A Return to Innocence

 This past weekend I engaged in time travel, going back 43 years and returning to tap dancing lessons.  I first started to think about revisiting tap at the start of COVID, when there were many new and interesting fitness ideas and options being advertised on social media.  I remember seeing ads for "tap fitness" and thinking that it might be fun to try, but logistically, living on the top floor of a house made following through with this idea die on the vine.  

The last time I took tap lessons was back in my early years when I was nine.  While I only have vague memories of those lessons, what I remember was how much fun it was.  As a kid, I was relatively active but never did find a fitness niche that worked for me.  I didn't thrive in figure skating or gymnastics, and aside from riding my bike or jumping rope, hadn't really found an outlet that was my thing.  Tap seemed to fit that need.  I remember the recitals that I participated in - complete with sparkly costumes and the treat of my mom opening up her makeup case to get me stage-ready.  It was exciting and felt great to perform.  Unfortunately, after a couple years of taking tap lessons, the owners of the studio began to apply pressure to have me enroll in other modalities of dance, stating that I would be left behind the other dancers if I didn't have a multi-discipline background.  What it really amounted to was more tuition fees and recital fees, and so my foray into dance ended.  

Looking back the one thing that stands out to me is the fact that I was so engaged in the activity itself, I didn't think twice about wearing a leotard and tights in a room filled with mirrors.  I understand that I was only nine years old at the time, but I can't help but find that fact so hard to wrap my head around.  I suppose that is part of the joy of innocence - the ability to focus on what matters as opposed to the things that truly don't.  

Fast-forward forty-three years.  On a walk home after a run one Sunday I noticed a little girl toddling around on the sidewalk.  She had beige shoes on that at first glance looked like old-fashioned dress shoes.  I took a second look and saw the gleam of taps under the balls of her feet.  How cute, I thought, as I continued my walk home.  The idea started to bump around in my head...tap dancing...I wonder if there are any adult tap classes nearby that I could try out.  How much fun would that be?  And so my Google search began.  It was not long before I had located an Intro to Tap class that was going to be taking place only 15 minutes away from my apartment, had located a pair of used tap shoes online, and prepared myself to time travel.  

As I walked to the studio, questions began to crop up - what would the other participants be like?  This was an introductory course, but what if there were folks who were fantastic and I was left in the dust?  What if my body couldn't make the same magic happen as it had so many years ago?  Fortunately, the walk over to the class was relatively short and before I knew it, I was inside the studio, getting my shoes on and making a new friend.  Okay, this was off to a great start.  Then I tip-tapped my way into the studio space and was faced with the wall of mirrors.  I took a deep breath and noticed something I had not expected...I did not care.  I was too excited to care about what I looked like and actually found myself using the mirrors for guidance instead of a source of self-ridicule or criticism.  Maybe this is what it had been like way back when.  A time when I could just be and allow my body to express itself, to feel strong and graceful, and to explore and grow.  

Walking home afterward, with my new friend, I found that our conversation was giddy and joyful.  Like that of children who have just discovered a new hiding place or skill that feels magical.  There was a beauty to the innocence we had just experienced as grown-ups, in a room filled with other grown-ups looking to do the exact same.