For one reason or another [self confessed drama geek, pick-me-girl here], the Musical Theatre Dance class caught my eye. I was hoping for a bit of cabaret, some Bob Fosse flair, a few seductive finger snaps. And I got just that… and more.
I get it. We’re older. Stiffer. Sore. A big day might just mean leaning over too much. We don’t have as much time, or the energy we used to. And the thought of a dance class might spark a little fear, or a straight out no.
But what if you just said yes?
Walking into the studio for my first class, I felt excited and eager. The space and the people were warm and welcoming. We introduced ourselves and shared what had brought us there. Most of us had come with a friend, which made the room feel relaxed, like we were all in on it together.
We started with an easy warm-up and played with simple movements. Nothing flashy. Just easy steps at first, feeling out how our bodies held them. There were self conscious chuckles as we started building the routine, and adding music. All That Jazz echoed through the room, and Liza Minnelli, I was addicted!
You could feel the room shift. We were giving ourselves permission to let go, to sink into the movements and the music. Everyone made the decision that they were having fun and there was this shared joy- that lovely click of something simple and collective.
At one point, I was in a dimly lit club, smoke curling across the stage. Cocktail glasses sweating with anticipation. A single spotlight warming the centre of the floor. A bowler hat tipped forward. A soft trumpet growing louder. And the click of our fingers saying, Come closer. We’ve got something to show you.
Somewhere along the way, many of us stop doing things we love, or never try them in the first place. We’re told as kids that if we’re not good at something, we should give it up. Or worse, that our bodies aren’t the right ones to be doing it. So we pack those parts of ourselves away. The ones that found joy in expression. In creativity. As if the only reason to do something is to be great at it. As if there’s no point unless you’re aiming to win or perform or perfect.
But what if we did it for the simple pleasure of doing it? Not to improve. Not to get anywhere. Just because it feels good.
It felt indulgent to dance for no reason. And I had to ask myself why? Why does moving for joy, without outcome or purpose, feel like a luxury? To dance without it needing to count as exercise. To play without it needing a point. Maybe joy, in and of itself, is reason enough. Maybe it’s the best reason.
There are so few moments afforded to us as adults where we’re encouraged to try something new and just be… bad at it. To be messy. To be learning.
Being a beginner again is humbling, and for some people, it can feel terrifying. But it’s also freeing. There’s a kind of magic in not knowing what you’re doing. In giving yourself permission to look a little ridiculous. Sometimes, the goals and striving get in the way of the actual experience.
That night reminded me of how fun it is to try new things if you just commit to it. That it’s not only okay, but maybe essential, to be new at something. To welcome joy. To let yourself be moved, and not expect anything in return. No finishing line. No performance. No one to impress. Just the joy of doing something for you.
I’ve already practised the routine in my living room, my household an obliging audience. And just like the five-year-old who held lounge room concerts and demanded encores, it was great to be silly and share it with my loved ones. And I’m planning to go back. Maybe ballet next. Maybe all of it.
As someone who lives with a chronic condition, my body doesn’t always let me do what I want and doesn’t always feel like a hallowed vessel. But for anyone else thinking this space isn’t for them, for their body, know that this is a safe space. You’re made to feel, as Fling has always been, a place where you’re encouraged to come exactly as they are. To move in the way that feels right for you.
No expectations. No pressure.
A door opened. A crack of light reminding me that the arts, movement, play, and self-expression are always there for us, at all stages of our lives. They don’t belong to anyone else. They’re not exclusive. They’re not reserved for the best or the fittest or the young. We just have to say yes, and show up as ourselves.