Takin' a Chance

Many many years ago, in what now seems like a different life, when I was living in New Haven, CT I  coiuld be found in one of the many dance clubs that litter downtown New Haven on any night of the week. You see, I was obsessed with (had a giant crush on) a local breakdancer that would dance in the clubs on occasion, so I'd go out every night of the week, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

As a result of this stalker-ish behavior I became quite adept at dancing to all of this club music I hadn't been exposed to up til then, House, Drum & Bass and , of course, hip-Hop. I fell in love with dancing right next to the giant speakers, letting the deep bass beats sink into my soul and allowing my body to do what it would.

Eventually I met the break dancing boy, we hit it off and dated for three years, in those three years we went out dancing at least twice a week and I spent most of my time watching, thinking or talking about dancing. I fell in love with dance in those three years, the artistry of it, the physical act of it, the training and technique it takes to be a good dancer, no matter your form. When my relationship with break dancing boy came crashing down around me, so did my time on the dance floor, the last time I spent anytime seriously dancing was at my wedding, four years ago. Obviously the stroke has made dancing a bit more complicated, so I haven't even attemped it, just talked about taking ballet classes once my ankle and toes wake up again.

So, when one ofmy friends started teaching an afro dance class, Itold myself that I would go once I was better. Well, something snapped inside me last week and I said to myself, "You are better and fully capable tof giving it a shot, so do it!"

And so it was that I nervously walked into clas tonight. I was afraid, afraid that my body wouldn't respond, that I would be awkward and terrible to watch, afraid that I would embarrass myself, or, worse, hurt myself. But my friend greeted me with open arms and spirit, happy that I was there, and so I stood next to her in front of the class, bare and exposed with my uncoordinated and unweildy left leg and unresponsive Larry. I listened to the music, wtched myself in the mirror as I tried like hell to keep up, it felt so good to move my body around in a different way than I sm accustomed to, to challenge my body. When we got to a more complex set of steps, I really started to struggle, it takes so long for messages to get down to my leg that switching up instructions, just confused all of my body parts, but I pushed through, convinced that I would get it at some point and believing that wotking my brain out in such a different way, could only do good things for me.

At one point something magical happened, I looked deep into my eyes in the mirror and for the first time since the stroke, I saw someone beautiful staring back at me, was it the light flush that was in my cheeks? Was it the challenge and the fact that I was doing it? Or was it the fact that I was facing my fear and uncertainty. Maybe it was because I wasreclaiming a favorite pasttime, or maybe I am still beautiful, I haven't allowed myself to see it.

Moral of the story: I'm totally going back and I'm gonna get all of those hard steps!