dance, dance, dance

My younger sister, Meghan, is a dancer. Sometimes I like to think I had something to do with it, not because I dance, but because when she was a young I dressed her in pink tu-tus and encouraged her to spin and arabesque. Even with chubby toddler feet, she was remarkably graceful. Now she's twenty-one and a beauty. She dances with the university company and will be performing tonight. It'll be one of those nights where I feel how far apart we are (she lives in Pennsylvania). Her company was featured in the local paper and Meghan's quote sung out. "I've learned how I feel when I dance. I've moved past the idea that I have to do it this way. Now it's more about the art and how it comes together. Every choreographer is different and will want different things from you. But you can bring yourself in. You don't have to lose yourself as a dancer." She's not a toddler anymore. (By the way, she's on the far right in the photo.)

This morning I've been thinking about dancing and how it's such a part of being human, maybe for exactly the reason my sister describes--you bring yourself into the art, or perhaps bring the art into yourself. Either way, it's a profound experience that has existed since before we could even speak to one another. It's certainly something I would see in Meghan if I were there tonight.

Last night I talked to my mother on the phone (she's also far away in Pennsylvania). She says she's "at that age where they test you for everything." I have mixed feelings about the exhaustive medical measuring that "they" tend to put us all through. My reactions swing from gratefulness, to annoyance, to resent. So, amidst some recent medical rigmarole my mother had her bones scanned. She is thin and fit, but the numbers have dictated some treatment is recommended for fragile bones--grateful, annoyed, resentful. Now a women who gave birth to four children, has hiked the Rockies, and rides a Harley on sunny weekends is afraid she's "frail." Last night on the phone I tried to push aside my anger at the "they" who gave her this diagnosis to say something to help her see her full self--the strong woman she is. Then she said, "They say dancing is really good for this." This morning as I read my sister's quote it came together for me. Because no matter what "they" say to my mother, she can do things (and see things) her own way. We all have that power and maybe dancing reminds us of that. She can dance and "bring herself in" because "you don't have to lose yourself as a dancer." Perhaps dancing connects us to a bigger thing--history, humanity, and a deeper knowledge of our own limitlessness. It's something "they" can't measure. Lean muscles and strong bones aren't the most important outcome and maybe that's why it helps.

Tonight my sister will dance. Soon, I know my mother will too. And this morning I also got a string of emails from some chattering girlfriends, making plans for Saturday. We're going dancing.