- I’m writing for 5 minutes.
- I’m fixing it up for 5 minutes.
- I’m posting it.
- I have no topic in mind yet. I’m just going to start. Right. Now!
This weekend, someone asked me if I were a dancer. I responded yes, but I realized after the fact that I’d misheard the question. I figured it out after I asked her how she knew. “Your physique, and the way you carry yourself. You just look like a dancer.”
I get told that on occasion, but usually during a danceless stretch of time. This is one of those times. I haven’t danced in weeks. I take it as a nudge from the universe I should dance more. So noted.
The first time I was called a dancer, I was stretched out on my living room floor. Friends were sitting around, talking about nothing much, when Iyabo asked, “Are you a dancer?” I found the question strange given my reclined state. “No, but I dance all the time in my head.”
It was true. Over the years I’ve spent what must be hours performing ballet, modern, jazz, or some combination thereof on the stage in my head. I always knew it was “too late” to start dancing professionally, but it didn’t stop me from dancing full-out in my imagination. I vowed to return as a dancer the next lifetime.
“You should dance. It’s written all over you,” she said.
Shortly after that I discovered casino salsa, quite by happenstance. I am not a modern dancer, a jazz dancer, or a ballerina, but I am a casinera!