I went to a dance class last night. Modern dance. I chassed and passed across a hard black floor in a room lined with mirrors. Five other ladies my age, who had the grace and form of dancers, probably only silently judged me as I did my best to learn the choreography as quickly as I could. When in doubt, spin or throw your hand out in front of you, I would say to myself.
I've walked by this dance studio with its large windows on H street for years, and often stopped to watch the dancers inside. I thought it would be fun to be them. To just throw caution to the wind - accepting the fact that I'm not a trained dancer - and go have some fun. So I did. It was a great workout, I only felt silly a few times, and other times I felt just free and happy. I kept thinking about two things - Monica Geller's stolen identity person who goes to dance classes and the dentist couple from Waiting for Guffman who don't associate with creative types.
I also am not convinced modern dance is my medium, so I want to try it again, and maybe a few other kinds of dance classes before I make any decisions about my future as a modern dancer.
It was also my second workout since Henry was born. Yikes. New year, new me!