roaming hotness

Saturday night, while watching an amazing group of ladieS express the beauty&sensuality through their dance of what our studio embodies, I thought about courage. What it takes to step into doing something you love, to believe in it wholly and commit yourself despite what others may say or think. Sometimes I pause telling people where I take class, or rather what movement it embodies, which is truly ridiculous when there's now talk of including pole dancing in the Olympics (something that, in my opinion, while legitimizing it in the athletic sense, I feel will strip it of all its deeper sensual construct, which is a drag because instead of supporting women's beauty in their movement, it will become a competition one against the other).

Anyway, on the topic of stripping, that's the thing: I've had all kinds of reactions from people, from curious to dismissive, even a longtime friend who referred to my "stripper classes" with a roll of the eyes. And with guys. Forget it. I like to celebrate the movement, but I rarely know when or how to share this type of dancing, and often end up regretting bringing it up at all. So I'd rather hold this dance close, not let it out to roam and stumble into people's assumptions or sometimes judgments. That said, I also struggle with wanting everyone to know the passion I feel for what moves me so incredibly.

And those thoughts brought me to courage. I sat there watching, marveling at the gorgeousness and couldn't imagine a better place to be. I realized what amazing women I have surrounded myself with, both inside and outside of the studio. I thought about how lately I've spent time yearning to have another, masculine, kind of presence in my life and it came to me a little like lightning that it doesn't really matter. I don't see that on the horizon in my line of sight, though admittedly I'm quite blind to what's bobbing right under the surface, yet unknown. But I want to have the bravery to choose the amazingness of what is around me right now without agitating for more, more, more. Sometimes I can get greedy...and impatient.

What I used to think was courage, I see now as an altogether different animal. Good stories, mind you, but not courageous, which is a much quieter movement. Once I flew to Dublin with $20 in my pocket on a check that I intentionally bounced—after telling the lady at the airline's reservation counter that I'd had my bag stolen and could I write a check, to which she agreed, after asking me with concern if I was OK. I flinched and rolled my shoulder a bit and said, "Yes, I'm fine. My arm just hurts a little," while the soundtrack inside my head was looping around, "Oh mi gawd, this is so wrong. Am I really going to get away with this?" I was masterminding this escapade so I could spend the weekend with a guy I was dating who was in a band playing in Ireland. Going into debt with Air Lingus (tho could we just take a moment to appreciate what a great name that is?) was not bold or brave but impetuous and slightly stupid. Yet the mixture of adrenaline having achieved it was something that at the time I elevated to a brag, right before I came to the realization that I'd be paying for this, literally, for a very long time. And the guy? It was all good, but I know now that I didn't have to exercise grand gestures to have the kind of fun that we did. But at the time, I thought only the really big movements were the ones that counted.

As if it were the grand gesture, the big sweeping move that proved a courageous heart. Too many dragons in my fairy tales. I see now that instead it's the mouse. The quietest, smallest move is what becomes the most profoundly impactful moment. I'm altered forever by the gentlest wave, the subtle ripple, that sinks my feet just a little further into the sand, not the one that knocks me over and leaves me disoriented and heading back to shore. Let it wash over me, this courage to be exactly where I am, looking out at the horizon for nothing in particular.