I do not have the body of a dancer.  Not lean, not long, not lithe.  Too much on top, too much on the bottom.  But my soul?

My soul is the soul of a dancer.

Photo by Divine in The Daily

Photo by Divine in The Daily

I’ve talked about how much I love dance before, but it really is difficult to express just how vital dance is to me.  I need it as much as my body needs air; without dance my soul would wither.

If I lost my legs in an accident, I would develop a prosthetic so I could dance.  If given a choice between losing my eyesight or my hearing, I would choose the gift of hearing music.  When I imagine my perfect home, it is in a city near a tropical beach with plenty of sushi and, most importantly, incredible places to dance.

The Hayden-Saurus

I took ballet when I was a child.

Looking back at those pictures is a mix of joy and chagrin.  I look so happy, my form and posture absolutely regal.  But I also look like a dinosaur compared to the other girls in my glass.  Big and stumpy.

Around 10, I knew I could never become a “professional dancer”.  I was not ballerina material.  I was not even Flamenco or Broadway material.  There was no way I could conceive of ever earning my living as a dancer.

Failing

That realization did not keep my from applying to the dance magnet program at Coral Reef.  I flamed out at the audition.  I just couldn’t pick up the choreography quickly enough.

After that, I only took two more dance classes.  Once in middle school (where they made us dance to the atrocious “What I Like About You”) and a flamenco class last year.  Both times I had, again, struggled with the choreography.

When I did nail the choreography, instead of feeling triumphant I just felt empty.  Perfunctory.  I felt the satisfaction of completing a chore but no joy in the doing.  No joy in dancing.

The Alternate Reality

I finally realized that if I had possessed the perfect dancer’s body, I would have rushed headlong into a career of dance.  And because I had natural talent and would have possessed the right “look”, people would have cut me slack on my ability to remember choreography.

I would have gone to school and attended tryouts and would have ended up with a mediocre and extremely frustrating career in something I used to love.

Defining Our Talent

Today I read a phenomenal post called The Power of Talent and decided that it was time to share and rejoice in my talent.

Society defines dance in choreographed music videos, Broadway shows, and ballet performances.   Someone dancing in the street or the sidewalk is crazy.  Dance does not belong outside of the socially defined parameters.

Look how uncomfortably this begins.

We’ve disconnected dance from our culture.  We have, instead, relegated it to the purview of seedy clubs and late-night discos.

Where we legitimize dance, we’ve disconnected the artist from the expression of artistry.  Choreographers create the dance while dancers are the technical execution of someone else’s dream and vision.  (Ever wonder why so many dancers become choreographers?)

We’ve disconnected dance from ourselves.  There was a time when dance was a sacred part of our community, a vital expression of our universe.  If you want to dance today, you either show up to class, go to a club, or wait around for a wedding.

The Wrong Measuring Stick

I used to bemoan my physical construction as a Hayden-saurus.  But could I have survived my childhood if I were physically more delicate?  I wonder.  And I know that not having the ‘right body’ for dance saved me a lot of heart ache.  The universe, my friends, knows what it is doing.

While I was frustrated that I wasn’t a good dancer, I knew I was good at dance.  But how could that possibly be true?  It was true because I had adopted society’s definition of what constituted a “dancer”.

The right paradigm changes everything.