foxonthego

Make time for what lights your fire, makes you feel alive

So, a little secret… I love dancing, love watching dancing, and for a brief period in my teens I even dreamed of being a dancer. In the realm of artistic or creative loves, dancing held first place… was my first love and continues to bring me joy.

Ballet came first. I have a very vivid memory of standing on a street corner in Toronto at the age of 4 waiting to cross over to the large impressive building that housed the centre for the arts. I remember being super excited, looking down at my shiny black patent shoes, the edge of my new red velvet dress peaking out under my dark woolly winter coat. It was around Christmas and my parents were taking me to see The Nutcracker. I sat spellbound throughout watching the story unfold through music and movement. Could hardly speak afterwards it had been so beautiful, so magical.

My parents were not particularly invested in dance but they liked to think they were cultured. We often went to dance and music performances and had season tickets to the theatre. No private booths or balconies for us; we were usually up in the rafters somewhere. Another key dance moment, around the age of 8, was a trip to the university’s performing arts auditorium with its plush red velvet seats. My father must have decided the tickets were too expensive because, when we got there, the foyer was full of people emerging for the intermission and he whispered with his cheeky grin, ‘follow me!’ He led the way round to a side exit and we snuck in and found some empty seats in the front row. It was a flamenco troupe and I cannot tell you the powerful and emotional impact this had on me. It was a glorious celebration of life in all its joy and sorrow with colourful swirling ruffled trains and somber black silhouettes. Being so close, my seat literally vibrated with the stomping foot work. I was stunned by the drama and beauty of it all. I fell in love with flamenco. Many years later, I happened to spend some time living in Seville and spent many evenings in local flamenco theatre bars watching the dancers lead the musicians through their dramatic tales. I even started learning Sevillanas. What joy!

When we were young, my sister took jazz and tap lessons but being a somewhat obstinate child I refused to be forced into participating in something where I’d have to ‘perform’ publicly. We’d already been through the trauma of trying to force me to play a shepherd in a Christmas church show when I was 5. I’d flat out refused when I was told I’d have to appear in my pyjamas. And, then the horrid recorder lessons and the inevitable end of year performance for parents which I also declined. But then, at the age of 15, without a second thought, I signed up to take ballroom dance lessons. Nobody forced me. It was just something entertaining that other friends were also doing.

I was living with my paternal grandmother, my Omi, at the time in Germany and it was quite a normal thing for teenagers to take ballroom dancing through the winter. Just part of the culture and it seemed like fun. I’d grown up with Lawrence Welk on TV every Sunday and Omi watched a lot of dance extravaganza shows in the evenings so I was already bewitched by images of graceful flowing dance moves and elegant costumes. I signed up with Mrs Bodschella’s dance school. Mrs B turned out to be the ex wife of my father’s best childhood friend so all in the family in a way. I adored it! I waited impatiently all week for each new lesson. We danced in a ballroom with shiny parquet floors, mirrors, and chandeliers. A room full of hormonal teenagers. My usual partner was a guy nicknamed Kicker. He was tall and a bit gangly and definitely not my ‘first love’ but he was a smooth dancer. We glided and tripped around the room, learning each new dance – the Viennese Waltz, the Cha Cha, Rumba, Paso Doble etc . My favourite was the Foxtrot. The quickness and lightness of it was energising, uplifting, made the heart soar to swirl around the room. There was a feeling of freedom in the movement.

At the end of the season, we held a little ball to showcase our dancing to family and friends. Omi, who was a professional seamstress, made me a dress for the event. We went to the textile shop and bought some light pink chiffon and a velvet ribbon and she created a lovely, youthfully elegant, softly flowing, layered dress for me. It felt very special. I can still see the twinkling pride in my Omi’s eyes on the night. It’s still in a trunk somewhere. It broke my heart when the lessons ended and I decided I was going to pursue it and become a dancer.

And then my year with my Omi ended and I returned to Canada where ballroom dancing was definitely not a thing, not at least for teens. I found a dance school that offered lessons and signed up, excited to continue. I think I made it through two lessons before giving up. It was 90% women and almost all over 40. Being paired with a middle aged woman in a smelly gym did not match my expectations for ballroom dancing. Where was the beauty, romance, elegance in that?

Although nothing like ballroom dancing, I found some satisfaction in club hopping through university. It was pre-rave days but it was the 80s and the music was good for dancing. Lots of post-punk, new wave, alternative and Indie rock. One of my favourite memories, though, from this period, is of energetically square dancing quite drunk with a friend across a crowded floor of metal fans at a live Guns n Roses gig. Almost peed ourselves laughing; it was all so absurd. But, really, that was pretty much it for dancing and any thoughts of a career as a dancer.

In my late 20s, I spent a year in Kiev and one of my favourite things to do was Sunday jaunts over to the little island in the middle of the Dnieper River. A sad and curious little place in some way that had seen better days. Winter in Kiev is pretty tough but we’d hop over for a walk and to watch the ice fishing. In warmer weather, we often went to swim at weekends. We’d walk along the edge of the island to find a spot, past the fishermen, then the nudists, shielding our eyes from the occasional romp going on in the bushes as can happen after a little vodka. Part of the island had been a kind of amusement park, now with only the rusting and crumbling remnants of its spectacular past. In the centre was a little square and on Sundays there was music and everyone danced. Couples of all sorts, old and young, glided gracefully swirling and laughing around the square. I joined in once or twice. It was just so lovely and uplifting, even just to watch; moments of beauty and grace.

While I was living in Morocco in my mid 40s, I started taking Salsa lessons. I know, myself now that 40 year old woman that I’d recoiled at in my youth. What can I say? ermmm it was entirely different? It was a small school run by a couple of young guys who competed professionally at international level. And it was brilliant. Every week on Sunday they’d take over ‘Upstairs’, a local bar owned by a Spanish guy, and had an open Salsa night. The place was always packed full of people of all ages, abilities, and nationalities, and we’d dance the night away. It had been years since I’d danced so much and it was pure joy. Having spent so many years in a desk job and frequent flying for work, it felt like I’d lost some connection with my physical self. It took a while at the start but once I got more comfortable with the dance moves, the reconnecting with myself started happening and I felt more alive than I’d done in years.

These days I dance around my kitchen, on the beach, and amongst the wild flowers. Mostly alone, sometimes with friends, sometimes with my husband who studied dance as part of his acting training. It still gives me a lot of joy, a lightness of heart, a sense of freedom, of being lost in the moment. I hear Tango is becoming a thing here. Maybe I’ll give it a go…

There’s a great article here on 4 ways dancing makes you happier. In fact, one of the secrets to living a long and healthy life according to Blue Zone principles is an abundance of ‘natural movement’. Walking, which I love, is often referenced as the best form of natural movement. Does dancing fit into this category? I’m not sure but I’m going to say yes. In any case, I’d like to go dancing into my old age.

I think James Brown maybe got it right – get up offa that thing… dance till you feel better!

Well, that’s me. Your turn! Does dancing light your fire? And, if you feel like sharing, I’d be delighted to hear about any forays into dance that you’ve made! Drop me a note in the comments below. Would love to hear your thoughts…

I’ll leave you with a little video clip below of a dance I saw today which made my heart sing. It’s so beautiful to watch how elegantly they move, how they play off each other. Enjoy!

Do what makes your heart sing – kick up your heels and take care of you!

F ox

NB Thanks for reading! This piece was written on 22/11/23 for my Substack ‘Notes from Sardinia: Musings of a coach‘! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

I also have a free Self-care Guide available which draws on Blue Zone principles and chakras. You can download it here.