Or rather, my body surprised me.
A few weeks ago a dance friend planted a seed by remarking that a waltz party was coming up on or near Halloween. It would take place in Cincinnati, about an hour's drive from my home, in the arts center I've attended for years to get my dancing fix. It's one of my favorite places on earth; in fact, I may as well say it is my place of worship.
As a dance the waltz is generally slower, easier to manage than some of the full-on raucous and joyous dancing that normally sustains my body and soul (and keeps me from solitary hermit-hood!). Waltzing is both sensuous and simple. Maybe it's just a fancy way of walking in tandem with another human being. It's companionable, it's flirtatious, it's rhythmic, it's rich with a huge body of music played on all kinds of musical instruments. For those who got taught something called the Waltz Box Step, perhaps in a school gym class, just hearing the word waltz may cause cringing. Believe me, (why should you?) there is more fun to be had in a waltz than any box can hold. But another time to convince you of that. This is about what happened Saturday night.
My heroic driver was interested mainly in getting me the 60 miles to the dance and back home again. Not for her the dancing or mingling: she was in the mood for a stool in front of a sports bar TV so she could catch up with the World Series. She was in luck: a pizza joint down the street from the arts center had everything required, and after dropping me off, she strolled down there for her own entertainment.
My heroic driver was interested mainly in getting me the 60 miles to the dance and back home again. Not for her the dancing or mingling: she was in the mood for a stool in front of a sports bar TV so she could catch up with the World Series. She was in luck: a pizza joint down the street from the arts center had everything required, and after dropping me off, she strolled down there for her own entertainment.
Halloween invites play. Take the lid off, dig down into memory and childhood and wherever the colorful or ridiculous lurks, and bring it on out. I was draped in a collection of not-me stuff from a recent thrift store spree with my sister. I was sparkling and flowing and loving the feeling. Dimmed lights in the hall, pumpkin candles on the welcoming table; choose your own party favor from the bowl of plastic rings: bats, witches, ghosts. Beyond the glass doors I could see black eyes painted on somewhat familiar faces, drapey gowns and glittery fabrics, broomstick tails, and period costume all mingled and dancing about the floor.
A sweet hug came from P., who was manning the entrance table, and he spoke kind words of welcome. The next person I spotted was the dancer who had planted the idea in my mind in the first place. He had driven up from across the river to the south; I had come down from the north and here we were, where the music and the floor and all the feet come together. Thank you, D, for what you did to get me here. And thank you for the warm welcome when I walked in the door. I knew I was home.
When I set my heart on this outing I did not know how much dancing I could do. Could I last through a whole song? Would I be able to keep time with the music? What had my body lost and what remained? My arms are thin, my legs are thin, and yet they still hold me up. Could I dance?
Once inside the dance hall, one of my favorite partners came up, greeted me and asked for the next dance. Without thinking, I said what I usually say: "I'd love to!" And before my worries could take hold, we were in it, moving. Her strong and sensitive lead carried us over the floor with a light, swooping surge of glad energy. We turned, twirled, travelled: music translated into movement. And that was the start.
More dances followed --- more than I had ever expected to do. A few times I found myself asking a partner for little adjustments in speed or frequency of turns, but I never had to quit before the music played out. There was plenty of time for visiting with people on the sidelines, resting, dancing some more, cruising the snacks table, admiring costumes. It was later in the evening that I finally found the words for what I was feeling: I had become myself again. I was no longer moving in tentative "frail" ways, was not guarding my body as if it were particularly fragile or likely to break. I was actually using myself in the old and familiar "dancing" mode, giving it all my energy, creating the gestures that simply arise naturally when one is translating the music into bodily movement.
I was a dancer. Not a cancer.
When I set my heart on this outing I did not know how much dancing I could do. Could I last through a whole song? Would I be able to keep time with the music? What had my body lost and what remained? My arms are thin, my legs are thin, and yet they still hold me up. Could I dance?
Once inside the dance hall, one of my favorite partners came up, greeted me and asked for the next dance. Without thinking, I said what I usually say: "I'd love to!" And before my worries could take hold, we were in it, moving. Her strong and sensitive lead carried us over the floor with a light, swooping surge of glad energy. We turned, twirled, travelled: music translated into movement. And that was the start.
More dances followed --- more than I had ever expected to do. A few times I found myself asking a partner for little adjustments in speed or frequency of turns, but I never had to quit before the music played out. There was plenty of time for visiting with people on the sidelines, resting, dancing some more, cruising the snacks table, admiring costumes. It was later in the evening that I finally found the words for what I was feeling: I had become myself again. I was no longer moving in tentative "frail" ways, was not guarding my body as if it were particularly fragile or likely to break. I was actually using myself in the old and familiar "dancing" mode, giving it all my energy, creating the gestures that simply arise naturally when one is translating the music into bodily movement.
I was a dancer. Not a cancer.
Say that again: I WAS A DANCER!!!!!
