dance with me

The entire room is electrified

With beaded sweat and sparkling nerves

I need to hold your arm

To calm and for decorum's sake

The music starts
Beating out the rhythm of my heart

Extend your hand toward me

Even beckon with your gesture

And I will come to you 

I will follow where you lead

Hold my curves 

Push us past all others

Show the mocking world we can do anything

Smile with your hazel eyes

Dance with me outside of yourself 

Lead me into another world

Where the music overtakes us

And we forget that we aren't alone

As we dance with all we have

SOLSC 2014: Disenchanted

Heading onto the dance floor has become something I dread, as of late. I haven't felt the immense enjoyment that I used to for awhile now. It doesn't make any sense to me, yet what I say is true.

Maybe I've forgotten how to just have fun with it instead of worrying about whether or not I'm doing the steps correctly. You know something? I'm probably micromanaging dancing now because I haven't been able to affect change in other areas of my life.

How's that for an analysis. Good grief. 

more than just a song

Whenever I ponder on my decision to begin dance classes as part of my university experience, I think of the song sung by Lee Ann Womack "I Hope You Dance". It's interesting to look at the influence a song can have over where our thoughts may lead, and I never cease to wonder at the impact music can make on our souls.  

The first time I was introduced to this song, I was at a funeral for the young wife of one of my cousins. As the words floated through the stifling hot summer air to my ears, my heart was overflowing with tearful prayers for my cousin to be able to keep going after such a tragic loss. My specific hope for him to find a way to dance began in that moment and lasts to this day as he lives out life with his lovely new wife and their children. 

The impact of the words on my own life has never left me either. Because of the loss of Danae, so many years ago now, I believe I have worked more diligently to take chances, love the life I have, and cling to my family and faith.  

I was reminded of this song, and Danae, because I was asked yesterday to dance at a competition in November that I did not want to miss. The problem with ballroom dancing is that you must have a partner to dance. My hopes had been all but dashed concerning finding a partner until this guy stepped up and asked me before class started. 

My newly found dance partner could not have known all he was doing for me by signing up to dance with me, but because of him I will not be sitting it out but really dancing. And Quickstep no less. 

dance!

the rhythm hits the air
like a fireworks explosion
the feet get to the floor
faster than a bullet train to its destination

calling beckoning begging
pushing her to dance
moving sweating following
the lead that she pushes against
sliding spinning swinging
like the song will never end

their rhythm cuts through the crowd
like a knife through butter
their feet glide across the floor
faster than rocks skipping across a lake

Cinderella

Dancing, swinging, and swaying
Talking and laughing
Earrings flying, makeup sweating
Glitter and swirling skirts
A permissible peep show of sorts
The shoes, the hands, the hips
Everything spinning
The girl, the lights, the room

And then it's over

Driving home with music blaring
Wishing for one more dance
Before the clock strikes twelve
When the frock comes off
And shoes are tucked away
But not until the layers of makeup
Come peeling off does she realize
Cinderella must have felt this too

Lollipop Swing

I'm in class--dance class--and this song comes on. I don't know what is about it that gets me going more than the other songs, but it does. Energy seems to come up through the floor into my feet and out through a smile as it overcomes my face.

Up to this point, I had not found the swing in my Swing--that bit of bounce and style that combines to make Swing swing. I came to class anxious because my Swing test is right now and I just don't have it down. But then, The Chordettes sing through the sound system like a magical trance and I discover I always had that springy swing in my step. I just wasn't allowing it to surface--until now.

I will never forget how the "Lollipop" song sang to me and forced me to let go and find my swing.

Dancesport: a spectator sport supreme

Without a doubt, I love dance. There have been a few experiences over the past several months that have shown me just how much. When I walked into the Dancesport arena the other night was another one of them. 

I wanted to compete like I did last semester, but with no partner it is impossible. The sheer disappointment that ran through me as I sat down as mere spectator proved it was more of a big deal than I had let myself feel. It was torture to not be able to be part of the scene. However, the glitter and glow that I remember from my first experience began to soften the blow, and I soon found myself just glad to be there and thinking how if I had never taken that first class, I’d have never heard of Dancesport. Inspiration is a beautiful thing.

So back to this particular night. 

