If you know me at all, you know that music is where my soul gets its groove on. Ask me about pretty much any major (and oftentimes minor) event in my life, and I can likely tell you two things: what I was wearing, and what song I was listening to. (Example: When I discovered the vast cache of messages between my ex and Judi the ho, I was wearing plaid flannel pants and an EIU sweatshirt, while "Nada" by The Refreshments played in the background.)
Yes. I can remember that level of detailed minutia, and I could never remember my mother's birthday. Sue me.
Anyway ... music. In the mayhem that is my life these days, music is my refuge. Between workplace stress, family emotion, car trouble and a tendency toward perfection, life has been kicking me a bit moreso than usual lately. So, I retreat into music.
And, on the best of days ... I dance to it.
Last night, a great dance instructor and an even better friend, Donna Thomas, returned to LTF Schaumburg to teach Salsa/Funk. From the opening beat of our warm up straight through the booming rhythms of intense cardio, until we wiped the last bit of sweat from our brow at the end, we shared pure joy. There is something about being part of this community of dancers that raises the bar for all of us. We work hard because everyone else works hard. We leap higher because the person next to us proves it can be done. We sink into the rhythms in our own unique ways, and we become dancers, for that one incredible hour.
And when it's over, when we've given every ounce of energy we can muster and burned 700 calories or so, we emerge new. The stress of the day is gone, and there is nothing left but joy.
Sooner or later, the real world finds us again and the troubles re-introduce themselves. But for that one hour, there is nothing except gratitude for the ways our bodies allow us to move, and the elation that comes from joining music with movement.
To dance. To live.