R is for Remember

I remember dancing around in the living room. I was around eight or nine years old. My parents had an eight track player with limited cassettes to choose from, but most of them were from musicals. I love musicals.

With four kids in the house, I had very little time to myself. But somehow I managed to find snippets of time when the living room was free and I could just dance and dance and dance.

I remember the living room carpet was blue.

I remember the music taking over my whole body and movement that came so naturally and freely. “To Dream the Impossible Dream” from Man of La Mancha and “Before the Parade Passes By” (the Barbra Streisand version) from Hello, Dolly! were two of my favorites.

I remember being very happy. There’s just something so magical that happens when our bodies connect to music.

I remember all the classes I took. I started with ballet.

Side bar: My Mom made me take ballet and I found it so incredibly slow and booooring. She said - and she was right, gosh darn it- that ballet was the foundation for all dance. But I was a tomboy and all those tutus and pink leotards were just too much for me.

I convinced Mom to let me switch to baton twirling and gymnastics. Baton was so fun! I even got to march in a few parades. I loved the challenge of gymnastics, but floor exercise was always my favorite event. Later, I took classes in jazz and modern dance. And eventually, I became musical theater actress.

But I was never a dancer-dancer. I was definitely a singer who danced. And the years of body shaming, criticism and judgy voices filling my head soon covered me like a blanket. The girl who danced so freely, slowly began to disappear. By my mid-thirties, I’d stopped dancing all together.

Until a few weeks ago.

It began last year when I saw the first Wicked movie and fell in love with “Dancing Through Life.” Hearing that song…I wanted to jump out of my movie theater seat and get up and dance! The little girl inside of me was brimming with excitement. I left the theater making an agreement with myself to learn that dance number.

Then life happened…and lots of sadness. Mom died. My boys are growing up. And, well,…the world.

I felt my way through it all. And then I decided it was time to dance.

I didn’t share this with my family. I wanted to see if I could get through the first eight count before revealing my plan. My goal was to learn a section of the number and get comfortable enough with the choreography that I could just let the counting go and dance.

I snuck alone time in the living room just like I did when I was young.  Only this time there were no blue carpets, just hardwood floors.

Pulling up a tutorial on YouTube, (Isn’t it crazy amazing that we can just do that now?!) I began working through a very small section of the choreography. I hadn’t danced in eons, so I was worried my body wouldn’t respond. At first I was a little slow. But lo and behold, my body started remembering. And when the mental blocks crept in, I quieted them by tuning into the happiness.

Because the joy…well, it couldn’t be stifled!

When I decided to show my husband what I’d been up to, his smile let me know that he, too, could see the happiness I’d rediscovered.

And before I knew it, I was confident enough to ‘perform’ the number with the cast dancing behind me on the big screen television. I turned the music up really loud and just let my body go and ahhh… That feeling. It was amazing. I was free again. And SO happy.

I remember what pure joy feels like.

Now, if I find myself dealing with challenges or sadness, I know what to do. I’ll go to my living room and dance like I did when I was a little girl. Heck, it may not be pretty, but it will be me.

And if you need to find me, I’ll be the one dancing through life. Grateful. Free. And fully myself.

Maybe that’s the real magic of remembering.

In loving,

Sarah