You Should Be Dancing

Another Huff Post piece:

There are certain moments in your life that you remember forever.

This is one of mine: I'm pregnant and it's 1987. Dirty Dancing has just opened. I see it alone, during the day, at the Paris Theater in Manhattan. I'm unemployed, nauseous and my hormones are all over the place. From the moment I see Patrick Swayze teaching Jennifer Grey to dance, practicing the lift with Grey in the water, to the scene at the end of the movie when she flies off the stage into his arms, it practically gives me an orgasm. I dance out of the theater, I feel so alive, so ecstatic, the combination of Swayze's dancing, and beauty, and my hormones are almost too much to contain. I'm sure I saw it at least three more times before I gave birth to my daughter, Zoe. And probably a hundred times since.

Ten years earlier, in 1977, I was living in Los Angeles, working in television, and it was one of those LA winters when it never stopped raining. Ever. I was just about ready to kill myself. I'm from New York, where we have actual seasons and real weather that changes. So I went to see the movie everyone was talking about, totally depressed, and as soon as the music started to play and Travolta was seen strutting down that Brooklyn street, holding that can of paint, I was mesmerized. I fell in love, with John, with Brooklyn, with dancing, with the music. I bought the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. I danced in my living room. One weekend, I went to the mall in Century City and the choreographer who'd supposedly taught Travolta to dance for the film was there giving a demonstration. He picked me out of the crowd to dance with! It was my big moment! I danced and I could follow and it was thrilling! I was no longer even remotely depressed.

As the Don Henley song says: "All she wants to do is dance."

I started dancing when I was 5. First tap, then ballet, I was enthusiastic, but never fantastic. I loved Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movies, and I adored Gene Kelly. I studied jazz, modern, African dance, I was up for anything. I loved going to dances, concerts, any opportunity to dance and I was there. After college, I moved out to LA and focused on work and found other physical outlets, first running and then yoga. I loved the endorphin high running gave me, and I loved the discipline of yoga. I missed dancing, but somehow it got lost.

When I got married and had Zoe, we danced together when she was little. But then real life took over, raising a teenager, working, being a member of the sandwich generation, dealing with my parents' illnesses -- there was no thought of dancing, there was just survival, the couch, and television and books to escape into.

In 2009, after 23 years of marriage, my husband and I split up, my mother died and I went into a deep hole. It was a time of intense grief and I just had to work my way out of it, slowly.

And then, in the summer of 2010, I was invited to dance in a flash mob in Washington Square Park. I love flash mobs! As I learned the dance (we danced to Nina Simone's song "Feeling Good"), I began to feel... good. Really good. Alive. I enjoyed learning the dance, being part of something, connecting to the music. We danced in Washington Square Park in honor of Gay Pride Day, and we staged a mock lesbian wedding at the end of the dance. We were a motley crew, not one of those big professional flash mobs, but we all had fun.

A month later, in August, I met a man on Match.com who, among other things, taught tango. He was going to go to a milonga (tango dance) on the pier one Sunday afternoon, so we met for coffee nearby, before the dance. I was curious, so I went along to the milonga and watched as he danced with a few of his students. I was wearing my sneakers, and was hardly dressed for the tango, but he insisted on showing me the basic steps.

After we danced, he said to me, "You picked the steps up immediately. You are a dancer."
Wow! "I am a dancer." That was all I needed to hear! I raced out the next day and bought practice dance shoes. I showed them to my neighbor who said, "Those are kind of ugly." I was thrown off -- I thought they were great, but maybe it was the dancing itself I was thinking of. Even so, I stuffed them in the closet and forgot about dancing. It felt like too much effort. Then November came and I thought, "What can I do this winter to keep myself from having the winter blues?"

A little voice said, "dance." So I called Dance Manhattan, a dance studio that has been around for 20 years, and I found out about beginning classes. They suggested I try swing dancing first. I took one class in November and then kept dancing in December, taking two classes, then three, all winter, all spring, all summer and I am now completely hooked on dancing. The music alone is joyous and upbeat, and I've met so many people who are as obsessed with dancing as I am. I have a new community, new friends, and my passion for dance has absolutely changed my life. It's opened my chakras, my feelings, made me love men again, and given me ridiculous amounts of pleasure.
You can't buy joy. You just have to feel it. You may have work that gives you great pleasure, but feeling it in your body -- whether it's dancing, playing a musical instrument, running, biking, hiking, rock climbing, whatever it is (obviously sex is great, too). I believe that dancing saved me from antidepressants, got me out of the hole and literally changed my life. Even if all you do is put on music in your living room and take a dance break, I promise you, you'll feel better.

Lately, I've also started doing a new form of movement called Qoya, which combines yoga and dance. My fabulous Qoya teacher read this beautiful poem by Rumi to us at the end of our last class:

Dance when you're broken open.
Dance when you've torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance when you're perfectly free.
Struck, the dancer hears a tambourine inside her,
like a wave that crests into foam at the very top,
Begins.
Maybe you don't hear that tambourine,
or the tree leaves clapping time.
Close the ears on your head,
that listen mostly to lies and cynical jokes.
There are other things to see, and hear.
Music. Dance.
A brilliant city inside your soul!

