I’m a dancer, or at least I was. Most people have a short list of words they use to define themselves. If these words no longer applied, they would begin to doubt who they really are. My List: Intelligent, Artistic, Curious, Logical. ‘Dancer’ was on that list for many years, even after I stopped practicing and performing.

I started dancing when I was three. Over time I started taking more classes, and eventually joined a performance group. We danced at local events, put on regular performances at the amphitheater at the park, and once performed with what I remember calling ’The Florida Symphony’ (could be the Florida Orchestra or the Southwest Florida Symphony) and Mickey Mouse. At the time I was more impressed to have been on stage with Mickey. We went to watch the Boston Ballet, and I knew that I would be on stage as a *real* ballerina one day.

During my sixth grade year I was supposed to go ‘on toe’, but my family sold pretty much everything we owned and moved to Mexico. And I quit dancing. I made a couple of half hearted attempts in high school and college, but it was never the same. And I think taking ‘dancer’ off the list may have changed who I have become.

While I would try different videos, take salsa lessons, and learn belly dancing, I never saw it as anything different than aerobics or tennis lessons. While searching for a form of exercise that I would stick with, I was ignoring my soul. Every DVD I bought could have led me to realize that I needed to dance, not to loose weight or gain strength, but because I’d been pressing down who I am. I walk like a dancer, toe-heel. When I stop to open a door, my feet are in fourth position. When I have to stop mid stride and turn around, I execute a pivot turn. (Cue Popeye)

Small jump in topics, but stay with me here, there is a point.

A few years back I started thinking about learning aerial silk, but I wasn’t strong enough. Plus there wasn’t anyone in Dallas teaching it. I did find a place in England that did workshops, which required a background in pole dancing, for strength. There wasn’t anyone teaching pole dancing in Dallas then either, that I could find. The pole dancing situation has changed in Dallas. I can immediately think of at least four places, one of which I signed up with today.

I’m anxious about the class. It sort of reminds me of being a kid and making kissy faces in the mirror, but with an audience. Only, really, they aren’t going to be paying any attention to me. They will be watching themselves in their mirrors. So, heart in throat, I’m going to buy my first pair of shorts, in almost forever, tomorrow. And on Wednesday, I’m going to risk looking goofy in front of strangers while wearing minimal clothing and hope I’ve got enough grace left to keep my dignity in tact. But even if I don’t that is just a part of who I am.