As if it is something you can lose but today it is buried somewhere under my brain thinking too much about fundraising for a museum and my body feeling too much like a tired mom.
I dance. I have always danced. I love dancing. I grew up taking tap, ballet and jazz but that isn’t what I am talking about. I am talking about music thumping in blood and body thumping on earth. I did an impromptu solo to Lime in the Coconut at my wedding. I dance around the house with my bug every day.
When I dance, I feel unlimited and uninhibited and unleashed, whether in a wedding gown or in a birthday suit. Often, I look like a dork. While I am very Irish I am nothing like the straight hipped, straight haired folk who stand in a straight line and only move below their knees. I have curly hair and curvy hips and pretty much the only that is straight about me is my sexuality.
So, when my great friend, Gillian, a Dancer, was teaching an African-Brazilian class on Wednesdays nights, I was all over it. Not even cautious with my softer, less-flexible self and ready to get to the place I love when I dance. Plus it is super cool to see your friend in their element and she, wow, is a sight to behold. The first class rocked and I felt primal. And I haven’t been that sore in years. There is something about women’s insecurities post-birth–we have been to the most raw, open, painful, impossible place and well, other stuff that used to bring insecurity just doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. I loved it.
Tonight was my second class and I totally sucked. I was clumsy and self-conscious. I begged myself not to be but it was there. I promised not to be hard on myself when I looked in the mirror but I was. I rooted myself and opened to the grounded moves but I fell right out of it.
So in my first months juggling this whole new thing called Parenthood, I have been running or dancing or what-have-you along one steep-ass learning curve. And the centripetal force is threatening to spin me straight off my path. Today, I learned that I officially do not have time to do everything I want to do in a given day. Tonight, I learned that there is uncomfortable beauty in the painful moments; that even when off beat, I can shake and rock out and stumble and come out trotting back along my curve. Whew.
Also, coming home to a cute, sleeping bug and a big glass of red wine and a super charming husband and hilarious animals helps. Even lame-o Sarah Palin chirping away on NPR can’t sour my new found confidence in Tomorrow.
7 Comments
Nici,I have said this so often….you are truly amazing. I am stil waiting for you to write that book.
xoxo, Mom
Jeez girl you’re good. You speak for so many of us. John McSame should have had you on his short list. But then he wouldn’t know what to do with the likes of you. This entry was a ‘very good read’ as they say. Kiss teh family and have them kiss you for me, XOXOX J
I so know what you mean about the dancing. I always look like a dork, too. Just wait until Bug’s old enough to give her opinion on it. Even though mine is sometimes critical, she’s grown up watching (and participating with) a mommy who isn’t afraid to shake it around. I know it’ll serve her well when she’s a woman.
(And did you see that we actually made it to the DNC? It was incredible.)
I LOVED taking African dance classes! I am a dancer as well (tango mostly), but nothing gives my body quite the workout that African dance gives it. I am usually sore all over the next day, but after 4-5 weeks of it, my body gets stronger and the soreness goes away. Good for you taking this class!
Rock that class! How awesome. I bet the bug will be shaking her buns soon enough right along with you.
You still were beauteous, strong, badass and brave — even if you felt less than funky.
I think you’re amazing for even coming. Thanks for the props. You know how many ways you inspire me!
Hi, just wanted to mention, I loved this blog post. It was practical. Keep on posting!