here we go

Music, loud enough to feel the beat in my chest. Boom ba boom-ba. Boom ba boom-ba.
Marc Broussard.
Home.

two, three, four.

As I dance around the house, ipod nano tucked into the band of my yoga pants (okay, the truth is it is tucked into the side of my hanes boy shorts), my own private concert, snapping my fingers to the beat, I have no inhibition. None. I pass the guest room where my husband glances up from the laundry he is folding, an amused look on his face (which has more to do with my having fun while he keeps the laundry going in anticipation of my mother's arrival tomorrow). A tornado could pass through our neighborhood and I probably wouldn't even notice.

here we go.

This is my favorite part. I have to clap now...and the singing begins. Arms above my head. Millie looks on from her spot in the middle of the hallway.

you don't know nothin' about me...

Summer heat is here, windows are open. Do the neighbors think I am crazy? In pain? I don't care. Toe. Heel. Toe. Heel. Pass the mirror in the hallway and decide not to look. Why bring judgment in now? I feel the beat in my soul...nothing will stop me.

take me home...

When I finished listening to this song for the fourth time in a row tonight, dancing to each encore, I thought about the conversation my friend Heather and I had earlier this week. The one about dancing. I started ballet at four, so dancing has been a part of my life for 26 years. A long time. As I child, I spent hours in the basement "practicing," which really meant having my own private dance concerts. From Tchaikovsky to Phil Collins to Madonna to (yes, you guessed it) Kenny Rogers, my body would move to the beat of the music. Twirling, tapping, waltzing (sans-partner). I would pretend Baryshnikov had come to take me away to be a dancer on Broadway in New York (has anyone else seen the PBS special Baryshnikov on Broadway? My dad taped it for me in the 80s, and I probably watched it 1000 times). Sometimes Prince Charming would come to twirl me in circles. Other days I was a back-up dancer finding my inner Solid Gold dancer.

Through all of this play, I learned to feel the music. And yoga has brought this to an even deeper level. It isn't just about feeling the music, it is about feeling my body. Feeling myself. Letting it out through movement.

My mind also turned to Jamie's day in May and Meg's post from March. Two different perspectives. The love of dancing and the desire to want to love to dance.

Heather reminded me that not everyone feels as comfortable dancing as I do. I mean, I will sometimes bust out into a time step in Target. And Jon will twirl me around on the sidewalk and I don't even care if other people think we are odd. I sing in the car, sometimes even when I meet people for the first time. And I dance in my seat. A lot. Dancing (and the occasional karaoke moment) are such a part of who I am that I don't even think about it as odd.

Thinking about all of this has become a theme lately. And I am wondering if dancing may be yet another avenue toward healing. Another way to find yourself...

Do you think you might want to feel the music? Feel your body? Find yourself as you let it out through movement?