The Forty Days

Do you feel awkward in social situations, around your family, or in everyday life?  Do you feel the need to engage in spontaneous and random dance moves but refrain because of the fear of majority scorn?  Do you want to behave in a way that most people would consider absolutely insane and wish there was a safe haven to do so (apart from your own bedroom and the judging eyes of your abnormally-large Cabbage Patch Kid collection)?  If you answered “yes” or “maybe” or even “I’m not too sure about that” to any two of the above questions, then Body Choir may be right for you.

Body Choir’s website boasts two things about Body Choir: (1) it is a “freestyle dance experience,” and (2) “no matter who you are, you fit in.”  I will soon come to learn that both of these representations are absolutely true.  I first learn about Body Choir around two years ago from a weird masseuse I meet at a party.  She tells me about Body Choir, stating that it is totally freestyle dance and completely liberating.  She says I should go sometime.  That’s not going to happen, I say.  She asks why not.  It’s just not gonna happen.  That seems to end the conversation.  But I guess I was lying, because when I start to think of activities for the blog, Body Choir is a must.

Before I leave for Body Choir this morning, I am actually pretty nervous.  I think that this has the potential of being more awkward than anything I have previously done.  What am I supposed to do–gyrate in place and wave my arms around for two hours?  Maybe do the worm?  Will they recognize my deficient freestyle dancing skills and label me as a fraud?

As I walk into the dance studio, I immediately see a grown man wiggling around rhythmically on the floor.  Is this acceptable grown-up behavior, I think.  Other people seem to be milling about in the corners of the room–some swaying to the rhythm, some laying prostate on the floor with their legs in the air, some just walking around.  More people soon arrive and begin dancing–there are no instructions, words of welcome, or explanation regarding what is about to occur.  Most people are simply dancing to the beat of their own freestyle drummer–making wavy, flowing gestures.  Some people are dancing in pairs, flowing and tripping over and climbing on each other.  I hear someone make a horse-type sound.

I begin to awkwardly dance, somewhat mimicking the chaos I am witnessing.  When my dancing starts to become repetitive, I realize that I can pretty much do anything I please, and (a) it will not draw any attention whatsoever and (b) be no more crazy than anything anyone else is doing.  So I start to shadowbox against the wall for a couple of minutes.  I do jumping jacks.  I lay on my back and use my feet to push myself slowly around the room.  I do a headstand.  I walk slowly along a line from heel to toe like I’m being issued a field sobriety test.  I yell out “Chaka-Khan!”  Nobody notices me.  Nobody looks at me.  The music does not come to a screeching halt accompanied by screams of “fraud” hurled in my general direction.  How interesting.  Maybe this is liberating–allowing myself to just let go of societal convention and its requirement that I dance in a non-chaotic, rational manner.

The dance continues for approximately two hours.  If nothing else, it’s a good cardiovascular workout.  At the end of class, there is a circle of sharing.  Of course.  Needless to say, I do not share.  Some people share, most of them saying warm, kind things.  One guy says he is glad that people didn’t yell as much during this class.  You mean all the yelling and grunting I heard was only a moderate amount in comparison to other weeks?  Had I known that I would have yelled “Chaka-Khan” louder.

My overall assessment of Body Choir is that it’s not my cup of tea.  But the other people who participate in it seem like regulars and appear happy and connected.  I think I’m just too much of a cynic to really get a whole lot out of this experience.  I guess I just prefer to connect with people by having inane experiences, making passive-aggressive jokes about said experiences, and then placing my thoughts on the internet machine for all to see.  Call me old-fashioned.