With Your Eyes Closed

I stood in the middle of a large room with hardwood floors. There were two others near me, also in the center of the room facing a group of about 25 other dancers who were seated on the floor, their long legs covered in spandex or sweats, hair pulled back, toned arms revealed through t-shirts and tank tops. They were an impressive looking group, and of course, one couldn’t expect anything less from dancers selected to participate in this reputable, two-week winter intensive in New York City. We all listened to the instructor’s directives: When I give you a prompt, move freely around the room for two minutes, however you choose to interpret the prompt, with your eyes closed. Now, I was already terrified that I had been selected to perform with the first group, but with that final nuance of closed eyes, I felt the casket closing in on me. The other dancers seated on the floor were visibly grateful for the respite from a full day of dancing, and of course, to not have been chosen to perform first. Regardless of how much experience one had as a dancer, moving according to your own volition without the capacity to monitor others’ reactions let alone the direction of your own movements is, to say the least, challenging. 

The three of us chosen ones waited for our signal to begin. In those painfully long few minutes, I panicked internally. My mind shuffled through scenario after scenario for how I might escape this situation. I could feign sudden sickness. Admit defeat before beginning. Or simply run out of the room with no explanation and never return. All torturous versions of self-doubt, fear, and unworthiness circled through my mind and justified the absolute necessity of evasion. “I had never received formal training in dance like the others here. They’re all better than me. What was I thinking that I could be a dancer??” Though I’ve always considered myself adept at exiting uncomfortable situations, it became painfully clear that I was stuck in this one. I had no choice but to go through it. So, when the instructor gave us his prompt, I dutifully closed my eyes and began to move. 

I must have been granted grace. Perhaps the goddesses and gods were moved by my desperate supplications. Or perhaps this had always been part of a divine plan. When I closed my eyes, all vicious thoughts assailing my mind, quieted. I could feel subtle electrical impulses throughout my body, signaling me to move this way and that, using this arm, then that hand, then that leg in sync with that arm. I could feel the cues distinctly, as if there were strings attached to my limbs and torso, gently pulled by a loving puppeteer. I was shocked to eventually hear the instructor call “stop.” I had lost all sense of time. I had lost all sense of self. It was a strange and exhilarating feeling to experience myself only as movement and sensation. When I opened my eyes and returned to the room, I heard applause and whistling from the other dancers. They were smiling proudly at me. And I smiled back.