I cannot wait to have that feeling of freedom again.