I'm not sure if you'll remember me or not. We became acquainted last night, but the room was crowded, the music was loud, and many people were vying for your attention. I fumbled a bit at our introduction - I'll admit, I was quite nervous to meet you.
I was all decked out in my finest black tank top, black yoga pants, and new-enough-to-still-be-called-new gym shoes.
I pulled my hair back into a loose ponytail, and prayed that my glasses would stay on my face. Should we meet again, I'll definitely opt for contact lenses. I glanced around the room nervously, lithe bodies obviously accustomed to your standards stretching and showing off for you. Oh, how I envied them.
This is what I wanted to look like.
Fortunately, as you began to build your rhythms, I found another young woman (am I too old to still consider myself a "young woman"?) who was also just meeting you for the first time. We agreed that one of the most liberating things in life is to make a fool of oneself, while being completely aware that one is making a fool of oneself. It was a bold decision of conviction, but, it turns out, one that was commendable in its accuracy.
This was probably closer to reality.
You see, it's not that I'm rhythmically challenged, necessarily. I have years of musical experience - I'm just used to playing the music that makes people move, rather than being the mover myself. Perhaps that says something significant about me. But, aside from that, I'm just more accustomed to dancing like a slu-- erm... like a sexually empowered 21st century woman at a goth club.
You had other things in mind. You wanted me to dance like Michael Jackson (no, really, the first five songs were a mash up of MJ songs - it was f'n hilarious), you wanted me to dance Bollywood, you wanted me to be a belly dancer.
You'd see through my lies in an instant if I tried to say that I picked up the moves like a pro, that I was a quick learner in these things, that I was on my way to being the star student. I didn't, I'm not, I wasn't. But, you know, I'm really ok with that. For once, I've decided to take a class in which failure, or even just mediocrity, is acceptable. I don't have to stress over this, I can just move. Sure, I might be making a complete ass of myself, but it's fun and there is no pressure other than that which I put on myself. I just wanted to take a moment to thank you for that.
I'll admit, there were times when I was a bit jealous of your rival, Low/High Impact: the structure, the counting, the encouragement - "5...4...3...2...1... C'mon, Ladies! Other side! And 5...4...3..." I found myself craving that about halfway through our 90 minute meeting. You were wild, untamed (like Mars*). My life is often about how much structure I can cram into chaos.
This is my desk calendar from last month. Notice that it is colour-coded...
...as are these papers I'm going over for a publication (but you can see the chaos trying to breach the walls here: Linseed Oil, wire, Reactine, glue?).
Low/High Impact seemed to epitomize that. But, no, I decided to venture out into unknown realms, so I danced like Michael Jackson, I danced like the beautiful women in Bollywood films, I belly danced, I danced traditional African dances. I hopped and twisted and gyrated and flailed my arms and bobbed my shoulders and almost ran into the person next to me more times than I can count. And you know what? I laughed the whole time. So did the people around me. Let me be clear, though - these were good laughs, not "Oh my god, what a clumsy oaf of a woman" laughs. We were laughing together, because most of us there, in the back of the room, barely able to even see the teacher, had no clue what we were doing. But we were moving, and we were smiling, and we were laughing.
In short, Adult Dance Class at the Y, you were intimidating, but you were also amazing last night. I've never moved my body like that before. I might drop by again tomorrow to see how you're doing, and if you'll have me back. In the meantime, I'll work on my Moonwalking while thinking about what the hell I'm going to write next in this dissertation chapter, ok?
Fondly,
Me
*You're welcome, fans of Sealab 2021! Get in on the joke here
P.S. No matter what anyone else thinks, my boys know I'm a Dancing Queen.
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