The beat is irresistible and your body sways involuntarily with the rhythm. It's like a musical heartbeat; something you can't control yet takes over your entire being. You close your eyes and feel the music. Fast. Intense. Calming.
The room is large and the music bounces off the tall ceiling. Bare feet patter on the dance floor and you can hear the women breathing hard. Afternoon sunshine streams through the windows and as a dancer passes through the beams of light, she's transformed into graceful silhouettes. Bending. Moving. Twisting.
I've never been a real dancer, but I've danced my whole life. When we were little we'd turn on the American Graffiti soundtrack and dance to the oldies as we swept and cleaned every Saturday morning. We'd listen to mom's stories of her days of a dancer and she'd teach us to point our toes and walk straight, like there was a string through our spine. I tried ballet, competed once in Irish dance, spent a summer doing flips with my Swing buddies, line danced downtown, and learned some salsa from a Colombian. Yet, in the whirlwind of life, jobs, and school, dance was never a constant.
But that doesn't keep it from being just as magical. Stretching on the dance floor last night, I learned to just let go. With each deep exhale your worries simply disappear and you're fill with excitement and determination. You learn the steps and suddenly your body moves in ways you never knew you could do. You become aware of each muscle as never before. As your lithe, beautiful body moves, you become free and it shows in the smile behind your concentrated eyes.
It's addicting and in less than an hour we'll be back on that dance floor. Barefoot and beautiful and free.
