Dance

Dance—I recently attended a local dance recital at the invitation of a friend who is part owner and instructor at the studio. The recital took place over three days and encompassed performances by hundreds of students ranging in age from preschool to graduating seniors. It was a monumental task, and amazing. I am not a dancer. My medium is the written and spoken word, and while I am aware of ways in which I use my body to communicate, I have virtually no experience with the fullness of expression I observed at this recital. I was drawn in by the music, sometimes lyrics, but it was the body in motion, the power and the passion, that often moved me beyond words. It was delightful to watch the little ones, the beginners, tapping or twirling, missing their cues, giggling, helping each other, concentrating, or just beaming smiles and waving to their parents and grandparents. There was an innocence and playfulness that made it impossible for anything to break the spell of their magic. It was a joy to watch the in-between dancers, discovering their natural talents and showing off the moves and steps and skills they are learning and developing. Some lost themselves in moments. They moved freely in their element, surprisingly well. Others, hyper-vigilant, intent on avoiding missteps, moved stiffly, painfully. There was something honest, familiar, and endearing about these dancers. Thank goodness for the in-between, where we spend much of our lives. But it was something else entirely to watch the experienced dancers, for whom the years of classes had turned raw talent and isolated skills into able competence. Practice, practice, and more practice had made their bodies beautiful, flexible, and strong. They did not just express emotions or show off skills, they told stories that could clearly be understood. Their routines did not look effortless, however. They looked like life, with all of its ups and downs, moments of calm juxtaposed with moments of intensity, beautiful and terrible, light and dark. And so, I revise my previous pronouncement that I am not a dancer. I am a dancer. A natural? Hardly. But I am learning, practicing, and growing, and I am the only one who can tell my story. I am the only one who can dance my dance.