It All Started with a Shoe

They were light and delicate and palest shade of pink. There was a tiny elastic band that connected each side, and a dainty bow near the spot where my toes slid by. I wore them everyday for a month, and was careful to make sure that not so much as a speck of dirt tainted the sweet smelling leather.

My mom bought me my first pair of ballet shoes the summer before I started kindergarten. Saturday mornings, I would wriggle into my tights and leotard and carefully place my shoes on my feet. The next 30 minutes were spent at the barre and sashaying my way across the dance studio floor. I loved it.

On a shopping trip with my grandmother a couple years later, I found a new love. It came to me via patent leather and a thick black ribbon tie. I would heel-and-toe across my family's kitchen floor, much to the chagrin of my mother. Tap shoes aren't easy on kitchen tile.

A few years after that, I graduated to Pointe class, and got my first pair of Pointe shoes. Even though they added six inches to my frame, they made my toes bleed. I was used to the structure of ballet class, but Pointe took things to a new level. Sometimes, I wanted just to dance. No worrying about form, feet placement, or the time it took to wrap my feet before class started.

I was lamenting to a friend about my predicament, and she recommended I try taking in a modern dance class. And a few days later I was just dancing. Gone were the itchy tights, wedgie-inducing leotards and arabesque-ing until my form was perfect. Instead, I was with a group of misfits who wore what they wanted, danced because it felt good, and had nothing. on. their. feet.

No shoes. Nothing to tie on between classes. No toes to wrap, no Advil to take, no plies to correct. Sure, form was important, but so was feeling the music. It didn't matter the angle at which my leg was bent, or whether turns were well-spotted. I didn't have to worry about Buffalo Time Steps or fifth position placement. I was more aware of my body and how it moved. My moves were large and expressive, instead of dainty and controlled. I loved every minute of it. And no shoes.

I started taking a hip-hop class this week, and I got a little glimpse of that feeling again. Sometimes, I have remind myself how important it is to move. The tough part of being so conscious of my body is that I forget that I'm actually good at dance. It's familiar, and comfortable, and for just a few minutes I forget about how much I try to appear as small as possible. For a few minutes, I am shoeless.