The Grace of a Dancer

Feb 14, 2015

At my previous company, I would typically wake up at 9 on a work-day. At my current company, I’m forced to wake up at 6.30 instead so that I can beat the morning rush hour and reach the office in a timely fashion. As a result, my brain is typically zonked from sleep deprivation by the time I leave the office and I find my thoughts wandering down weird paths in the cab ride back home.

For instance, yesterday I was thinking about how flat-footed I am and whether I could fix that in some way. Then I started thinking about how everyone says that dancers are graceful. You know, the way the grizzled protagonist of a detective novel describes a woman sashaying gracefully into the room with the grace of a dancer. So then I idly started thinking about joining a dancing class. And then I remembered a friend of mine who happens to be a dancer, and also happens to be the clumsiest person I know. I swear, every time I see her she has a new bruise somewhere or the other. And this is not me exaggerating for greater effect. She is the only person I know who is capable of tripping over her own feet while walking down a perfectly flat paved road. Every time I hang out with her, she ends up tripping over or stumbling into something. And then she looks at me to see if I noticed while I do my best to suppress my laughter and rearrange my face into a neutral expression.

It’s a good thing that I know her. Otherwise I might be huffing and puffing in a dance studio somewhere right now instead of sitting at home in my comfortable chair.