So I’ve been taking these follow-along-dance classes for about 18 months. I feel like I’ve stumbled into one of the best kept secrets in San Francisco. Who knew that there was this vast, 40-year-old community of people who willingly plunge into dance classes where the choreography is not so much as taught but absorbed at atomic velocity? Rhythm & Motion (RM) classes are led by professional dancers, but offered with the philosophy that dance is for everyone. Personal flavor is prized over technique.
Dance may be for everyone, but I find R&M to be a significant challenge, and I’ve dedicated big portions of my life to practicing triplets and pointing my toes. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn’t been so hell bent on attending SUNY Purchase dance conservatory. I imagine a second life, where my intellect was featured, where I became a neuroscientist, or maybe a literature professor at NYU. I have a nice flat, a mensch of husband, grown kids, my hair is ironed out, and all the rest. Something much more posh and conservative. But that wasn’t my path, and here I am in San Francisco, a teacher of an arcane mind-body practice called the Alexander Technique, somewhere in the middle of my life, discovering what dance means to me all over again.
In R&M classes, students often spontaneously clap at the completion of a song. The spirit is not so much self congratulatory as amazed, as if the room is thinking, “Can you even believe we did all that crazy material. We had fun! We were a group mind.”
Group mind is a big part of the joy. You have to rely on the people around you to catch all the choreography. Fast moving limbs are piloted by brains that barely know what’s next, yet we do not collide. We are entrained, as if the students who have been coming for 40 years, or 20, or seven, transmit the steps to the newbies. Back when I was a more serious Yoga student, my teacher would instruct the advanced practitioners to psychically radiate their knowledge to less experienced students. In this environment, Visvamitrasana or Eka Pada Galavasana were achievable. Rhythm & Motion is a lot like that. My lonely consciousness is no longer so separate. I’m sure half of the pleasure is in the merging.
These classes challenge perfectionism. When I can’t grasp the choreography quickly enough, or I’m off my leg, or I see my belly poking out, or whatever might trigger the critic, I falter. But there is no time to languish in negativity. Too much rumination and you’re likely to trample or be trampled. Years of Alexander Technique have taught me to pause and be thoughtful. In R&M classes, there’s no time for stopping. It’s a different way of being to see if I can speed up, and still show up with presence.
To my great surprise and pleasure, a year and a half in, the technique and strength that I thought was lost forever is coming back.
I am dancing again.
Big gratitude to all the incredible instructors, and especially Rhythm & Motion Artistic Director Dudley Flores