Or, depending on the weekend, a giant curly wig and a dress so covered in shiny metallic fabrics and rhinestones I could rival a Vegas showgirl for sparkle.
When I play, I jump, hop, spring, leap, shake, rock, treble, front click, back rally and bang. I aspire to the highest elevation of my art and always, always turn myself out. Guessed my gig yet? I won't keep you in suspense any longer: I am a Scottish Highland and Irish step dancer.
Yes, the latter is that Riverdance stuff, but I can assure you the reality of competitive Irish dance is way cooler than all the media mockery of the assorted Broadway Irish dance shows would have you believe. Besides, anyone who has actually SEEN Riverdance and its ilk on stage will tell you that no matter how doubtful they went in, they came out trying to practice the steps in the car on the way home.
That's the power and attraction of both of these beautiful, traditional yet evolving dance forms: the beat, the melodies, those golden days where you can actually feel yourself suspended in the air for a split second, ready to land in perfect position or take off again. Dancing in the beer tent after a hard days dancing at some Highland Games is pretty darn great too. It more than makes up for my nasty dancer feet (who knew toenails were optional?)
I can hear you now "Oh, thats nice, she still finds time to do what she loved as a kid." Except I didn't. I was a horseback rider until I went off to university, and I didn't start Highland dance until the ripe old age of 24. I had spent a summer going to a Highland competition every weekend with my new boyfriend (ah, new relationship eagerness), and being into triathlon at the time, thought Highland dance would be cake. Yeah, right.
To those dancers I watched that whole summer who made it look so easy, DAMN YOU. And also, thanks, because nearly a decade later I'm still flinging and loving it with all my heart.
Irish I didn't even start until after my oldest daughter was born, right in the middle of preparing my PhD thesis. Crazy? Maybe. It WAS in therapy that I was told that dance is a part of me now, a pretty crucial part actually. In addition to being my out, my escape from money/mommy/life stress, dance is also somehow my in. Its a pathway to accomplishment and self-worth I can completely control: it’s really hard NOT to feel successful after a 2-hour class when you know you gave it your all. And I’m quite sure I don’t have to tell all you Moms how important it is to feel like you did something right that day.
It’s also been my “in” to great relationships: fabulous friends including my now business partner Nicole (yes, it’s a dance related business!) and my two amazing teachers Nancy (Highland) and Michael (Irish). It’s not too many teachers out there that take an adult student seriously, especially one who disappears periodically to have babies.
Michael had the most interesting perspective on my post-partum body – he was delighted I was so uniformly weak so that I could now retrain myself to avoid all the muscular imbalances I had had previously. Ah yes, pregnancy, the surefire route to Irish dance excellence.
So that’s how I roll, outside in knee high woolen argyle socks during the warmest months of the year or in wonderful, blinged out madness (did I mention I get to wear a TIARA?!? Heck yeah!) and the loudest shoes on the planet.
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