Dance Map

Last night I went to a Beats Antique concert.  I went because I am becoming a huge fan of Zoe Jakes -- primarily for her dancing.  The concert attendees were encouraged to wear masks, costumes, painted faces, basically to let their freak flags fly.  When my friend and I walked into the venue, we both had the same thought -- "We are old."  The dance floor in front of the stage was writhing with 18-22 years olds, dancing with the intensity and abandon only found in youth and marijuana haze.

During the show, we ran into a woman my friend knew.  She was taking burlesque classes, loving every minute of it.  Later, my friend told me that this woman was just starting her divorce journey.  It strikes me now both of us, in our Mapless state, turned to some kind of dancing.  I fell head over hips for bellydance, and from the sound of it, she was doing the same for burlesque.  I can't speak for her, but for me it became a way to fall in love with myself.  

Years ago, when I was still married and believed I always would be, I took a few dance classes.  One day, in a rare moment of feeling sexy and open, I tried doing a little dance for the Ex.  And he laughed.  And I froze.

I am sure that his laugh had nothing to do with shaming or belittling me.  I am certain that he was reacting to the strangeness, the newness of this thing.  His repressed wife trying to move in a way that was alluring and enticing -- that just never happened.  In my repressed state, though, I took his laugh as a judgement, and felt overwhelmed with shame.  I never danced in front of him again, and shortly after that I stopped taking classes.

In the first month after he moved out, when I was just starting my practice and slightly panicked about life, I saw a card for a dance and fitness studio nearby.  I decided to try bellydance.  Gradually, I emerged into someone who loves this dance, and even wants to perform it in front of people.  I found my lost creativity and my battered confidence.  Throughout all the (mis)adventures of the first year, bellydance was there.  

So, when I met my friend's friend at Beats Antique, and I heard her talk about burlesque, I saw something familiar.  Another healing heart and Mapless soul, realizing the map is written on her own body.  Strength arising from movement.  No wonder we ended up at the same concert, mesmerized by a woman whose dance is fierce, unique and unashamed.  

I am remembering the note I sent my dance teacher after the first time I performed with the student troupe:

Before I get back to life and forget, I want to say thank from the core of my heart for the studio and for your open spirit that makes all these things awesome.  High awesome.  

I've shared a little with you of the the difficulty of this past year, and of the discovery that was also part of it.  Honestly, I think seeing your card at work was one of the best things that came out of this year.  Without rediscovering bellydance, for me there would have been no Costa Rica, no Rachel Brice, and no dancing on stage.  Probably over time the performances will start to blur together for me, but this past weekend was truly significant.  I hadn't been that happy and confident in a long while, so it was a revelation that I still could be that happy and confident.  

We had that conversation once about bellydance as a hobby that is also a necessity.  I think the order has reversed for me -- it is a necessity, that most people would call a hobby.  I credit your gentle notes and observations, encouragement, and realistically high standards for making this possible.  Your world is truly a unique place where every woman can thrive on her own terms, and, more importantly, define those terms in the first place.  

Thank you for welcoming me into this world.  I'm going to stick around for a while.  

Radiation Recall

There is a phenomenon that sometimes happens to people who have had radiation treatment called "radiation recall."  What happens is this: after radiation is over with, a person may receive chemotherapy at a later date.  Sometimes this chemotherapy treatment causes radiation rashes to crop up again, sore, red and angry.  The stress of the chemo on the body causes the fragile spots to open up again.  It is one of the many potential side effects of cancer treatment.

This week feels like an emotional radiation recall for me.  The Ex is getting married on Saturday.  This was his delayed response to my last message to him.  I responded very simply that I wish him the best, which I do.  Yet as I sat still, willing myself not to be numb, I wondered what I felt.  Mostly, surprisingly, what I felt was okay.  It seemed soon, but right.  

As the message entered my entire circulation, though, the recall started.  All those places where I am healed but still weak started to open up again.  Sore, red, and angry.  The lingering doubt that anyone will ever want me.  The ego blow that someone who says he loved me so much could get over me so quickly.  The anxiety over living and managing my life alone.  My radiation recall was a clamp on my lungs and a whooshing headache.  One of the many potential side effects of heartbreak.

My recall rash came out, but it was manageable.  I went for a run, I reached out to my amazing friends, and I cleaned out a bunch of drawers.  As things calmed down, I saw again the clarity I found before my trip to Denver.  He is a good, decent and kind man.  He is not good for me.  I have true and loving friends, who when they circle around me, bring the strength of generations of women.  I have weak spots, blind spots, sore spots -- but I am fine, thriving, even.  As many of my friends reminded me, I am different now, better and more true.  

The recall came and went fairly quickly, which made me wonder if I was really being honest with myself.  But here is how I know that I am fine: The part about his message that bothered me the most was not that he's getting married, not even the (relative) soon-ness of it.  It was that he wouldn't tell me anything but the date because he was afraid it would show up on my blog.  This blog.  Which is not about him at all.  Proving once again the lack of true understanding we had for each other, and reinforcing the reasons why I don't want to be his friend.  It's not heartbreak that upsets me, it's misunderstanding -- the same misunderstanding we have always had. 

So, yeah, he was right.  It did end up here.  This is what happens when you fall in and then out of love with a writer.  She writes about it.  And truly, sincerely, with a loving heart wishes you well in your new life.