At the end of my first few ballroom dance lessons, my instructor Zana would ask me whether I had a favorite dance yet. I had picked up the activity as a way of relearning to enjoy touch after coming to dread it due to eighteen straight months of primarily interacting with medical personnel, so overcoming my fear was my main priority, with dance being a means to an end. I would soon have an answer for her though, albeit through unusual means.
Author: hector
Dancing Toward Recovery: How Ballroom Dance is Helping Me Heal from Trauma and Grief
“Today’s the big day, first ballroom dance lesson. This is definitely one of the stupidest ideas I’ve ever had.” I tap the message into my phone from the backseat of a paratransit car making its way through L.A. on a pleasantly warm June afternoon. Not expecting an immediate answer, I’m startled by the ding from my phone shortly after I hit send. The reply from my friend Heather feels way too perky for my current mood. “Oh, I’m so excited! Make sure to drink plenty of water. She’s gonna make you sweat.” With a roll of my nonexistent eyes, I drop my phone back into my lap, resigned with the fact that I have friends who refuse to join me in wallowing in my misery. Given Heather’s role in landing me in this predicament, I figure the least she could have done was indulge me and my pessimism.
Announcing December’s Daisies: A Tale of Two Albums, a Book, a Blog, and My Most Ambitious Project Yet
The story of this blog post, like many stories, has several lines that weave together to form it. And what better place to explore them than this site’s maiden voyage?