Moving Like I Used To

Besides writing a bunch of nonsense in my journal from a young age, there are two things I did without fail.

Dancing and swimming.

I first learned how to dance by watching Janet Jackson and Paula Abdul music videos when I was seven.

I mimicked every move they made and forced my poor dad to video tape solo performances I would choreograph in my bedroom.

Dressing as shitty as possible was the cool thing in ballet class.
Dressing as shitty as possible was the cool thing in ballet class.

Until finally, even though we totally couldn’t afford it, my dad asked me if I wanted to learn how to dance for real.

I was a complete disaster in class, out of control with no technique unlike the other girls who started dancing when they were five.

But, starting dance class was one of the happiest moments of my life. My enthusiasm was unstoppable.

I worked hard with my “bad feet” and “bad turnout” and used my non-dancer’s body to my advantage, often dancing with the boys because I could jump as high as they could.

I performed in every imaginable place—in parking lots, on football fields, in parks, in classrooms, on stages, on the Queen Mary, a Lakers game, some hotels, gyms, classrooms…I know I’m forgetting plenty.

I wore leotards that always rode up my butt and I was probably the buffest ballerina to ever wear a tutu.

The reason why I hate Nutcracker music.
The reason why I hate Nutcracker music.

Dancing was something I did while working through all of the bullshit of growing up.

I danced forever and taught for a decade until two years ago, when I got so burnt out that I stopped.

I got really into Yoga, got certified and taught quite a bit. It was an incredible experience, but along the way, I felt like something was missing.

I missed moving my hips to a gorgeous rhythm. I missed moving my feet faster than I ever thought possible. I missed moving my arms through the air like they were my special wings.

No, I didn’t get back into my pink tights and pointe shoes. About a month ago I started taking Zumba again.

What I love about Zumba is simply this…you just shut up and dance.

There isn’t a post-mortem after every combination, you’re allowed to laugh at yourself for messing up, and you get to shake your ass non-stop.

I don’t feel the negative effects I knew intimately in the dancing world, like perfectionism or an unhealthy body image.

I didn’t want that. I just wanted to effing move.

Since I starting dancing again, I’ve been overjoyed. I returned to a part of me that I tried to ignore, but I couldn’t.

I know, this dive is worthy of an Olympic medal.
I know, this dive is worthy of an Olympic medal.

I was one of the few Southern California kids who struggled with swimming.

Near-drowning moments and claustrophobia made me fear swimming. Hey, when you’re under water, you can’t breathe.

Kids made fun of me for being a bad swimmer and wearing my floaties well past the acceptable age.

More than anything, I was determined to swim, because I loved the feeling of moving through water.

Swimming was like dancing to me. It was tough and beautiful.

And, just like dancing, I threw every part of myself into swimming. I got over my fears and swam like an ambitious fish.

Then, I got busy with being an adult. Then, I moved to places where swimming was hard to come by.

Portland proved to be challenging as well, except for the gym by my work, which (cue angel singing) has a salt water lap pool. So, I bought a bathing suit, a goofy swim cap, and goggles.

I went swimming on my lunch break yesterday. I got water up my nose and felt like I’d been hit by a car after ten consecutive laps. But for the rest of the day I was serene.

Now I have it down. I’m moving like I used to.

Rockin' the velour and Dorothy Hamill haircut. So stylish.
Rockin’ the velour and Dorothy Hamill haircut. So stylish.

What about you guys? Are there activities/passions you used to do as a kid that you’ve revisited as an adult?

Dancers: Quirkier than you think

Playing the Snow Queen in The Nutcracker, my solitary duty was to entice the audience, whisking them out of the daily grind and into an ethereal world—graceful, beautiful, and effortless.

No stress, no blunders. Everything was simple and perfect.

And, here’s what the audience didn’t know…I couldn’t see anything!

Typically, it snows at the end of the “Waltz of the Snowflakes”. And, even though the stage is merely littered with bits of scrap paper, the cheap thrill is bizarrely breathtaking.

But the dancers have a different view altogether. Simply put, it’s a hazard.

During every performance I was blind, courtesy of snowflakes caught in my fake eyelashes. Every time I leaped off into the wings, I blew snow out of my mouth. It was comparable to dancing on an obstacle course, pointe shoes slipping and sliding on the messy floor like there was no tomorrow.

As a result, I muttered many choice words through gritted teeth.

Yet, the audience didn’t notice a thing, and exited the theater with dreamy expressions, Tchaikovsky and tutus forever embedded in their minds.

I fulfilled my duty as a performer. Sure it was dangerous and challenging, but I  cherished every last second.

Dancers are athletes, who know how to act. They make the impossible, attractively possible.

I often forget how enthralling the dancer species truly is, because I have always been one. So, I took a moment to step out of my dancing shoes to analyze quirky characteristics of the dancer, and share a few crazy things you may not know.

  • They’re shy  You probably don’t believe me, but I’m guilty as charged. I can dance for thousands, but I loathe speaking in front of people. I believe this is where the snobby misconception comes into play, others mistaking bashfulness for conceit.
  • Their posture is baffling  Due to my good posture, I almost failed my driving test when I was younger. The DMV tester guy made me pull over and instructed me to take deep breaths; he warned that he was about to fail me for being too tense, because of the way I was sitting. Uncomfortably, I slouched in order to pass.
  • They avoid pedicures  Dancers are hard on their feet, and probably need pedicures more than the average Joe. But, they don’t want to lose their calluses, which act as an important shield against bare floors and pointe shoes.
  • They create in teeny-tiny spaces  That masterful artistry you see on the stage was probably created in somebody’s shoebox apartment. Dancers don’t usually have the luxury of studio space, and make miracles happen in absurd amounts of square footage.
  • They’re always rehearsing  A dancer needs to remember and master, so they run through choreography constantly. They dance at work, the dinner table, the grocery store—you name it! Last week, I was dancing at the dentist.
  • They don’t know how to stop dancing  I’m not allowed to play sports, because I’m a distraction. Why? Because I point my toes when I sprint, I perform a high kick with the soccer ball, I pirouette to dodge something, and I do split leaps over the other players.

Dancers are some of the hardest working artists out there, juggling day jobs, rehearsal schedules, and teaching gigs.

They get paid the least and have the shortest careers, but dancers sacrifice for the greatest reason of all…they love what they do.