Dancing

I've always been uncomfortable dancing.

Perhaps it started in my ballet class when I was four... they told me to walk like a dancer... toe, then heel... toe, then heel. I tried hard but failed over and over. Finally I gave up all together and decided to parade around the room like an elephant.
I still remember the smell of the ballet room, doing stretches and counting to twenty in German while my legs burned in the splits. They told me to cup my hands as if I was holding a small gerbil. I was convinced I was getting one that day... and I was shattered when I realized we were just pretending.

Middle school dances. Well.... the definition of awkward. I think I might have gone to one... then avoided them at all costs.

High school dances were a little better... but everyone dancing and grinding and moving around me just made me uncomfortable. I ended up looking like an awkward "walking stick bug," on the sidewalk... trying to blend in but hopelessly sticking out (no pun intended...)

I began to see dancing as only for extroverts, and admired people from a distance who could move and not look awkward. The more convinced I became of my awkwardness, the more I retreated into gentle foot-tapping instead of releasing joy in movement.

I've discovered that for me dancing comes only when I am completely overwhelmed with life. Either with joy, with stress, with appreciation for the people around me. I will not dance around strangers. But if I am with friends, my inhibitions are released. The box I have sealed myself in bursts... and I fly out in a flurry of movement, joy, excitement, and laughter.

Over the course of this afternoon I have probably spent an hour and a half dancing... with dance parties throughout the day: every hour on the hour.

I love sharing moments, sharing music, sharing moves with people I love... laying aside unit plans, article reviews, papers, finals, and my to-do lists and just letting myself go.

This might become a tradition.