Learning to Dance Again

I mentioned recently that I have been experimenting with other forms of exercise, really just to see if I enjoy different things more, because I’m not a natural gym bunny. I never have been, and I have always strenuously objected against all forms of exercise. I am admittedly, very poor at dance, because I lack certain important things, such as rhythm and coordination, and thanks to my Dad, I have inherited two profoundly left feet.

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However, I like to dance. That’s the problem. I only ever dance in public when I’m at some kind of social gathering, and to dance before midnight, I have to do it in a darkened room with a locked door, for fear of terrifying any passers-by with my elephantine feet. But I do dance, privately, and I’d like to be able to dance properly again, possibly in public, or at least without feeling boundless amounts of humiliation, whenever I try. There is a beauty, in dance, I think.

The challenges of dancing are numerous, not least of which because they demand fitness and commitment. One does not simply ‘fall into’ being able to dance. The best dancers dance every day, from the age of four or less, and they are amazing at it. One of my flatmates is one a dance course, and her commitment is fantastic. I wish I had that kind of commitment to what can only really be described as physical poetry. From a literary perspective then, ballet is the physical form of poetry, and the Romanticism movement. I have no real idea how to relate myself to dance, because I’ve only ever been able to relate myself to the written word, and to literary movement.

Anyway, to spare you my over-dramatic perceptions and opinions on ballet, I think it would be prudent to look at the health benefits of such activity. It naturally gives you a wonderful, toned and strong physique, and increase your cardiac strength and endurance, because you are constantly using all the muscles in your body. I like the idea of this; I find exercise that involves deep breathing boring, and I positively despise yoga; I often wonder how pointing one’s bottom in the air can be conducive to any kind of exercise at all. Ballet however encourages breathing, but also lots of moving and physical use. The use of a body to express things is wonderful, if you have the courage to do it properly.

So that’s my trend for the week, and I’ve been working on it for a couple of weeks now. All these things require some courage to admit to the blogosphere, but as one very talented and admirable fellow bloggee states in many of her posts, it is important to be honest, because after all, what is the point in existing behind a facade that simply isn’t real? There isn’t one, and I suspect it’s much easier to be honest about one’s complete lack of elegance, than it is to be completely honest about personal issues.

I’ll let you know if I become graceful. Then we’ll be sure that miracles can happen…

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(1) http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/38/Two_dancers.jpg/250px-Two_dancers.jpg

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Me? Oh, I’m Graceful and Sophisticated…

The day the BlackBerry smartphone was released was a revolutionary one; since then, the BlackBerry has crept further and further into our consciousness; it has replaced the necessity to remember birthdays, or even know what your plans for the day are. A reminder will bleep, and you will be told where to go, and what to do. It’s so clever that you don’t even have to have the ability to co-ordinate time; your smartphone will advise you of clashes. You have no need to remember small social trivialities, because with the click of several buttons, your brain capacity can be released to worry about other things.

For those of us who lack the ability to remember even their own birthday, this is a wonderful creation. However, there is a fundamental flaw; I am also one of these forgetful, occasionally unfortunate people, who forgets that the smartphone is tucked into the pocket of her jeans, so when she goes to the toilet, it lands with a splash at the bottom. Or she spills liquid on it. Or stands on it. You see, I’m fundamentally clumsy. The same sort of thing tends to happen at work; I’ll knock over a tower of tea cups, or knock a wine glass off the silver tray onto the floor. When it smashes, it looks slightly beautiful, however it’s a mess nonetheless. I throw cutlery around the still room, and spill soup over the side of the bowl. Presentation and finesse one could say, are not my forte.

Grace in physical movement is also a characteristic that eludes me; my mother is particularly graceful, and has an exceedingly light step. It would seem though that I inherited the somewhat less refined Shrek gene; I have been known to trip over my own walking boots, catch the toes on my sandals and trip forwards; wearing stiletto heels is akin to playing Russian roulette. The problem is, I’ve always wanted to be graceful, and not walk into walls. I’d like to be one of the effortlessly sophisticated that are so revered on television, however a more appropriate comparison would be to Betty Suarez. We have innumerable similarities.

Invaluable advice... (1)

Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe created a terrible precedent. They really ought to have been less sophisticated and graceful, because frankly, they just raised the bar for us too high. Haute Couture is unbearable to almost everyone, similarly to the emperor’s new clothes. In the same way, the expectation of slimness, hobbies, intelligent conversation, and excellent child rearing is completely preposterous. I have almost none of these hobbies, and I have accepted that I will never be especially graceful in movement, or particularly refined in terms of hobbies. I enjoy looking through stamp collections, and reading books; I don’t dance, or paint.

I think it is far easier being clumsy, anyway; no one expects very much, and a precedent of accidents only surprises people when you go a whole week with not one broken item. I suppose it’s better to raise expectations as you go, instead of starting too high. We just have to be grateful for smartphones, bubble wrap, and improved medicine, for when we inevitably dislocate a shoulder arm-butting a wall, or nearly forget to attend a little sister’s birthday party.

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(1) http://livinglifewithraandfms.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/adviceforclumsy22.gif?w=306&h=320

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