Every now and then, the dancer in me wants to come out. She comes out through the nod of my head on a certain beat, or the flick of a hand to emphasis a note. She comes out when the emotions I have bottled up inside find a perfect song to express themselves to through movement. Sometimes, I can only envision the steps this stiff, inflated body would perform if it could. Sometimes I surprise myself with the lasting strength of my center and the momentary extension that leaves me sore.
I was never a phenomenal dancer, but dance did something phenomenal for me.
It gave me a coping mechanism.
It gave me strength.
It gave me confidence.
It gave me passion.
It gave me peace.
Nothing has ever felt more like home than a stage– even if it was the makeshift stage I created in my sunken living room. Whenever I was home alone growing up, you could bet I had the music up, burning holes into that living room floor with the soles of my feet. No matter what I was feeling, I could find the right music to tell my story to. These moments of dancing clarity were for myself and myself alone. The moment I heard the slam of a car door, I turned off the music and went back to doing something less emotional.
In college I got to choreograph for a “dance club” that I started with a few other girls that needed their fix. There was nothing more thrilling than seeing my combinations coming to life before me. Sadly we were never able to get a group to consistently commit to coming. Post college, I took the occasional dance class when money allowed. When it didn’t, I moved furniture aside when I need to clear my head and once again, my living room was my stage.
Nothing has changed. I still find myself choreographing my emotions until somehow the movements help me make sense of my feelings. Music has always had a away of giving me all the answers I know in my heart. Sometimes I ache to find a room with wooden floors and mirrored walls if only to spend five minutes leaving everything I am on the dance floor.
Today is one of those days. No, nothing is wrong. I am not dealing with one of life’s challenges. I am just dealing, and the plain and simple truth is that I “deal” better when I am barefoot and spinning.
I am my best when I have dance to look forward to. Someone once told me that they could see the joy that dance brought me because after class I always sparkled. I need to sparkle again. I think it’s time to find myself a place to dance.
What is your passion? Are you doing that thing that makes you sparkle?
2 thoughts on “The Dancer In Me”
Great post, Ashley. It has me reminiscing of my high school years when I would close my bedroom door and dance in front of my closet mirrors for hours on end. Maybe I should get back to that. Probably healthier than shopping! xoxo, Bethann
Writing is my passion, and I get to do it every day (well, most days) at work, and I'm so grateful for that. But I need to get back to happy blogging – where I'm always getting that “me” time in while writing!