Because I didn’t just march in this most joyous of Pride celebrations. I danced, with the contingent from the Rhythm and Motion Dance Program. I strutted, sashayed, and shimmied and (when all else failed) smiled my way down Market Street with a posse of more than a hundred students and teachers along with whom I’ve been smiling my way through charming, witty, delicious exercise dance routines since 1981.
R&M Teachers have told me they remember my smile — I’m guessing because it’s so much more consistent than my mastery of the steps. But I do smile a lot in class, because I’m so thrilled to be dancing at all, since by and large I think of myself as somebody who writes because she can’t dance. The kind of engagement, expression, and all-out presence that I feel when I find the exactly the right word or subtly nudge a narrative forward is something I’m not privileged to feel very often when I let my own body loose in space. And so for 30 plus years I’ve been grateful to Rhythm and Motion for giving me the opportunity to feel a little of that in class.
And a lot of it today. In public. With people cheering us down the street. I danced down the street. Still can’t believe it; I’m still not willing to wash off the pink and silver glitter from my cheeks.
But what do you want to bet there will still be some shiny dance magic clinging to me even after I get out of the shower? For good. Thanks again, Rhythm & Motion.