Waiting For Permission To Dance

During the spring of 2015 at Hunter College, my dance improvisation class took to the outdoors in Central Park. Our guidance was to simply move - explore this on-site location and experiment. We started in a small, congested tunnel with street musicians nearby before naturally dispersing. Some of my most adventurous classmates gravitated to dancing in the center of a running fountain, while others found more discrete corners of the park. I chose to stay on the sidelines as a witness and simply record and observe.

Somewhere in the midst of this experience, I had quick chat with my instructor. Why had I, so enthusiastic about dancing in other contexts, chosen to play this more passive role filming on the sidelines? I told her that this was different than the context of a formal performance arena such as a stage or studio.. that the people in the park, and there were tons of them during this late spring afternoon, didn’t sign up for this. In this context, I did not feel I had permission to move freely. I feared disturbing others.

Today, I’ve made the connection that this relates to what perhaps may be a personality flaw. I need a “yes” before I feel okay. Give me permission to be, and I soar. But without this nod of approval, I hide away.

I’m drawn to think back to one of my earliest experiences with dance improvisation. On the holidays, when I was a 7 year old child, my family would visit this small restaurant, Katie Daly’s, which included live music and a dance floor. My sister Amanda and I would seize the opportunity to claim the dance floor and perform to the supportive grins of the adults in the audience. In these moments, I felt I was immortal. I was an entertainer. Dance was my gift and I was sharing it. The music and dance floor welcomed me to assert my presence.

Flash forward to only a few years later, Katie Daly’s is closed and I am no longer so bold. Life has moved on... Insecurities have arisen. I have grown to be very concerned about the judgments of others. I am now conscious - too conscious- of those around me. My relationship to others has changed. I suspect adversity. I fear that offering myself, my dancing, will be perceived as obnoxious, intrusive, or inadequate. So I come to stay invisible in an attempt to avoid the afflictions of outside judgment.

On the flip side, in the warm, welcoming safe-space that is a dance studio improvisation session, I find my most precious moments in dance and life. In particular, dance improvisation jams at Hunter College allow me to find myself. Maybe it’s the protective intimacy of dimmed lights. Or maybe it’s the hypnotic, live music. Or maybe it’s simply the rich, supportive community of fellow artists... dancers... movers... feelers... surrounding me.

Regardless of the “why”, it is here that I find permission to just exist. Let myself take the lead. Hear the music. Feel the floor, my skin, the bodies around me. Sense my own breath. Hone in on my own thoughts and inclinations. Here, I am comforted by my fellow dancers... movers... feelers. In these moments, I am validated. Like my days at Katy Daly’s, I become immortal.

Thinking back to my reservations to dance in Central Park, I understand my rationale. I respect my insecurities, but am actively working to dissect, challenge, and grow beyond them. To build in myself the strength to declare my worth in all aspects of my life, regardless of the context I find myself in. The audacity to demand and offer myself permission, rather than wait for others to offer it to me...