Feel free to dance

Published in the Birmingham News in Birmingham, AL

By Bri Bruce, part-time dance instructor at the Fred Astaire Birmingham Southside studio

Not long ago, I watched two toddlers running circles around the fountain at Five Points South. They were shrieking with glee, arms flailing, feet slapping the sidewalk.

Shrieking toddlers, I must confess, tend to annoy me. Especially in quiet restaurants. I know they’re cute, but I prefer lower-pitched sounds with my dinner.

But I did not scowl at these fountain kids or their parents. I smiled instead. And watched more closely. These little bodies ran in unrestrained motion; they were simply enjoying the movement. It might have been the sun’s glare, but they looked a bit like they were dancing.

Were I to run around the fountain shrieking, arms flailing, I would probably be surrounded by questioning police officers by the 10th lap – if not already arrested. I am an adult; we do not flail around fountains. All unspoken behavioral code prohibits unrestrained motion. Even if I were to perform a choreographed dance around the fountain, a graceful waltz or ballet, I guarantee I’d raise a few eyebrows, with or without police. You can’t dance in public; it makes people nervous.

As it turns out, dancing in more private spaces also makes people nervous. As a ballroom dance teacher some 20 yards from the Southside fountain, I see first-time students walk in nearly every day. Not all are nervous, of course, but many enter suspiciously, their faces wary, eyes fixed on a single spot as if bracing themselves for a lion attack in a field of high grasses. Or their eyes dart in panic between the black and white checked tiling and the mirrors that frame the dance floor; there is nowhere to hide.

The hardest part
Not that I don’t understand: Walking in the door is the hardest part of starting any new venture. But there’s something about dancing in particular that makes even the most courageous squirm. “I can’t dance” they say to me over and over. Of course you can’t. Could you ride a bike before someone taught you how? Read a book before you learned the alphabet? If so, I am impressed; I couldn’t. I wasn’t born riding a bike, reading, or dancing. No one was.

I love teaching dance because it’s a conduit to emancipating our bodies.

I love all types of dance: ballet, jazz, lyrical, contemporary, certainly ballroom and every other form. But perhaps my favorite dance of all time wasn’t performed in a studio or on stage. It wasn’t even “performed.”

A friend and I were in a grocery store parking lot about to load groceries in the trunk of my car.

“You know what?” I said.

My friend knew the tone of my voice well enough to raise an eyebrow. She wasn’t the private dancing type much less the public type, and she was having a terrifically bad day (or month, rather).

She sighed. “What?” Her voice was part frustration and defeat, but fatigue had deflated any inflection.

I grinned. “Let’s dance.” Her reply was immediate: “No.” Capital N. Capital O.

I rolled a shoulder.

“Come on, just a little,” I pleaded, already starting to swing my arms. My hips began to swivel, and then I was into it, the flailing-arms glory that toddlers know, the unabashed joy of liberating the most important tool we’ll ever have – our bodies. She just stared, first at me and then around the parking lot to see who else was witnessing this embarrassing display of public indecency.

“You know you want to,” I teased.

And then it happened. She started to wobble a little, bobbing her head. Soon her shoulders joined in, and then she was free. Two bodies spontaneously turned, twisted – danced – with reckless abandon. I’m sure we looked ridiculous; this was no ballroom dance or ballet. There was nothing remotely Baryshnikovian in our shimmying. When we stopped though, something amazing happened. In spite of the panting, my friend was smiling.

While I don’t teach that type of dance – if you can call it a “type” – I love the similar smiles on students’ faces after a lesson. Many come in after busy days and stressful situations and leave not only relaxed but grinning. Dancing feels good. It feels wonderful to throw off the shackles of social decorum, that rigid posture – “Sit up straight,” my mother used to say – and let go.

Integral part of life
History shows us dancing was an integral part of life: religious rituals, birth and wedding celebrations, even funeral processions. Why have we, with our advanced 21st century civilizations, regressed in this particular area? Why do we choose activities that require sitting still? Are we afraid to use our bodies? Has some kind of puritanical legacy made physical expression wrong? Or are we afraid we’ll look silly? Ridiculous?

I don’t know, but I hope we examine the imaginary bindings that make us so inert.

Isaac Newton claimed it was harder to overcome inertia and get the ball rolling than to keep it rolling. I’m no physicist. And I’m not wild about being ridiculed. But as it turns out, looking ridiculous feels really good. Better even than an expensive massage. And there’s no spa appointment required. It’s free of charge. And freeing. If you don’t believe me, find a dancing 2-year-old; soon you’ll both be smiling.