I miss dancing. I don’t mean the kind of dancing done at nightclubs or ballrooms; I was never a club hopping type, and me dancing in dress shoes and a long gown simply has too much comedy, utter humiliation and pain potential. No, the kind of dancing I miss involves a dance studio, a mess of mirrors on the walls, a great dance teacher, and lots of sweaty people in leotards, all lined up and looking in the same direction.

I was never much into exercising, working out at some gym on a bunch of heavy metal machines; like the ballroom dancing scene, that has way too much comedy, utter humiliation and pain potential for a klutz like me. That, and it’s too much like work, as in a manual labor kind of work, and frankly that isn’t something I would ever do voluntarily.

But dancing in a classroom environment—that, I could do. If I sign up for a class and am suddenly presented with a quarter or semester schedule of classes to go to, then I have my exercise regiment all settled. I have always thrived in a classroom environment, and dancing is no exception; I feel compelled to do well, so I attend every session and do my best, whether it’s jazz dance or hip hop.

Amazingly enough, my clumsiness disappears in the dance class. I’m so focused on so many things—my center of gravity, my spot, the placement of my limbs—that it’s hard not to be graceful for once. I’ll admit that my first few classes were disasters—I actually had a teacher call me The Wild Child once because my movements were all out of control—but for the most part, I do well enough that I’m pointed out as a “good example.”

Anyway, I miss dancing. I’ve been thinking about signing up for a dance class in the fall so I can get lean and limber again. It’s been years, though, since my last class… which may mean another wild child phase, not to mention a lot of comedy, utter humiliation and pain potential.

I don’t know why that matters so much; I live with that potential every single day of my life anyway, no matter what I do.

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