It’s more than jazz hands and shuffle ball changes. It’s more than pliés and pirouettes. It’s more than the escape from the everyday.

It’s the people. It’s the community. It’s the support.

Two weeks ago, my doctor suggested that I replace my spinal cord stimulator with a new device. He asked me to consider taking a few months out of my life again to try to make things better. So that the consequence of dance isn’t crying myself to sleep while I wait for the pain to go down. So that there are less days when the act of putting on pants is pure agony.

On Thursday, I wallowed while considering new cyborg body parts. On Friday, I dragged myself to the barre. As I peeled off my jeans and hoodie that hid my ballet attire, I started to breathe and smile. We talked about muscle knots and custom leotards. Annoying bosses, traffic snafus and check-ins about statuses we had seen from each other throughout the week. We got it out and then we danced it out. As we stretched, put out layers back on and dispersed from the studio, my world was right again. On Saturday mornings, the crowd is different, but the community is the same.

My tap classes are no different. When I arrive before class at Joel Hall, the advanced students wave when they notice me. I find our tiny dance prodigy and we try to watch the last few minutes as taps fly at lightening speeds. As the advanced class winds down and the few brave souls that join in enter the studio, everyone is all smiles. Even when we have no idea what the answer to a jazz trivia question. As we circle up, my brain goes into over drive and my feet seem to only be able to do toe taps and heels. It doesn’t matter – there is always something good to be said about everyone’s attempt and always something to learn.

When the class changes again and the pros leave the studio and the rest of the intermediate class trickles in, there is more catching up. Fits of giggles when we royally mess up. Cheers of triumph when anyone does something better than the week before. Our teacher, Mark, doesn’t give up on us, even when we are sure we can’t do the step. With constant pain and paresthesia, I learned how to do pullbacks. And there were many a protests that I couldn’t do them. When I start to lose balance and reach for the barre, I am encouraged to keep moving (or chastised just a bit if I am using it as a crutch and don’t really need it).

As we end, we share our upcoming performance dates – it’s a mighty talented crowd of dancers, actresses and singers. Since no one is there to dance in a bubble, we’ve started building friendships that exist outside of the classroom. The mirrors are cracked, the floor is well-loved and the windows are tiny, but the community makes magic there. If my mind starts to wander to the what-ifs, it’s not long before I end up off a bit and get called back to the moment from an out of sync rhythm or missed step.

As I write this, the theme song from Fraggle Rock has started running through my head…”Dance your cares away, worries for another day…” Each trip to the studio leaves me feeling just a little bit stronger and just a little bit braver.

I even found an unlikely family in my Tap Too (the nickname given to my Tuesday night Tap II at American Rhythm Center) class. My first class a pair of strangers offered me a ride home because I live just a couple blocks from one of them. We have parties for birthdays and holidays at least once a month. It is with these women, many of whom have been dancing for years, that I can see how completely dance can influence a life. That I am not the only person that it has saved. There are cancer survivors. There are women defying aging. There are grandmas and moms (including my mom). There are daughters and friends. A tribe that spends 75 minutes working through steps until we get them just right. Celebrating each other’s accomplishments and holding up anyone who is struggling.

When I go home alone and lay down to charge, I know that in less than a day I will find myself back in one of these places where there is an army of souls keeping me going. I know that nothing is so scary that I can’t do it. I know that I am not alone.

The point, is not to brag about how lucky I am to have found this community, or “squad” as the kids these days call it. It is to encourage you to find your squad. People who treat you to a judgement-free zone but aren’t afraid to tell you the truth. A gang to back up your crazy ideas or just to make you laugh when your whole body wants to crumble and cry. A place to go when you need to get outside of yourself and experience the riches life and art can give you to bring you out of the dark.

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If you are looking to dance in Chicago, I keep an up to date list of classes & studios where I take / have taken classes.

This weekend.

