Yesterday I danced. Like around other peeps. And not at club. And not after tequila shots. Or even a glass of wine. I mean a cup of coffee happened. A dance class happened. It’s the first time I’ve taken a dance class since elementary school. (That’s kind of lie. There was the adult Intro to Ballet class that wrecked my hip and I dropped out of.)
Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve been dancing foreva. There were lessons for a minute. My sis took ballet. I took jazz. (I wanted a little mo funk. A lil less formality.)
Eventually all the mirrors + being the tallest girl = Em’s a dance class dropout. Mirrors were just too...reflective. If I only saw what my moms saw. I saw “fat pads.” You know that curve that happens at the top of the middle of thighs. It’s pretty natural. Now don’t get me wrong. Not EVERY girl had them. But most did.
So. My moms. What she saw. Behind my mom’s door she had a full length mirror. I would stand in front it. And. Pull. Back. On. My Upper Thigh. Flesh. Longing for that reflection to be my reality. My mom would plead w me to love my body. Just the way I was. She would tell me I was beautiful and smart. And creative. And, and, and. Her fave mantra was : you are a prize.
So. Mirrors. And. Being the tallest girl meant that I was partnered with the only boy in the class. Cause he was tall too. And his hands were cushy and sweaty.
But this class was no intro to ballet. This class was no tallest girl assigned to dance w the clammy handed boy. This was DANCING. And my hip = F.R.E.E.D.O.M. And there were mirrors.
This was me having a typical solo impromptu dance parT but better.
Class was opened w a state of the Universe overview. Woo woo warning, peeps. Expect intensity. Ups and downs. Raw weeping then serendipitous moments. Growing pains. Breakthroughs (if you’re willing to do the work.) If you are willing, radical change. CAN happen. Stay neutral. Be inspired. Be creative. Reach for the light. Wallow for 5 minutes. Let it go. Feel AND release. Yikes. Sounds like a rollercoaster. Got it. Mine as well jump on and enjoy the ride. And scream when I need to. Get in a vehicle. Roll up your windows. Close your sunroof. Get Madonna blasting through your speakers. And SCREEEEEAAAAMMMMM! Not just once. Three times. Deep inhale. Open yo mouth and scream. At the top of yo lungs, peeps. AAAAAHHHHH!
I love me, hey
I love me, hey
I don't know about you, but baby I love me
Now everybody say, hey-hey-hey
Oh, hey-hey-hey, I love me
Hey-hey-hey, I love me
Speaking of Madonna. So. Been having dance parTs foreva. Truth. When I was 4, Madonna was my diva of choice. Her Like A Virgin album was a fave. Fo sho.. One afternoon my moms shared w me that my dad’s dad aka my gramps was coming over. He was prolly checking on something at the house. Maybe it was when he was helping us build our screened-in porch. Or maybe he was dropping off some wood for the wood pile for the wood stove. Anyway. I announced to my moms that I was going to dance for him. I had a portable tape deck that I carried around w me. That way no matter where I was in the house I could bust a move wheneva. And whereva. My mom...Ok, Em. Just choose a different song besides Like A Virgin. Why, I asked? I am 99.9% sure my mom’s reply was - just because. Insert embarrassed emoji here.
To be continued...99.9% sho there's mo I need to say.
Peace and love.And thanks for reading and sharing.