Susan Senator

I danced tonight; it had been about six weeks since I had done it last.  I was beginning to think I was done with it, until yesterday when I was invited to perform for an organization in town.  I was psyched about the invitation.  My response told me that I was not done with dancing at all, just coming back from a big break.  That was a relief, because I was feeling really sad about being done.  But it just had not seized me the way it always had before.  I didn’t want to force it.

So tonight it was there again and I went upstairs and changed; I put on the deep red fringed Turkish one, my most recent acquisition.  It fit better than ever, probably thanks to all the bike riding I’ve been doing.  I felt no pressure to have an intense workout like I used to; all I wanted was to perform, imagining that I was at my performance downtown.  I haven’t even said I’d do it; I have to see how I feel about it.

The dancing was fabulous.  I chose all old classics, because those are much more conducive to performance.  The new Egyptian pop stuff is more dance party music.  But George Abdo, Eddie Kochak, and Samy Farg all have that old world feel and they always have an interesting, definite finish, rather than a fade-away.  All my moves were coming back to me, and I felt relaxed and also energetic.  In fact, it seemed almost as if I were better than before, even though I’d had a 6-week break.

Which made me think about Nat and the way he comes back to things after long breaks.  It is so weird to think about his first forays into sports, and how disappointing that was.  Challenger T-Ball and Viking Soccer.  Nat was too spacey, and the coaches just didn’t get him.  They were more interested in the kids who were better at it.  I guess I can’t blame them, but then again I really believe that kids sports should be about teaching/learning first, and beating everyone else second.  Maybe what we have here is a mother who just doesn’t get sports.

When I think about it, our very first foray was when I took Baby Nat to that pool at the Y for the mother-tot swim class.  Where he just floated and stared at the ceiling, poor darling.  And me, poor darling:  I just wanted to cry over my odd little baby.  And now, look at him.  He’s a champion swimmer, a gold medalist.

I get Nat.  At least now I do.  I learned from those sports debacles that it was a matter of trying again in a year, and some other sport.  Some other coach, some other venue.  Not to get discouraged and chuck the whole thing, but to regroup and find a different group.

And the thing is, he comes back to his sports better than he was, each time.  It doesn’t seem to matter that there’s a break or a rest — for either of us.  Maybe that’s actually better:  to have a break, and not to have to think about it for a while.  Then, let it come to you, naturally.  A break is good.  Down time.  It’s just a little thing Nat taught me, but sometimes I’m just not paying attention.