When I was little, I would sit and watch the dance rehearsals my mom led. I would color or play with my toys, enjoy the music and happy energy that filled the room, sometimes an entire gym.
My mother was the department head of the Physical Education and Dance Department at our local high school; my sister’s and my alma matter. My mother developed the department into a successful division within the high school: it made money and improved many students’ self esteem. As young as I was, little did I understand how powerful of a positive impact the dance program had on my mother’s students. The annual Spring dance recital gave students something to look forward to; communion and community.
As I grew up, I didn’t want to be a dancer like my mom. It was a disappointment - me not being a dancer like her - that she reminded me of quite often. I didn’t want to BE my mom.
I was a choir geek. I joined choir in seventh grade and was involved in a group all the way through my sophomore year in college. I loved singing and because of the various shows, I eventually became comfortable with stage movements once I joined our high school show choir. This led me into taking dance classes in college. I developed my foundation as “proper dancer” easily; it felt natural. It was as though all the dancing I had been exposed to at a young age had seeped in, stuck, and was oozing out. Being around the choreography, costumes, stage layouts and arrangements were absorbed by my young mind like osmosis.
In college, I would practice a dance piece hard and for many hours to get it just right. Ironically, I loved it. Choreography wasn’t about perfection for me, it was more like a road map in which to explore and get familiar with my physical body. Suddenly, my lanky arms and legs had purpose! There was something almost magical when I felt my body in rhythm with the music.
I grew to love East Coast swing and salsa dancing. I picked those up like I had taken professional classes. It seemed I couldn’t get enough of any style of dancing. But, my body had its limitations; I pulled my left hamstring and that took me out of the practice. It was a forced break, that I resented at the time.
The two things I did not ever experience with dancing was feeling beautiful and whole. Due to the competitive nature, I always felt inferior, inefficient…a lack of skill, tone, strength, and beauty.
I found yoga in my late twenties and it felt so organic. People would say “well, it’s because of your dance background.” Perhaps. I loved exploring what my body could do and learn. I marveled being in a pose and feeling the changes in my muscles, the alignment of my joints; the connection to myself deepened on so many levels. Don’t get me wrong, in the beginning, I was after perfection in my practice. I really thought it had to look a certain way, based on what little I knew.
Fast forward 14 years later, I became an advocate for the Accessible Yoga movement. The belief is that no matter your size, shape, age, illness, injury or ability - you can do yoga. Everyone can do yoga. I make my classes accessible: no person left behind. Not even myself.
I have had to recover from an injury to my right shoulder and left hamstring (again). That’s what happens when you try to sprint up a steep hill after a powerful dog who is half breed with a billy goat. I continue to practice and teach because I know how to modify and, more importantly, not push my body beyond its capabilities. The journey in healing is not about getting back to “where I was before” but simply allowing my body to heal as it needs to. I do not push my body beyond what feels right for it.
My husband and I recently went to see the musical “Kinky Boots”. As I watched the final number, I could feel my entire body remember what it was like to be in a stage production; the coordination, camaraderie, communication, synergy and connection with the audience. I remembered it well. For a brief moment, I pondered “Should I take up dancing again?” It was just a moment.
I’m not interested in getting my knee to sweep past my head with a high kick or wrap my leg around one shoulder. I’m more interested in experiencing the subtle shift within. Today, when people compliment me on how pretty my practice is, a part of me cringes inside. They usually say something like, “You must have been a dancer, I can see it in your practice.” The practice isn’t about what it needs to look like; it’s about what it needs to feel like. It’s my intention to bring that awareness into my classes, to share that with students.
I am honored to be able to share my love and knowledge of yoga with people. My intention is to provide a safe and nurturing practice. It’s not about the headstands, it’s not about how cool you look; it’s about how you feel and being honest with yourself about it. I love looking at my students and seeing them each in a variation of an asana (pose) that is right for them. It shows me they’re honoring themselves and their needs. That’s perfection to me.
Today, I’m invested into the practice of self love. The dancer within shows up sometimes in the way I extend my arms or in subtleties like transitioning between poses, but the dancer in me knows that the love of dancing was only a path to what I do now.
“Yoga is a dance within…and then something inside you grows so big, it spills out like champagne, that’s when you dance on the outside.”