At the dance studio where my daughter and I both take dance classes, there is a contest going on. “Write, in at least two paragraphs, about why you love to dance.” If you win, your story will be featured on the website and your dance profile will be displayed in the studio.” Well, for reasons that will become obvious, I am not going to enter the contest. (I don’t really think my daughter or her friends need to see my dance story.) But, if I could enter the contest, this is what I would write:
I started to dance about a year ago. On a cold January night when Amrita wouldn’t eat her dinner. Spaghetti with meat sauce. How can there possibly be a more child-friendly meal? This is a regular occurrence at our house, but, for some reason, that night, it made me feel frustrated. Probably, there were other things contributing to the way I felt than just the dinner incident, but I don’t remember what anymore.I wanted to go out for a bit, but once I stepped outside, I realized I had no where to go. It was a Wednesday night in Ottawa. Bitter cold January. Everything near-by was closed and I had no car. And we don’t have a culture of dropping in on friends or neighbours.I walked to the community centre at the end of my block, a second home for my kids, and went inside for warmth. It was almost 7:00. I looked at the board to see what was going on that night. I saw that there was a beginner hip hop class starting at 7:00. Since it was early January, it was the first class of the session. I had to make a choice, either go to that class and see where it would take me, or go back home and remain in a grumpy mood.I hadn’t danced since ballet and tap lessons with Doris MacDonald in elementary school. And I had hated it. “Point your toes, Monsumi,” the crotchety old Doris would always say to me. I would be in tears by the end of class.Nonetheless, I was under the influence of Glee with all the singing and dancing. I kind of wanted to do that. Hesitantly, I chose to try the hip hop class. I went to the front desk to buy one drop-in class, and went upstairs to the studio. There I met Emilie. A young woman full of contagious energy and enthusiasm about dance. She wasn’t phased that I didn’t have the proper shoes or clothes. She was just delighted that I had come.It was a full class and I knew no one. We started with the warm up. I somehow was able to keep up and follow Emilie, because the warm up seemed to be aerobics steps set to hip hoppy music. And then yoga set to hip hoppy music! Since I have done some aerobics and lots of yoga, it seemed pretty good so far.But then we went on to the next part of the class. She got us to choose partners and I had a moment of panic because I didn’t know anyone and I was taken back to the stress of having to choose partners in school. However, it didn’t seem to matter that I didn’t know anyone. Someone caught my eye and we became partners. We had to practice body waves. This is what I find hardest about hip hop. I still can’t do body waves!Then we went on to learning the first steps to an actual dance. Okay, this was getting a bit trickier. All kinds of moves that didn’t feel natural to me. Knee pops and chest pops. Waves and rotations of isolated body parts. No cutesy twirls. No smiles or wispy looks. There is an « attidude » that you have to have to do hip hop. Hip hop is street dance, Emilie explained. You gotta look tough. You gotta be tough. It wasn’t exactly Glee. And it was one thing to learn and follow the moves. It was another to dance to them with the music which was always fast.A the end of the class, Emilie asked me if I was going to come back. “I don’t know, “ I said honestly. “I had fun, though.” And I was really tired.I felt a huge high when I went home. And though the class had been really hard, I went back the next week, and the week after that. I signed up for the full session. The class got harder. Because at every class, we would learn new steps to add on and it was hard to remember the sequence. You had to have concentration.Many times in the last year, I lacked concentration. When a symptom triggered anxiety in me. When I had an upcoming doctor’s appointment or test. The whole month of May, when I was going through my biopsy, is a blur to me.There were times when it would have been easier not to go. Cold nights when I just wanted to bundle up at home or wasn’t feeling well. When I should have been helping my kids with their homework or should have been prioritizing my kids’ activities. When I should have gone to see my parents or finished my work or made a better dinner or cleaned the house.But I kept going back. Over and over again. Every time I went, Emilie cheered and clapped just because I had come. And in time, I started to get a hang of the steps. I started to get to know my classmates. I still didn’t remember very much of the sequences. But then I started to practice, and that helped me to remember.My teacher looked at me this week and said, “I get very emotional at performances. I see students who didn’t know their right from their left when they first came to me. And now they can do whole routines!”Now, a year later, this is one of my favourite hours of the week. When I am in my class, I forget about cancer. I simply have fun. I focus. I live in the moment.And this is why I love to dance.
