a momentary or partial view.
to see or perceive briefly or partially.
I spend one day a week dancing for three hours. I smile like a fool the whole time. I have moved up to the next level, leaving me catching my breath both literally and figuratively. There are real dancers on either side of me who do not stumble. They are young and lithe and bouncy. One day I struggle to keep up, feeling a knot form in my throat — the feeling of frustration, of impatience with my learning curve, the feeling of failing at a test and having no one to blame. The next day, I feel on top of it all, a knot forming in my throat for a completely different reason — I feel like a dancer. On those days, those days when I get a glimpse in the mirror of myself moving in a way I have never moved before, dancing beautifully and naturally, I feel a joy I cannot explain.
They are only glimpses. Most of the time I am myself, my 36-year-old, mother-of-three, flawed, goofy, normal self, pretending to be a ballerina. But oh, those glimpses, they are worth every minute of frustration and awkwardness.
Last week, at Home Depot, a tall graceful man said to me, “You’re a dancer” as a statement of fact. I was wearing normal clothes, picking up tiles for our bathroom wall. I didn’t know how to respond, because no, I’m definitely not a dancer. But then yes, my heart fills up when I dance. Everything else fades into the background. My sense of self, my other responsibilities, the fact that I am here, in this body, it all disappears, and there is only the movement and the feeling of it – how to explain it? Had I known how much joy I would feel from a place deep within my soul when I step into the studio and up to the barre, I would have started so long ago. Forever ago.
And yet, none of that matters. I’m here now. I’m doing it now. So for now, I will take the glimpses. Every single glimpse.
Mama, these pictures are for you!