Tuesday evening class at the gym was samba. So I signed up. I’d never danced before. .
The phenomenal teacher @raffafm, the friendly women in the class, dancing barefoot across the wood floor, THE LIVE DRUMMING – I’d never felt so alive.
In the spring, the talk turned to Carnival preparations, discussions about costumes, and a buzz about other days to practice. This all seemed out of my realm, beyond my reach, and my own limited thinking kept me from believing I was included.
One day as class lined up against the wall to begin the choreography across the floor, a friendly in class asked, “You are dancing in Carnival with us, right?”
“Oh, me? I’m not a dancer. I’m a mom. My kids are dancing in Carnival and I’m a chaperone for the group, there to give them water.”
Goddess love what comes next.
“First of all, you are a dancer. I’ve been dancing next to you for weeks. You just danced across the floor. Second of all, can’t someone else can walk with your kids and give them water?”
I’m a dancer.
A dancer is someone who dances.
My baby sister came to town to walk in the parade with the ninos. I danced in Carnival. With the stunning women and amazing drummers.