In October, I attended a writing retreat in Taos, New Mexico. It was a transformative week with Jennifer Louden and a circle of amazing women writers. I unplugged from the world (and I recognize and acknowledge my privilege in being able to do that in the current moment we are living in).
I wrote. A lot.
And I danced.
When we were kids, my sisters and I choreographed dances and sang along to the Grease soundtrack. We performed numerous shows for our parents.
From first grade through high school, I attended weekly dance lessons—ballet, tap, jazz, and pointe. At annual recitals, I put on sequined costumes and danced underneath the stage lights.
After high school, I stopped dancing, except at bars (occasionally) and wedding receptions.
On retreat in Taos, a few of us gathered each morning in the dimly-lit, large yoga room, with its high ceiling and wood floor. The music began. I dropped into my body and listened to what it wanted. Sometimes I moved slowly, even though the music pulsated in the background. I gave my body permission to take up space and use the entire room. I shook my hips, kicked, twirled, step-ball-changed, and opened my arms wide. Shouted, sighed, laughed, and sang. Lay on the floor, stretched, and listened to my heartbeat.
I followed my body’s desires and delighted in the movement.
I didn’t care how I looked.
No one was watching.
When we stepped outside afterwards, the sun was rising above the mountains. A beautiful beginning to the morning—and a shake-up to my usual morning routine of walking or swimming—the energy from the dance remained with me through the day.
I did plenty of writing on retreat. The beauty of our location and the spaciousness created by unplugging sparked new ideas. But the most transformative experience was dancing. It was a coming home to myself. A rediscovery of the joy of movement and music. Freedom.
Since returning from retreat, I’ve been experimenting with incorporating dance into my day. My basement or living room might not be as large as the yoga room, but I can still find freedom and joy in my body through music and dance.
How might you hold space for free and expansive expression through your physical body? What magic might happen if you turn on some music and let your body move you?