What is it with you and fun? (Part II)

“What is it with you and fun?”  My husband said that to me early in our marriage. 

I think it was a Saturday afternoon, a beautiful spring day and he was sitting at his computer, which is what he did pretty much all the time, and I said something like: “Hey, how going for a bike ride…or a walk in the park, or anything that’s fun!”

And that’s when he looked at me -- with an odd expression on his face -- and said, “What is it with you and fun?”

            Now any normal person would have either left him right then, or they would have responded, “Ah, come on!  Fun is good for you!  You need those endorphins! You need that Vitamin D!”   

            But I felt – shame, honestly.  He was right and I was wrong.  You’re not supposed to have fun after you turn... thirty.  He’s an artist.  He’s serious. 

            I am….shallow.  Worthless. 

            So I put fun into a drawer for a couple of years, but then luckily for me I had a baby girl and we had fun.  That baby turned into a toddler and eventually an adolescent, at (practically) every stage of her life, we had fun.  We danced and we made up songs and rode bikes, and did funny accents and went on adventures.  

Kids understand fun.  They live in the moment and they want to play.  They like to be silly and they enjoy being wild and crazy. To this day, as she's about to turn 22, my daughter and I still know how to have fun.

            My husband, truthfully, had moments of lightness, but he was more like …well, Seattle – which averages 245 rainy, cloudy, gray days.  And I’m  a little more like…well, southern California – like San Diego. 

            Maybe it was because he was married to me – but his gloominess fed my gloominess like Miracle Grow.  The more I tried to lift his spirits, the more I failed and the worse we both felt. 

            His fun was sitting in front of the computer (if he was looking at porn I could understand, but I don’t think he was.)  He also played guitar – flamenco – beautiful music, but sad – soleas, sadness, loneliness, suffering – and lots of drinking.  There are a few happy songs, bolareas  - but he didn’t play them that much.

On the outside I did what I was supposed to do: went to work, came home, did the chores, walked the dogs, watched TV, read a book, went to bed – alone. 

            I literally had to pop two Excedrin  (for the caffeine) in the morning, before I could even get out of bed – so I could make coffee and have more caffeine.           

            It was like having a kid inside of you and starving her.  Until one day, in a marriage counseling session this voice says, “Hey, if you’re not happy and I’m not happy, what the hell?!  Let’s get a divorce and get this over with!”

Who said that? 

I did.  I did!! 

I felt like a thousand pound weight was lifted off my shoulders.  I literally danced across 86^th Street towards Central Park West.  Whoooohoooo! 

The little girl was alive and well and no one was ever going to say “what’s with you and fun” to me ever again.

            I am determined to have fun the rest of my life – even if I’m in a nursing home someday - I’m going to find pleasure and be silly and enjoy this one brief lifetime that we have on this planet.

            So that’s my mission – to live – happily - in San Diego.  Not literally.  I love New York.  In New York there are plenty of people who are serious and work hard, and also enjoy having fun.  And the sun shines an average of 245 days a year, and now I can dance as much as I want to.  

               Actually, I realized after writing this piece is that it isn't just about fun.  It's about being who we really are and accepting who we really are.  Maybe some people can do that with no problem, but it took me a long time and I'm grateful that I finally have.  And I hope that my ex is happier now that he's able to be who he really is without someone nagging and trying to change him.  I know I am! 

"What is it with you and fun?"

My ex once actually said those words to me.  I'm telling you this not to point the finger or cast blame.  I'm just saying, I like fun.  I need fun.  I crave fun. 

And this year, I am going to have it.  It's been a long time, since I have felt so in control of my life - and also out of control.  I can choose the people I want to spend time with and what I do with some of my time.  I can't control much else, but one thing I am going to focus on is bringing joy and fun into my life.


Last night Abigail, my loftmate, and I had a group of women over for dinner and a movie.  We bought ourselves a flat screen TV for Christmas (not big) and then a cable guy came and attached a new hi def cable box, but somehow our DVD player was not attached.  I spent a good forty-five minutes on the phone with Time Warner, much to the amusement of our guests, but I failed in my mission to figure out what the problem was.

We had a really enjoyable evening anyway, talking and laughing and I am always amazed at how much I love being with people and how isolated my prior life had been.  

So this year, I choose fun.  I choose spending more time with people I really like and who like me, and are also looking to bring more pleasure and fun into their lives. I have realized lately that I'm not an extrovert or an introvert - I'm a centrovert.  I am nourished by being with people and I couldn't possibly exist without time alone.  This year I'm on a hunt for a more authentic life.  I'm still meditating, imperfectly, but daily. 


I need to throw in a plug for gratitude. Last year was difficult, but I wouldn't trade a moment of it.  It truly was "a creative and transformative experience."  And I guess this year will probably continue to be as well.  


"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."   Lao-tse