I had tears last night; a tidal wave of sadness as one of those moments of reality hit.
I had gone to help Ben teach a dance; he is a wonderful warm soul and a dear friend. I always feel uplifted when we get to dance or hang out together. I was really happy to see him, and really ready to move! And we know this particular routine inside out; it is fun and peppy, and actually pretty easy. The music and the moves are powerful and empowering too.
I used to try to dance at home at least every other day to stay active and mobile. It’s my own therapy. Music pulls us to places. It tugs our emotions and can make us cry or laugh. And when you are down, blue, or tired, music is a great pick-me-up. I’ll play Hawaiian or steel drum music in mid-winter to bring me to a warm tropical place in my heart that warms my hands and feet too. I’ll blast some old time Patsy Cline when I want to belt out a tune while I do housework. And there’s nothing better than early rock and roll to invigorate and motivate one to move!
So, I was fine for the first run through and then breaking down some steps; but 20 minutes into it I felt my feet turn to lead. I wasn’t getting out of breath, hardly working up a sweat, but my legs struggled to lift my feet more than 12 inches off the ground. Not one to give up, I pushed through four more rounds til thankfully the class was over.
After goodbye hugs and all, I got to my car, and cried.
I don’t care about the other temporary losses, the temporary discomforts and sickness, but to not be able to escape into dance? This hurts.