I went to a contemporary dance class this past Sunday.
I am tall, lanky and very desirous of slow movements planned out within an inch of their life. I was made for yoga. Throw dance into the mix, and it’s like asking a sloth to run the 100m dash.
Hilarity ensued.
I showed up just in time. Running a bit behind, I entered an already filled room of different body types, age groups and ethnicities. The only thing this group of keen, yet quiet dancers had in common? They were all younger than me.
Let me be clear. I am 33 years old and by no means do I consider myself old. But when you crouch down into a yoga squat and find yourself at eye level with several of the other dancers….you old!
None the less I started warming up my lanky limbed, post pubescent self with the little ones and quickly, and I mean quickly, had to snap out of slow, languid yoga pace flows, shifting gears into a higher octane dancer’s pace.
My insanely talented and dedicated dancer friend captured what I was experiencing perfectly in a chat we had on a day shortly before my foray into the dance world, “You have to move at the pace of the music.”
She was so right.
In yoga, you let the breath and body dictate the rhythm. In dance, Gloria Estefan wasn’t lying when she said “the rhythm is gonna get ya!” Or at the very least, fingers crossed it finds my very white girl ass and moves it across the dance floor at a non-embarassing pace.
The lovely thing I started to feel, even though I couldn’t move at my overly controlled yoga pace, was how the rapidity of movement was unlocking me in several ways.
It was unlocking patterns of movement I’d not accessed in years. It was showing me ways to move the body that felt foreign and refreshingly awkward.
It was unleashing pent up energy from muscles I don’t get to use on the daily. I could even feel parts of my brain waking up as it tried to coordinate upper and lower body (insert laugh track) right and left side body. I had to set aside what I assumed anyone else was thinking so I could fully devote myself to hearing the teacher’s instructions, feeling the fun and twirly steps, memorizing the sequence our spunky instructor was fabricating almost out of thin air.
By being pushed outside of myself, I felt more in tuned with myself. I felt freedom in this ironically purposeful frivolity
On another note, I felt stagnation. I felt what it’s like to be in a body that focuses on specific, highly trained movements. It wasn’t bad. It was just very….clear. I am a yoga teacher. I do a lot of yoga.
I often say to students “range of motion is like a language. If you don’t use it, you lose it.” This is true with different types of movement as well. If we don’t put our bodies or ourselves in different, unique and beautifully awkward situations, we lose the ability to adapt, change and discover something new or something we harbour naturally inside of ourselves.
I honestly believe we are all dancers. Our bodies are made to move. The resulting endorphins, the joint lubrication, the discovery of body and self are just a few of the brilliant side effects of movement.
So here’s to being the 5’11” 33 year old woman in a dance studio filled with elbow high whipper snappers. May I always be so lucky to move in weird and wonderful ways!
