I found my old jazz shoes in my closet today. Upon my discovery I recalled that love I hold for dancing. My heart quickened as I touched the worn leather. I had no choice but to slip them on.
I took ballet and tap lessons, as most five year-old girls would. Despite my lack of gracefulness, I loved it. When I heard that my loved dance teacher was going to be replaced, I quit, unfortunately believing that her replacement was bound to dislike me.
There's a place in my soul for dancing. The real kind of dance. Ballet, Lyrical, Tap, Hip-Hop, Modern, and Jazz (being my favorite). I'm not currently dancing. I wouldn't even call myself a dancer. None the less, I'm drawn to it. Something is stirred within me when watching a woman flow along with music. Dancing has been loved generally by society. Writers use dancing to parallel a myriad of emotions and personify many inanimate objects. It has been stereotyped to equal happiness or glee, to which, by human nature, most are attracted.
Six years later, with an urge to dance, I bought a pair of tan leather jazz shoes and attended classes on Saturday mornings. During one of the first meetings, my teacher told my class mates and me: "Jazz is ballet with attitude." With those words I feel in love all over again. My heart was for Jazz dancing. Spinning, leaping, sharp, bold body movements was enough to make me simply giddy. I looked forward to my classes. My heart would leap when I did, and my lips would turn to a smile every time my hair kissed my face while spinning. I remember wanting to appear professional, and was pleased when the teacher would ask me to demonstrate for the "newbies." I still remember the first jazz routine I learned, and dance it out every time Matchbox Twenty's 3A.M. comes on, when I'm safe from another's eyes (but you don't know that(; ).
Why am I writing this, opening the door for all to see? I'm not positive. I suppose after feeling those old shoes hugging my feet once again, I needed to dance out my heart. Seeing as I am a fearful dancer, I'm sticking to my routine of dancing with my fingers and pirouetting with some words.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment