of Dance, of Death, of Av

I was out all night and felt more joy than I had in a while. The next day, wondering why, I suddenly realized it’s because I hadn’t danced so much in a week and a half. It wasn’t the club, and it wasn’t the company. It was literally the music and the movement that set fire to my soul.

To go cold turkey on anything inevitably produces the shakes. You know, randomly getting that pang to move gracefully again, or feeling the urge to put on kicks and smang it. But for something to have such a grand effect on you, that it can literally lift you up to a high like that, is terrifyingly powerful.

The terrifying part only occurred to me after reading about a (fictional) mother’s pain years after she stopped dancing. She kept a blue trunk with her unused costumes, accompanied by ornate jewelry, down to the last bell that embellished her ankle. She would occasionally slip into this secret portal to her past, smiling in the most upset of ways as the memories filled her head with a rhythmic tease.

It hit me – one day, that will be me. Not necessarily the whole mom ordeal, but one day, I will have to stop dancing. Realistically, and indefinitely – it will stop. It may be after next year, or if I’m lucky, after a couple more. Regardless, this outlet of passion that has become more a part of me than I had even realized will one day be tucked away in a treasure chest, only to be encountered when strolling down memory lane. How the hell am I ever going to cope with that?! That, and these:

The i-suddenly-need-to-pee sensation you get just before going on stage.

The reluctant performance at a function that is worth the pain after seeing how happy the entire family is to watch you dance.

The intangible euphoria that takes control of your body when you hear a "that's ma song!!" song on the dance floor. 

The feeling of finally going through an 8-count right.

The goosebumps that follow watching choreography come to life.

The comedic adventures of watching awkward performance videos from awkward years.

The instant nostalgia that couples hearing any song you’ve ever performed to.

How. How am I going to give all of that up? Something that legitimately has kept me alive, has an impending death. And I know I shouldn’t mourn just yet, but it’s hard to know the end is approaching, one catch-step faster than I’d like.