Falling In Love All Over Again... With Dance
Me when I was a bun-head!
I set out to blog once a week about my foray back into dancing, but alas... life has gotten in the way and I haven't been able to post as often as planned.
But that doesn't mean I don't have any news to report!
In fact, I have lots. After a short stay in Brooklyn with my brother while my apartment was being renovated, I'm back on the Upper West Side just steps away from Steps. I went to take class the other day, like I have done many times, but this time I got adventurous and opted for jazz instead of ballet. My technique is back up to par, so I figured it was time to start branching out and re-teaching my body how to move.
The second I enter ballet class I get in bun-head mode. I tense up, I size up the competition in class and hope to God I have the best extensions in the room. Throughout the class I find myself obsessed with the mirror, checking often to see if my arms are in the right place or how my arabesque looks from the side. It's a terrible habit, but one that is extremely difficult to break. As a result, I never get to let go, relax and enjoy dancing when I'm in ballet class. I beat myself up, always expecting more than I'm capable of physically and mentally.
So that's why I decided on a much needed jazz class. I grew up doing tap and jazz at my local studio, but gave it up to pursue ballet when I was about 13 and didn't look back. So my body definitely knows what it feels like to move within the jazz technique, but it had been years. I was always pretty good at jazz, for a bun-head that is. I remember taking jazz class at summer programs like Chautauqua and the Rock School. All the other ballerinas looked awkward, unable to turn their legs parallel or isolate their hips and rib cages. But I could pull it off. As a result I kind of became the teacher's pet in jazz, demonstrating the combinations and helping the Fosse-impaired ballerinas get the steps down right.
When I stepped into the class on Saturday afternoon, I suddenly remembered the days I was good at jazz. As we went through the warm up, I started getting into the ground, feeling the music and letting my torso and head go. My hair was sweaty in my face and I loved it. That's one of the best things about jazz class - the dress code. No painful bobby pins, no annoying tights and no constricting pointe shoes. It was sticky in the room, so I wore nothing but booty shorts and a comfortable t-shirt. How much more liberating than a leotard.
After warm up, we went across the floor doing a somewhat tricky combo with some battements and pirouettes. I froze up, sulked a little and went to the back to flounder. But then I quickly reminded myself of the days I demonstrated the combinations, and returned to the front where I belonged. There was no way I would allow myself to be the girl struggling in the back of the studio, unable to get the steps right. I concentrated... and a 1, 2, 3, 4 step over your LEFT shoulder, jump, step one, two three, double pirouette into a battement, step attitude. Ok, no problem. I totally got this!
I went across the floor feeling confident. I also felt a little bit sexy, which caught me by surprise because in ballet class that's the last word I'd use to describe how I feel. I embraced it, and let my inner sass come out. It was the weirdest and best case of nostalgia I've ever had.
The class went on to the main combo and I realized it wasn't nostalgia I was feeling. It was like the old me, the real me, was coming back to life after being suppressed for so long. Don't get me wrong-I absolutely LOVE ballet and always will. I'm appreciative of all the years I spent training and I'm stronger technically and emotionally because of it. But at the same time, I realize how much I missed out on during those years of plies and tendus. I missed out on lyrical, hip-hop and the birth of contemporary. If I could do it all over again, I would have without question kept other genres of dance in my life.
The combination was great - very lyrical, but rooted in classical jazz technique. Not the thrashy, angst-ridden choreography you sometimes see at dance competitions. No, this was classy, emotional and beautiful. The music, which was from Cique du Soleil, was so sweeping that I couldn't help but fill out every beat to the fullest. I looked at the mirror a few times, but not to critique myself. I looked to make sure it was really ME moving like that. I couldn't believe it. I almost asked somebody to pinch me, but that would have been awkward.
At the end of the class I was sweaty and beat, but energized at the same time. I was also very proud of myself. Taking that risk, to do a style you're not completely comfortable with, is always scary. But now that I've taken the first step, everything else should be a piece of cake. Well, maybe not that easy, but definitely not as scary.
I didn't think it was possible, but it only took an hour and a half for me to fall in love with dance all over again.
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