we’re the dannnncers.
cate’s happy place
hovering in the murk can be equally exquisite as riding the wave
i made myself go to a ballet class yesterday. it was excruciating to squeeze myself into my 12 year old’s tights and leotard, not because they were the wrong size, but because my ego had to be smashed in order to see my 53 year old body in pink tights and a black leotard, the last time i had seen myself in such attire, i hadn’t had a child…i actually was a child.
taking the contrary action of donning the unforgiving dance wear, walking into a room of strangers (save one woman who’d recommended the class and to whom i’d pledged i’d be there), was no less shocking than jumping into a freezing lake… i knew i had to give myself no exit strategy. put the gear on, make a pact to meet a friend there, and the rest was easy by comparison.
the piano music, the charismatic teacher, a sexy russian “baldwin brother” who was in turn demanding and encouraging, funny and a tad scary made me happy i’d come. the sheer pleasure of taking a ballet class, doing something way out of my comfort zone on the off chance it might be fun. not to mention the treasure trove of sensation and memories that are activated in my body, reminding me once again of the bounty that is kept locked inside, like an attic of abandoned childhood trinkets. my body is the gatekeeper of so many forgotten joys. it holds within it the memory of things my brain has trouble accessing, like proust’s madeleine. fuck yoga, fuck barre method. i want to dance. it makes my body happy. to dance for the sole purpose of pleasure, not to be great, and certainly not to impress anyone, but because i can.