All That You Can't Leave Behind
On Thursday, I went a lot of places and hauled a lot of stuff. In the course of the day I carried a purse, laptop case, two different tote bags, a kid's backpack, a kid's bookbag, and two large gym bags. I went to a meeting, then a grocery store and then to work. Then I went to school and back home, then to soccer practice and a nonprofit event.
Then, finally, at 8:15 p.m., I went to dance class.
I walked into theatre dance with my arms full. I carried a purse filled with its purse-like necessities; a tote bag with makeup, a hairbrush and antiperspirant; and my large quilted "dance bag" with three more bags inside: one with dance shoes (heels and flats), another with two pairs of comfy sandals, and a third bag with 3-inch heeled street shoes that I'd worn to the said nonprofit event.
That's a lot of baggage (and shoes!) for a 75-minute class.
I should have seen this all coming.
Something special about dance classes in this community school (as opposed to a dance academy) is that there are students of all ages. The median age swings every class -- it could be anywhere from 18 to 38. I enjoy this immensely. It is fun to be around school age kids, teens and college students. I also enjoy the camaraderie of my fellow "mature students" (as we were dubbed tonight by our "mature teachers" -- who are in their mid-40s.)
One young dancer is particularly enjoyable to watch. She is graceful and strong, and she also exudes a lot of personality and an admirable confidence. I like dancing near her and behind her because she is expressive and creative. I watch her use her arms and think "Oh, that's a good idea."
My feelings are collegial and a bit maternal. She is at least 15 years younger than me. I see her smile, and I know that she is having a grand time. I imagine her growing and maturing as an artist for many years to come. She is just getting started. (I also admit that I feel some envy.)
Unknowingly, she inspires me to try harder and to be a better dancer. When I mimic her, I improve. It feels good. I picked up a nice arm movement that confounded me earlier this week. Tonight, in particular, I was feeling inspired by her and by my teacher. I usually struggle to perform in the mirror but tonight I felt grateful to dance with them.
Until I felt sort of pathetic.
Which is the feeling that comes after a question like this: Who do you think you are? (Message: You're not 18 anymore.) And this: Why are you trying to dance like that? (There's no future in this for you.) And my favorite: Who are you trying to impress? (Message: Nobody likes a show-off.)
Who. Do. You. Think. You. Are.
As I drove home after class, I felt pitiful. (And, I cried.)
I lug a lot of baggage into that dance studio. Over the last 12 months, I've gotten used to carrying it. I've mourned decisions that took me off my dancer's path. I've wondered how dreams die. I've struggled with the amount of time and money that I spend on a hobby that sometimes feels pointless -- except for its inexplicable curative properties.
On the positive side, I've spent many hours thinking about how I can raise my children to be confident and resilient, and faithful to their spirits.
But wow, some of these bags are getting heavy. I need a new place to stow this stuff.
Or better yet, maybe I can leave it all behind.
After all, I can always dance barefoot.
2009-Laura Bond Williams. All rights reserved.
Then, finally, at 8:15 p.m., I went to dance class.
I walked into theatre dance with my arms full. I carried a purse filled with its purse-like necessities; a tote bag with makeup, a hairbrush and antiperspirant; and my large quilted "dance bag" with three more bags inside: one with dance shoes (heels and flats), another with two pairs of comfy sandals, and a third bag with 3-inch heeled street shoes that I'd worn to the said nonprofit event.
That's a lot of baggage (and shoes!) for a 75-minute class.
I should have seen this all coming.
Something special about dance classes in this community school (as opposed to a dance academy) is that there are students of all ages. The median age swings every class -- it could be anywhere from 18 to 38. I enjoy this immensely. It is fun to be around school age kids, teens and college students. I also enjoy the camaraderie of my fellow "mature students" (as we were dubbed tonight by our "mature teachers" -- who are in their mid-40s.)
One young dancer is particularly enjoyable to watch. She is graceful and strong, and she also exudes a lot of personality and an admirable confidence. I like dancing near her and behind her because she is expressive and creative. I watch her use her arms and think "Oh, that's a good idea."
My feelings are collegial and a bit maternal. She is at least 15 years younger than me. I see her smile, and I know that she is having a grand time. I imagine her growing and maturing as an artist for many years to come. She is just getting started. (I also admit that I feel some envy.)
Unknowingly, she inspires me to try harder and to be a better dancer. When I mimic her, I improve. It feels good. I picked up a nice arm movement that confounded me earlier this week. Tonight, in particular, I was feeling inspired by her and by my teacher. I usually struggle to perform in the mirror but tonight I felt grateful to dance with them.
Until I felt sort of pathetic.
Which is the feeling that comes after a question like this: Who do you think you are? (Message: You're not 18 anymore.) And this: Why are you trying to dance like that? (There's no future in this for you.) And my favorite: Who are you trying to impress? (Message: Nobody likes a show-off.)
Who. Do. You. Think. You. Are.
As I drove home after class, I felt pitiful. (And, I cried.)
I lug a lot of baggage into that dance studio. Over the last 12 months, I've gotten used to carrying it. I've mourned decisions that took me off my dancer's path. I've wondered how dreams die. I've struggled with the amount of time and money that I spend on a hobby that sometimes feels pointless -- except for its inexplicable curative properties.
On the positive side, I've spent many hours thinking about how I can raise my children to be confident and resilient, and faithful to their spirits.
But wow, some of these bags are getting heavy. I need a new place to stow this stuff.
Or better yet, maybe I can leave it all behind.
After all, I can always dance barefoot.
2009-Laura Bond Williams. All rights reserved.
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Laura - I just discovered your blog from your facebook note this morning. I love it! Thank you for writing, and thank you for dancing!! Keep it going. It's a pleasure to know you, and now I'm totally rooting for you as a born again dancer.
ReplyDeleteJan Gunter