Oh man. It was glorious. And a little bit hair-brained. I mean, a 3-hour dance class. That was a bit above my level. I have a nerve block scheduled for Thursday, or else taking this class and the one a few hours later might have been incredibly stupid. But, it was a class with Chloe & Maud Arnold, a pair of bad-ass lady tap dancers and I had chickened out when they were here in September. I was not about to let this chance pass my by again. (TBH, I know I am incredibly lucky to have Chicago Human Rhythm Project/American Rhythm Center in my back yard…)

I woke up Saturday morning at the usual time, but instead of pulling on ballet tights and a leotard while half asleep, I put on the outfit I had carefully selected the day before – my cutest/dance/workout outfit. It had to be – I was taking a workshop from a pair of the coolest ladies in tap. My outfit wasn’t the only thing I did to prepare – I took the day off Friday to rest and to store up some “spoons“. And stream Syncopated Ladies videos on repeat…

I was pretty sure I was pushing my limits, pain endurance and dance skill wise, but going to a workshop like that was something I had been wanting to do for ages. And something I was deeply terrified of. Would my leg hold up? Would I have to walk out early? Would every one notice that my left leg took longer to move than my right? Would I be able to pick up the choreography? Would my stimulator’s pulsing keep me from feeling the rhythm?

At least I had a few dance friends going for moral support – one pro dancer, one old high school friend and one dance class ally.

I put on my positivity mix and hopped on the “L”.

When I arrived, I found my friends and saw a few more familiar faces and got ready to dance, my water and remote control never far from where I was (as cyborgs do).

The class was full of women (and one dude) ranging in age from 31 to 14 and experience levels from advanced beginners to professional tappers and teachers. From the first tap of the warm-up, it was clear this was no regular tap class. And not just because there were masters of the art teaching class. We stopped the warm-up for advice on cleaning up our sounds and our posture. We did four and a half minutes of cramp rolls to “Run the World (Girls)”. Thank goodness the song ended – I almost didn’t make it. I could feel the pain starting to intensify in my left leg and we had only just begun.

As we moved across the floor, I could feel my body start to free up. My arms and upper body were as engaged with the music as my feet. When we improvised, we weren’t showing off fancy footwork, we felt the music. When it came time to start learning tap choreography, I was ready to rip my pants off to reduce the pain and crawl back into bed. But I was there to dance.

 

Step, shuffle ball change fl-ap shuffle ball change fl-ap. 

Steps I know and can do. I can’t tell you what a relief that first phrase was. As the pain intensified, simplicity was going to be my friend. I needed to keep smiling – I wasn’t about to break down in a room of strangers. And then we did the step at tempo. Shit. Deep breaths. I kept going. After learning a few more phrases, we tried it with the music.

I didn’t “kill” it. I barely kept from falling over my feet. Chloe stopped the class and asked us about the song we were dancing to and what feeling we were trying to convey. The song was “I’m Not Rich“, and we were encouraged to think about what we are grateful for, what made us rich that wasn’t money. I started thinking about the CRPS and how dance gave me so much of my life back. It was just enough to get me through the rest of the combination, even though I wasn’t up to keeping up. My leg and courage gave out in the last steps – I couldn’t bring myself to attempt jumping over my leg.

At the end, we all took our hair down to dance one last time and be free. I don’t know what everyone took away from that moment, but the feeling was what I get every time I step into a dance studio (even if it doesn’t always show). In that moment, I even let go of the tension I hold in fear of triggering a flare.

 

The workshop was about more than intricate footwork and proper placement. It was about more than dancing with your whole body. It was about digging deep, being proud, letting go and not apologizing. We were told to embrace the jiggle. To not be afraid to take ownership of our bodies. To dance freely.

Last week, my doctor joked about 3-d printing me some nerves from a horse to help me with my jumping. Saturday, I proved I could make the ones I have work. Thursday I’ll get a boost of nerve-numbing. And I’ll keep dancing. Maybe even with my hair down.

It feels so good to take my shoes off and turn my stimulator back up.

A photo posted by Mary Fran Wiley (@maryfranw) on Jan 23, 2016 at 3:55pm PST

NB: If you want to take a class from Chloe & Maud, they are producing the DC Tap Fest in March!