In 2010 I graduated from college, I got married, and…I stopped dancing.
It wasn’t my intention. I didn’t have a proper farewell because I honestly thought I was never going to leave it. But today, I can’t even remember the last day I stepped into a dance class or the last day I wore my Capezio shoes that year. It was such a part of my days, such a fixed activity in my routine, such a part of me, that it took me by surprise that one day…it wasn’t.
My mom tells me that even before I could talk, I was dancing.
I started going to proper dance formation when I was five years old. I remember my mom driving me to class. She would pick me up from school, hand me a Tupperware filled with a delicious home cooked meal (the kind that you would want to sit down and eat) that I would have to chug down in between stop lights, because I only had twenty minutes to get dressed, eat, and get there. I remember how I hated putting on tights and leotards–even more so when I had to do it in the back of my mom’s minivan. I loved however, the feeling of walking into a class and all of a sudden forgetting about what it took to get there. My mom’s determination paid off because fifteen years later there I was dancing for my university’s dance team.
Let me clarify one thing. I am not a professional dancer. Nor was I ever the best in the class. I had to dance my way to front row. I wasn’t the person with the best technique or the most elastic even. The one thing I excelled at was enjoying every single minute of it.
It is important to say this because even if you are not a “professional” or “the best” at something, it can most certainly still be your passion. And most importantly, a passion worth saving and worth pursuing. Something I honestly didn’t do.
After I got married, I was living in a different city and I had just gotten a new job. Finding a Dance Studio wasn’t in my priorities. Slowly but surely, dancing became past tense. Something I had done but wasn’t doing anymore.
Everybody that knew how much I loved dancing would ask me from time to time the same question: “Mariana, are you still dancing?” And my heart would shrink a little every time I heard myself explain the reason why I wasn’t doing it anymore. It hurt because deep down I knew that I was betraying myself. Over the years my rehearsed responses became my reality. People eventually stopped asking altogether.
Having children made everything more challenging and since I have had four of those, let’s just say that it allows me to fabricate a very compelling case of reasons for why I had to give up dancing. I would tell myself that dancing in my kitchen in my pajamas was enough and that I didn’t need a class to fulfill my dancing needs. But anyone that has danced in a leotard in front of a ceiling-to-floor mirror can tell you that it is just not the same, not even close.
Then one day, after ten years of “dance abstinence,” the stars aligned and I was able to schedule a hip hop class. By stars I mean: I wasn’t holding a newborn or pregnant, my husband was in town to take care of the kids, there was an adult class (not for beginners) at a perfect time and, as a bonus, I was going with two of my best friends.
Driving to the class on a Thursday night felt like I was going on a date. Butterflies, excitement, and little bit of fear were all there. I was in fact going on a date, on a date with myself. I walked into class with a dorky looking smile, glanced at my friends, gave them an “I-can’t believe-I’m here” look which they responded in equal excitement and swiftly squeezed myself into a spot.
I was back! I am not exaggerating when I tell you that with the very first “five, six, seven, eight…” counts that I heard from the teacher, every inch of my body felt like it was struck by lighting. Like a switch had been turned on.
I was in a different country, different studio, different teacher and yet, everything felt so familiar. It felt as if I had never left.
For the next two hours I allowed myself to be a dancer. Not a mom, not a wife. An ageless woman giving it her all on that floor. Boy it felt good! I was surrounded by people yet I was dancing for myself.
After learning and performing the choreography I felt proud. I had managed to pull it off and it made me realize that this is not just something that I am good at. This is something that “I am.” Dancing is an essential part of me.
As I write this article, I feel like it shouldn’t have taken me 10 years to get back into dancing. That I could have tried harder. At the same time I know that what matters most is that I did go back.
I would love to tell you that there is a time for everything, that after you are done having kids you are going to have time to do all the things that you have been waiting to do. I could tell you that, because that’s exactly what I did. But I am not.
What I will tell you is this. In the middle of your motherhood acrobatics, right there in between taking your kids to school and reading them a nighttime story, you should be able to squeeze in that “something recreational” that lights us up. That makes you happy and that makes you “YOU.” If once a month is all you can do, that’s great. That is certainly better than nothing for ten years, I can tell you.
If you love playing volleyball, keep playing volleyball.
If you love painting, look for a class.
If you love singing, don’t just do it in the shower.
If you play the piano, please get one for your home.
It is important. It has to be a priority.
Just as much as I am mom, just as much as I’m a wife, I am a dancer. And the beautiful thing about that is that neither of those tittles take away from each other, on the contrary, they are all parts of a whole. And that beautiful equation that makes you unique just gets richer with each one.
It took ten years, my stars to align, and a teacher named Angel to get me back into a dance class. My hope is that you don’t wait for that to happen. Now is the time.
