I was already planning on posting this video today of Fred Astaire and Eleanor Powell dancing because it made me so happy when I watched it, but right before I did, I read this article about learning to dance and this excerpt alone made me want to close my computer, hit the yellow pages and find a beginners ballet class pronto.
“We sat in a circle on the first day of ballet class, thirty-or-so adults on the floor. Our teacher was a lovely woman with the sort of soothing presence you’d hope for in an introductory-level dance class meant for grown-ups, and she’d asked each of us to share three things with the group: our name, our level of dance experience, and whether we had any injuries to report. ‘My name is Shoko,’ I said when it was my turn. ‘I was probably in kindergarten the last time I took a dance class. And my body feels fine.’ Next to me sat a man who must have been in his mid-sixties. He had an angular face, a friendly smile, hair that glinted silver. He introduced himself, telling us he was the proud father of two dancers, now grown. ‘Any aches and pains?’ the teacher asked. The man smiled. ‘I’ve lived a colorful life.’”
Oh to be regarded as a graceful dancer one day. What a dream it would be.