The Under 21 crowd was amazing. Couples from sea to shining sea made sure their presence was felt by the crowd. There was a dancer from New York or New Jersey, I think, who had these feathers and bead work on the backside of her dress that made her seem all the more like a prancing peacock than anyone else in the room—and she could dance. (I think the purplish hue of the dress might have played a part in creating some bias, but whatever. It was gorgeous.) To the untrained eye, they can all dance immaculately though. They all danced better than I ever will. That's a fact.

Surprisingly, I gave my allegiance to a few couples even though I did not know them. I wanted them to win. I think that’s part of dance’s magic. You get entranced by the shine and flair until you love the dancers and want them to win, and it all happens within an evening. Just like magic.

Disappointing as it was to not be in the show, I still felt part of it as the room needed me to add to its energy. I won’t ever forget how it felt to get pulled in, alone yet not alone, to cheer for perfect strangers—and love it!

i {heart} dancing

Dance has changed me.

I went to church and school dances religiously growing up, so I already knew that I enjoy dancing. However, when I signed up for this beginning social dance class I had no clue what I was in for. The high life of making friends who can dance, experiencing the rejection of wallflowers—although I am not one, trying my hand (or rather my feet) at competition, and witnessing first-hand the glorious beauty of excellent dancing has brought me to the realization how very much I adore dancing.

While I have no plans to get into championship dancing, my glint of excitement turned into a fiery blaze of enchantment in the midst of watching the pre-championship level dancers. The glitter-encrusted women up close look almost freakish, yet once they are on the floor, the glitter, rhinestones, flashy makeup, and outrageous costumes create a charismatic showcase. All the pop and glow is part of the dance—the presentation and mood of the individual dancers. There were comediennes, clothed strippers, show girls, and dancers more like Elegance personified than I have ever beheld. The style and showmanship required to make it to the top makes dance more magical.

The dance experience has added sparkle to my perspective: music has more meaning in its rhythms; high heels hold more allure; and, as a woman, I feel the power of my femininity much more poignantly as I move across the dance floor with confidence. 

Thirty Days of Gratitude: Dancing

For more information on how to participate in Thirty Days of Gratitude, click here. 

As I embark on my first (and possibly last) dance competition ever, I pause to think about what a blessing it is to have such an opportunity.

My mom put me in gymnastics and the typical ballet/tap classes when I was really young, but none of it stuck. I didn't have enough stick-to-itiveness to go any where with it, yet I have always had a desire to learn how to dance well.

When I needed a bit more credit hours this semester, I decided I ought to schedule some happy time by taking Beginning Social Dance AKA Ballroom. The experience has had its ups and downs, but it has been pure goodness overall. One of my friends is taking it with me; I am making more friends; Dance has been a surprisingly great form of exercise; and I am learning how to dance.

Gratitude for having the chance to learn dance fills me with a smile. Thanks goes to my instructor, Trevor, and the ever-helpful TA, Sara, for making my dancing experience so fabulous.

dance magic

She entered the ballroom ready to dance, well, mostly ready.

Before leaving her house she spent two hours preparing: makeup enough to make an artist blush—even midnight blue eyeshadow of all things--along with a bouncy black and white skirt, a purple shirt and a black ruffly overlay of a blouse for dramatic loveliness, and a gorgeously large purple flower for on the side of her pinned down and up curls. Velvet and satin black heels would be perfect for the fox-trot, she thought to herself, and then whisked away out the door after grabbing them.

Music was playing, pleasantly filling up the space between the dancers. She could feel the nervous energy, but did not succumb to it—yet. After practicing with non-partner after non-partner, courage and even the ever-elusive confidence took shelter in her heart. Dancing electrifies and enlivens this wounded warrior queen. She is ready.

But then, her name is called for next up and mistakes begin to be the norm. Stepped upon toes of the darling sweetheart brave soul who didn't refuse when I asked him to test with me twenty minutes before my test, immediate nervous sweat response which is highly unattractive, and the giggles (because I get all smarty pants when I'm nervous) set in hard and fast. It was near immediate after the instructor called. And before catching even one good breath, he called for the test. And I couldn't breathe to save my life.

Red and ready to run, I went in with faux confidence—remembering to look away from my partner as if he weren't pushing me around the floor in an elegantly physical adventure.

And I did it. I danced the fox-trot on the ballroom floor in a way that resembled what I had imagined myself doing. It was pure magic.

My Sweetie Girl

My 14-year old autistic daughter went to a Girls Camp for a half-day trip and came home over-the-top happy. Girls her age go to this type of camp for five days, sleeping there and she went for half a day, yet still comes home with all the buzz of a week long camp excursion.