Just Dance

“I used to be a dancer. Well, I mean, I used to take dance.”

Do you ever feel like you’ve lived 9 different lives? Like you lived the life as a baby, that you don’t even remember. You were likely, at some point, akin to the spawn of Satan during your terrible twos and threatening threes. Which you also likely have very little recollection of. And then there’s grade school you. Where you recall snippets and pieces. Junior High. Which maybe you’d rather forget. High school. Where it’s like you were playing the role of where ever it is your services were needed. And then there’s everything since.

So by the time people meet you as an adult… by the time you maybe become a parent… you’ve lived all these different yous to get to where you are.

For 11 years, I was a dancer. Well. I mean, I took dance lessons. I performed in recitals. I went to classes every week — at times, as many as 4 or 5. I don’t know that I ever was a dancer in the truest sense of the talent. My middle name is far from Grace. But I danced. Took a lot of dance classes. Spent a fair amount of hours tapping, jazzing, balleting, and a few other thingsings. And I loved it.

For just over a decade, from the time I was three through my Freshman year of high school I took dance. It taught me endless lessons. And gave me memories for a lifetime. And yet, it feels as though it happened in another lifetime. You know what I mean? When those things you once gave so much time to, are no longer a part of any of your days? It’s weird, right?

My first recital, I wore that tiny little tutu. And pink tights. And fresh ballet slippers. And I don’t even recall what song we danced to. But I know I was 3 when the year began. When we started driving to the neighboring town for lessons every week. And when I felt like the little wooden-floored room with the floor to ceiling mirrors was the most grand place I’d ever been. I was 4 when that first recital happened. And from all accounts and evidence, I was extremely in love with the theatrics and show of it all.

And the year we did Lollipop. Gosh I loved those tap shoes. Tap was my very favorite. And likely so, because it was the thing I felt like I was actually pretty good at. And those two girls in the background, I got to have a lot of memories with those two girls in those years of dancing with them. We carpooled. Ate our sack lunches out on the bench in the hall or across the street at my dad’s office or at Runza or Magic Wok. We had a lot of Wednesday and Thursday evenings spent in the second floor studio. And they helped me cram because I never practiced except at recess. And I just couldn’t remember the steps.

The year of Grease. When I thought I was hot stuff to get to wear an Angels jacket. And I first heard the phrase cool beans. I can remember going through a chubbier phase that year. And feeling so thankful for the jacket. To hide how my body was different from the others. And to be able to worry more about the dancing and less about how I looked in a skin-tight leotard.

This one. Ohhhh Fun, Fun, Fun. My sister and I did tap duets several years. And when I look back on my days in dance, that is the time for which I am most thankful. My sister and I were complete opposites. She always knew all the steps. I always brought the drama. But it worked. We wore the most insane outfits. But it was okay. Because we were doing it together. We were having fun, fun, fun. And that’s really all that mattered.

One of several pairs of pointe shoes. Not a ballerina my typical standards, I adored pointe. I may not have had the form. But I did have the arches for it. And I loved how beautifully the dances moved. And the barre work. I still listen to Enya for a trip back in time. And to reconnect my soul with the feeling of that. Wearing these shoes taught me that I should always try. Because even if I wasn’t the typical ballerina, I still derived great joy from the practice.

This. This costume taught me more than any other. This was my one and only solo outfit. A solo that I prepared for all year. And on recital night, in front of the entire, packed, auditorium at Doane College, I forgot my dance. I forgot it. Walked off stage. And went back out and restarted. It was both humiliating and extremely important. Making myself go back out. In front of all of those people. And do it again. With a smile plastered on my face. Because we all make mistakes. But we learn when we handle those mistakes with grace. And humility.

And these girls. These same two girls that I started out with. They both went on to do more dancing. And still do in one way or another. They were both dancers. Full of the right form. And the most graceful movements. The real heart for dance. And I turned my focus toward other things after this year. But it is incredible the impact the experience of learning to dance had on my life. The friendships I found. The discipline I learned. Even at a young age, discovering that there are so many different ways to exercise and move your body. And the lifelong lesson that we all learn at some point… the show must go on.

I sometimes wonder what experiences we will give our kids that will change them. That will be imprinted on them. And what will be the things that although they don’t do them for a lifetime, will teach them so much about who they are. And who they can be.

I feel that way about singing. And volleyball. And Tennis. And dance. And band. {Yep. I was a band nerd. And I’m proud of it.} I’m happy for having all of those different life experiences, because all those things, they gave me joy. And taught me a heck of a lot about living. And taught me a whole lot about who I am.

And here I thought I was just dancing.