Always a Dancer

Ever since I can remember, I've been a dancer. When I was little, I would turn on the record player (yes, a record player) in the living room and just move however the music told me to move. I danced all the way through elementary school, junior high, and high school, and I seriously thought about majoring in dance at college. Then I decided to be practical and major in English (hey, it's more practical than dance). I gradually lost my dancer's body, my flexibility, and my ability to pirouette forever and leap across the stage. But I never lost my love for dance. I dance in my car, around my house, and occasionally down the hall at work—sometimes to music on the radio and sometimes to music in my head. That's why it totally made my day when somebody came up to me after a zumba class last week and asked me if I was a dancer because, she said, I was so graceful and moved so well. I could have hugged her. It's one thing to feel something inside yourself, but it's another thing entirely to have someone else recognize it. It's part of my soul, and it's so nice to know it's still there.