One belly dance performance and I was smitten. I fell like a load of dirt off the back of a dump truck. Forget being fifty and my little insecurities. I had to do it.  

Seven years later of twice a week classes, I’ve improved. Given I'm a geezer with no dance experience, that’s not saying much. 

Still. I can do hip drops, figure eights and hip circles, mostly on tempo. I can slide my ribcage side to side. I can pod my belly in and out, no problem. My arms are way better. But undulations, those snakey torso ripples that are so cool and so belly dancerish, no.

I'll figure it out over the next few years. After that, I’ll take on walking while undulating, in time to the music. The project is worthy of deep thought, as fascinating an intellectual challenge as any. It’ll keep me busy in my old age. 

In January, my teacher up-ended this retirement plan. She invited me to join her troupe as a junior member. Effective immediately.

I didn’t see it coming. But being mature, I blurted: “But. But. Am I good enough?” 

Simultaneously, inside, a dancing child sprang out from under five decades of sludge and shouted, SHUT UP! She’ll change her mind! She’ll take it back!

That dancing child didn’t care it didn’t make sense. Her heart’s desire was affirmed.

And here I thought my heart’s desire was to write. Turns out, that’s a fairly recent aspiration, say three, maybe four decades old. To dance, that’s the primal longing. And I didn't know it. Or more accurately, had forgotten. Till now.

My Self hissed, Way to go! Question the teacher!

A troupe member saved me, “Well, do you want to dance with us or not?” 

Duh. “Yes!” 

I can't believe my good fortune and my new role in life: the slow one. Smarts are useless and words fail me. I am so lost. And found.  

~Not a shred of evidence exits in favor of the idea that life is serious. Brendan Gill 

PHOTO CREDIT: SriHarshaPVSS