I made personal plans to attend a hip hop dance class after work tonight. It was at this place called The Edge in the middle of Hollywood - in this behemouth building known as the "Television Center" on Cole. I was there because this dame I know from Equinox has been trying to drag me into classes for a good few weeks now - at Equinox. That and because on Tuesday night, after I taught spin, I stopped to watch the class -- this class that was so hot I felt it in my bones. It was poetry. Hell, Paula Abdul was in there. And before the medication and her on-air oversharing, I'm pretty sure she used to shake it with the best in the world. All I knew...I wanted to move like that.
So the baiting dame keeps telling me I'll be fine, I'll be fine, and though I want to believe her, I decide, maybe for the first time in my life, to be practical...
That's why I was wandering through cavernous halls of an office building/broadcast center/dance studio on a Thursday night. It was something like 5:28 and class was supposed to start in two minutes and I was lost, so fucking lost. And not just that, but I was scared. And not just that, but I was wondering what the fuck I was doing lost in a building on Cole when I could have been getting my crazy out in Yoga where I can walk on my fucking hands and tie knots in my body...strong and comfortable and sensational. And then I remembered -- that's exactly what I was doing on Cole. Starting with humility, working up from there.
But I gave up, and was walking out because I couldn't find the place, on my way to the street when I came across this beautiful, beautiful young blonde walking into the elevator. Instead of leaving, I turned, stopped the door from closing and made her show me the way. She did kindly, spoke with this accent I couldn't pin. It wasn't frail, more reserved - like she was far from home, here to chase a dream and this was her education, every corner of it. Fascinating. And she was sweet, took care of me until the elevator door opened. I spilled out, daunting what was coming and she moved down the hall, likely to some private studio where some master instructor would prod her every move. I wondered if I'd see her again.
The energy of this place was out of control. Some of the kids were...well, kids. Teens. I imagined them living in the ceilings, squatting, orphans. I imagined the rest screaming at their parents, bags packed, at the door, "I just want to dance," before running away from home.
I paid for three classes up front and found my way to studio E. And I don't remember much about the class other than trying to keep up, and moving, and letting go, and trying to shed the pride that's been so deeply caked upon me. And it went. And it was sloppy and awkward in parts...likely every part, but so fucking what.
When I left, I packed everything away -- a capsule in my mind. Tonight, I'll sleep on it. Tomorrow, it'll hatch into something new. The day after...something new. And eventually it'll come.
Because that's how we work.
