Dancing- My Lifelong Escape Hatch

I walk through the door at my dance school, hear the familiar fiddle music echoing from the studio room, lace up my tap shoes, and the worries in my head are forgotten.

I have danced since I was seven years old. It began innocently in response to a little girl's request to wear the black shiny shoes with the jingly taps. Coincidentally, step dance lessons were offered one block from my house, once a week. This involved no parental driving time, and the cost of equipment and registration did not involve remortgaging the family home. There were no grand visions of becoming a famous broadway dancer. At that time, extra curricular meant getting some exercise, having some fun, and appreciating that you were even given the opportunity to be wearing those shiny black shoes.

More than 35 years later, and I still love wearing my dance shoes, hearing the sounds of the taps, being able to make my feet move in ways that seem almost unnatural. The memories I have made and the friendships that have been cemented in place by the simple act of dancing are what keep me dancing. I have performed in front of crowds of thousands, as well as for the simple pleasure of my family and friends. I have tasted victory in competitions, but also learned how to lose graciously. I watched dance students experience the thrill of finally getting it, and have been so lucky to continue to experience that thrill myself.

Last week, the new year of dance lessons began. As I was sitting in the waiting room tightening the laces on my shoes, I noticed that there was a considerable age difference between myself and the other dancers. There were no unfamiliar faces in the room as I had danced with these young people for a few years and performed with them in many shows. However, in the past, our lessons had always been a combination of the "young teenagers", and the "older women". When our instructor opened the door to the dance studio, I quietly asked her "Did I get the time wrong?" With a big welcoming smile on her face, she reassured me that I was in the right class. I wasn't quite so sure. Determined not to embarrass myself or my instructor (who is also a very dear friend of mine), I emptied my head of all worries and all concerns that I had arrived with, and I focused on my feet and the music for the next two hours. When the shoes came off, I felt the familiar high of a grueling workout, as well as the pride of being able to do it. I had not given in to my fear of being the most experienced (read between the lines, and I really mean the oldest) dancer in the room. I had used that unwavering faith that my instructor has in my ability to once again surprise myself with another accomplishment.

Over the years, dancing has created some of my most unforgettable lifetime moments. One such experience was two years ago. After months of training and hundreds of hours of practice, a group of thirty advanced dancers were ready to perform at a national dance convention in Nashville, Tennessee. The honour of being asked to be part of this dance group still causes a swell of emotion to build inside of me. But, what makes the memory even more precious is that my oldest daughter performed on stage with me. At the time, she was fifteen, angry at the world about her parents' divorce and not really liking me at all. There were many tears and loud arguments during the rehearsals, and on the car rides to and from those practices. But as the trip to Nashville drew closer, there was a gradual thawing in the icy mood that hung between the two of us. The car rides became less confrontational and more conversational. The talk expanded beyond dancing, beyond her angry words, and became more about us and about where do we go from here. I hoped this mood would continue for our trip. When we arrived in Nashville, after a 14 hour bus ride, we were both grumpy and tired, feeling grimy from the overnight ride. There were still many practice hours to put in before the big show. I had no idea what would erupt between the two of us. It's amazing, however, what a few hours of sleep in a big, comfy bed, and a hot shower will do for any relationship. By the time we were dressed and ready to perform, Jessica threw her arm around me, and gave the camera a beaming "I'm ready" smile. Dressed in our matching red glitter tops, black pants, and shiny black tap shoes, we made our way back stage. It is difficult for me to put into words how I felt when I looked across the stage and saw my daughter dancing alongside me. At one time, I thought I had lost that mother/daughter relationship with her, or at least had seen it change to one that would never be what it once was. Dancing gave me a chance to build that with her again. Dancing put me one step closer to getting my daughter back.

The high of the big moments and the pleasure of just being able to dance keep my feet moving. This week I put my dance shoes on at school, and put on a small demonstration for my group of grade 2/3 students. The fact that I was able to do something more than just be a teacher was quite fascinating to my young audience. When I slipped on my shoes and then stood in front of these wide-eyed children, that familiar thrill of performing, of being able to dance coursed through me. It can be a crowded dance hall, or a simple classroom, the effect is still the same. The looks on their faces and the words from their mouths make it all worthwhile. "Mrs. Van Moorsel, how do you make your feet move so fast? You must be a professional." Oh, how I love to dance!