private dancer.

I haven't tried it yet, but I've bookmarked the information for a new dance class I want to try. The title is very Fame-ish and I can envision myself with a couple dozen other hungry young dancers, gritty, passionate, working it out on the hard wood floors. Well, let me re-phrase: I can envision myself in the very back of the room, maybe not so gritty, definitely passionate and definitely working it out, but hopefully unnoticed. The class is called...wait for it...Heavy Bottom Funk. Yes ma'am! What a title! I am in love and I haven't even read the full description. I nearly made it one time, but chickened out. Someone help me get there, please? I want to do this. I can already feel the endorphins hitting my veins like a drug.

Dance was a big part of my life for many, many years. I took classical ballet for something like eleven years and then was on a dance-heavy cheerleading squad in high school. I was always pretty mediocre at the technical elements, but loved the music, theatrics and general body expression of it all. Dance was my outlet. I would roller skate to Supertramp in my garage, create elaborate dance routines in my living room to A-Ha, and fantasize about slow dancing with my latest crush playing Madonna's "Crazy for You" on my walkman. Dance also provided me with an incredibly powerful life lesson. One that stuns me today, now that I can really see it for what it was.

For seven years straight, from about the age of 8 to age 15 (formative, impressionable years!) I tried out for the Oregon Ballet's production of The Nutcracker and NEVER MADE IT. Picture this young girl who loves to dance, loves the ballet, and despite mediocre technical talent, was always a hard-worker, sitting in the red velvet seats of a classically-designed theatre, audition number pinned to the front of her black leotard, having an anxiety-ridden yet self-promoting conversation running through her head. That was me. For SEVEN years in a row. What stuns me even further is that my mother sat with me every year. I cannot imagine how that would feel now that I am a parent. Obviously, we both thought that I would make it eventually, right? I made it to finals nearly every time but there were always girls (or boys) that were more gifted, looked more the part, were taller, younger, older or fit the costumes better. These were all desired requirements for cast members, which is not uncommon for large, traveling productions with a limited number of costume sizes, etc. I kept going, kept walking out of that theatre year after year, waiting until we got to the car before the tears would inevitably start to roll down my cheeks. My mother must have been in pain as well, but I think she knew that there was value in this experience and so long as I kept choosing it, it would build character. I know that it did. To this day, I interview well, public speak without too much anxiety and am nearly always willing to put myself out there. To simply try out. The costume doesn't always fit, but I show up and this has been a powerful thing in my life.

Yesterday I had lunch with a friend who I love spending one-on-one time with. She's intelligent, warm, hard-working and disciplined. She, like many of us, is experiencing incredible personal growth, which has included "tune-ups" with a mind-body life coach. One of the coach's recommendations for my friend is for her to dance - this to a friend who doesn't (didn't) like to dance! Privately if need be, 10 minutes, three/four times a week. Crank up the music, shut the door and let your flag fly baby! No doubt my face exploded in a huge grin when she told me about this powerful advice. A few weeks ago, on a Saturday when I was in a very low place due to my pending divorce, a package arrived in the mail from a friend who knows my soul. It was a CD with songs you cannot just sit and listen to, you have to m-o-v-e! I put my dark place on the shelf, put on the CD and danced by myself around my house for two hours, eating Whoppers and drinking a beer. It was, at that moment, a life-saving salve. (Email me if you want a copy of the playlist. :) So I can relate to this idea of being a private dancer for yourself, of finding the salve, energy and joy in that form of body expression.

In my childhood home, my mother hung two framed photos side-by-side in our living room. The first one was of a homeless man who was a regular sight near my mother's place of business. She, like she has always done throughout my life, befriended him, would talk to him on a regular basis and eventually asked if she could take his photo. That photo and his face are ingrained in my mind like he is a member of my family. He is sitting on the steps of a nearby business, and despite his tattered, filthy clothing, scraggly beard and dirty face, you can see him dancing behind these gorgeous, bright eyes. Next to this photo, was one of a man dancing on railroad tracks. Underneath the photo is the famous Nietzsche quote: "And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music." I'm feeling the music, hearing the music (specifically Donavon Frankenreiter's "Move By Yourself") and I am going to make it a point to get myself to that dance studio...who will join me?