Week 13: Panic Phei- I Dance to Live and I Live to Dance

Full Prompt: “I dance to live and I live to dance”

Story:

Can I ask you a question? Have you ever known that something will save your life? It’s a strange question- but it's a serious one. Have you been lucky enough to stumble upon a thing knowing immediately it was going to be important and impactful to you? Something you could count on no matter what? I did. If I concentrate hard enough, project my mind back to the first single digits of my life, I can remember feeling this way about something. I knew, that early, what I would always need in my life. But I let myself forget it. Or I allowed myself to let it slip away. Or honestly, I let the world coerce me into walking away from it. The thing I have always needed, what saved me, it's so intrinsic to being human; one of our most fundamental, elemental, emotional, savage, passionate, expressive past times. Something that has allowed for communication longer than spoken word. The purest form of expression- dance.

At 3 I was enrolled in my first ballet class. When I was a little girl you could not keep me from dancing. Walking was never an option- my slowest form of movement was skipping, and when I was absolutely required to stand still, I swayed. Fortunately my parents put all that energy to use and enrolled me in those ballet classes. I was not the most coordinated or disciplined student- far from it. I just loved to move. To hop and skip and jump. My constant movement and lack of coordination got me in trouble often and dance class became more of a chore. I remember being told I was doing it “wrong,” that my movements weren’t the type we were supposed to do. And when that happened I learned shame. I learned judgment.

At 10 I let the opinions of teachers and other dancers- the opinions of the world, turn me away from this thing that I loved. I let them tell me I wasn’t good enough. In fact, I let them convince me so severely that I rarely danced at all. I avoided it at outings and events, even weddings. Weddings, a time when everyone is supposed to be in celebration. A time no one should be judged for how you celebrate the happiness of others.

At 47 my life was turned completely upside down. The events around this upheaval I won’t go into. Those events aren’t what this is about. This is about rediscovery. And encouragement. This is a letter to my younger self, my current self, and to you. Take this as permission to disregard others’ judgment. Permission to be gloriously bad at joyful things. Even if you have the less rhythm than a vacuum cleaner, your paintings look like a toddler did them, your souffles always collapse, your music is better heard through the muffle of earplugs, in this world full of people that will judge you and things that will bring you down, if you find some form of self expression, something that brings you joy- do it. Do it often. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise. So long as you are happier for it, and it brings no harm to others, it is your duty to your older self to make the time. 

At 49 I realized this. In going through the last of things in my parents house I stumbled upon my first pair of ballet slippers. I couldn’t believe my mother had held onto them. I was instantly transported. I gently removed them from their box- their now faded pink fabric a drab, gray- peach color. I had genuinely danced holes in them. Having not thought of these shoes or those dance classes in decades, I was reminded of the pure joy I experienced as a little girl. Hopping. Skipping. Jumping. Dancing. My heart was once again filled just by the thought of dance.

At 50 I returned to it. I returned to my first joy. I returned to this world of dance which had once been my life. I felt a haze lift from my body, my heart, and my mind. And I did not care one bit what others thought of my capabilities. The rhythmic movement to music was something my soul had been missing. It felt like coming home.

At 62, having been home for over twelve years, I’m writing this letter. I don’t know what I’ll do with it. I don’t know that I’ll do anything at all with it. But I know these sentiments needed to be put to paper, that they could no longer take up space inside of me. Perhaps it will help someone to read it someday. Perhaps it’s only helping me to write it. But if you are indeed reading this I want you to know I still dance everyday. Whoever you are, whatever age you are, no matter how good or bad you or others perceive you to be at something- please, from someone who knows, and someone who cares about you, please- dance your heart out. 

-Kathleen