Dancing on the plane

On my drive down from Anacortes to Mercer Island, I thought about the journey ahead of me, the hours of driving. On Friday I'm heading further south, back down to Esalen. I woke up yesterday morning wondering why I wasn't going. I woke up today knowing I wanted to go and deserved to go, but that a road trip was the only way I could be excited about the journey instead of stressed out about getting there and back. My only concern is physical discomfort from sitting so much in the car. So I practiced moving while driving, stretching out my arms, one arm at a time, dancing in my seat, tilting my pelvis front to back and side to side, all while still paying attention to the road and the other drivers. Just refusing to sit so still and rigid as we often do when driving. And this reminded me of a blog entry I started writing but never posted. Here it is:

I was sitting on a plane, after sitting in an airport, after sitting on a shuttle bus, after sitting on the BART, after sitting in a car, after sitting in class.
I’d say this was about 10 hours of sitting, maybe more. Definitely more, by the time I returned home from Esalen.

So on the plane, after hours of sitting, my body was dying for some movement. My plane had been delayed so I knew I wouldn’t be going out dancing. Originally I was thinking about going out dancing the minute I arrived in Seattle. However, even if the plane had been on time, I probably wouldn’t have gone out; I was so sleep deprived from getting woken up every hour at Esalen by a snoring roommate.

So on that plane, I thought about dancing. I wanted to dance. I listened to music and felt my body start to move, while still seated. I wondered what it would be like to get up and just totally let loose, dancing up and down the aisle of the plane. Would I get in trouble? Or just stared at? I wouldn’t care, either way. It would feel so good.

And then I smiled as I remembered the first time I thought of this. When I was seventeen and on a plane to Israel. At that time, only a year had passed since my car accident, only 8 months had passed since I had taken off my body jacket, and I so I was still very much in the habit of not moving, of being overly protective and self-conscious. I wouldn’t even dance in my seat. But deep within, my body knew, my soul knew, it had to move. It had to dance. So in my mind’s eye, I imagined myself dancing, though I didn’t dare move.

Twelve years later, listening to “On and On” by Missy Elliott, on a plane, dancing in my seat, I was reminded of that time. So happy that now I do move. Finding it interesting that back then some part of me felt just as moved by the music, but some other part of me stopped myself from moving. There are times that I can barely stop myself from moving now. I can barely stand or sit still if I’m tuned in to my body, with or without music.

I no longer care so much about what others might think. I don’t care as much if I’m being watched, what I look like. I just let go, let myself move and be moved.

I do stop myself from standing up to dance on the plane. But maybe someday I won’t. And as I have this thought, this someday I won’t thought, I wonder if today is that someday. So I get up.

I stand up and walk down the aisle, swaying my hips, moving my arms. Not fully dancing. But not just walking. And I go to the bathroom. As soon as I shut the door. I do a little dance, smiling and laughing. Feeling so good. And thinking it’s so funny that I have to do my little dance in the bathroom. And so happy that I have a little dance to do, even if it is in an airplane bathroom.

Before exiting the bathroom, I do another little dance. Really shake it. As much as I can in that cramped space. Again, I crack myself up! Silly girl. Wise woman. All in one.

And when I exit the bathroom, nobody’s waiting for it, so I stand in the back where the flight attendant is pouring drinks. I stretch. I twist. And then I ask her, “Has anyone ever stood up on the plane and just started dancing?”

She doesn’t really look me in the eyes. She seems uncomfortable or caught off guard by my question, and she answers, “No, but people do all kinds of strange things. One time I saw an older lady in the airport doing a full-blown aerobics routine.”

She thinks this is strange.

I think this is wonderful,

And so I say, “That’s great! I think most people are so bound up, standing or sitting still too much. We really need to move more.”

She doesn’t say anything. I go back to listening to my music and walk back to my seat.

And I don’t sit down.

I stand. In front of my seat. I stand.

And then I start to move a little. Still not totally and completely dancing. But sort of dancing. Not just standing. And not really just stretching. Sort of dancing. Still holding back, but not as much as in the past. This is progress. This feels good. This could feel even better, if I weren't holding back at all. But what a long way I've come since that plane ride to Israel when I was seventeen. I think back to that time. I think about where I am now, who I am now. I take a deep breath. I smile. And I sit down, continuing to dance in my seat until we land.

© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.