My childhood is long past and is but memories, catalogued like still pictures in a picture album.  Rather ephemeral and elusive most times, I don’t give it a lot of thought in my day to day activities.   Then something happens and portions of it solidify, eliciting emotion that I thought was long gone, reminding me of experiences forgotten and buried.  Reminding me that in getting on with the business of growing up and becoming an adult, my childhood didn’t go away and is still very much a part of this grown up version of me. 

The most recent reminder of this is the closure of the dance studio that was my childhood retreat for several years.  Ballet, tap and then jazz dominated my life for six years and it was at the studio I made friendships and taught my body to move in ways that were challenging and enjoyable.  I quit dance lessons while in high school but was drawn back as an adult after a 25+ year absence, returning to the same studio and instructor that had been so much a part of my earlier life.  

They say you can’t ever go home again and I found this to be the case when I returned to dance classes.  Time had passed, everything and everyone had changed; recapturing the exact same experience I remembered was not possible.  I had returned with no expectations and no desire for the competition with other dancers that had been present in my youth.  This activity was for me to enjoy with the added benefit of exercising and stretching a body that had been neglected.  With different goals for myself, my instructor also had different goals and fortunately she had more compassion for an adult physique and how the demands of dance are not always achievable from a purely physical perspective.  Taking classes from the same person at the same studio as an adult was a very different experience than as a child and one that I am so very happy to have had.  New friendships made.  New routines and steps learned.  New challenges faced, some conquered and some conquering me.

But alas, all good things must come to an end.  With the advent of the pandemic, I had wondered over the months just how the dance studio would be able to survive or continue.  I knew my instructor, who was the owner, had been looking to retire in the not that distant future but it always seemed too faraway to really give much thought.  Now, I began to realize, it was a very distinct possibility.  Then the letter came.  I wasn’t surprised at the announced closure and while I was disappointed classes wouldn’t be resuming as I had envisioned, I wasn’t prepared for the melancholy that set it.  Yes, logically I understood the whys of the closure and also the fact I would be able to continue with dance classes with one of the other studios in town.  Would it be the same, of course not, but why this tremendous sadness?  Why could I not reach out to any of my friends and even broach the subject without tears welling up?  

One thing I have learned is that ignoring my emotions or denying them because I don’t understand them does not help them heal.  If anything that is a sure way to have them surface later when I am ill equipped to deal with them so I decided to sit with this feeling.  To sit with the tears and tenderly explore what this meant.  What caught me off guard as I did this was how I immediately traveled back in time to my childhood and so many memories of past lessons, recitals, dress rehearsals, bloody toes, strained muscles, costumes I loved, costumes I hated, angry words, treasured words of praise, disappointment, joy and pride raced to be seen and heard.  Though I had ‘grown up’, my childhood self, my mini me, was still in residence of this corporeal body and so we mourned together as another door silently closed on childhood memories.  

As one door closes, however, I have learned another opens.  Perhaps not always as envisioned or expected, but it does open.  As I write this I am not sure what door that will be but I am looking forward to it.  Looking forward with nervous anticipation as I seek out another studio and teacher and perhaps discover new steps and techniques or even a new type of dance that is more suitable for this time in my life.  And, as I set out on this new course I remind myself, though physically I am an adult with adult responsibilities, the mini me of my childhood is still very much alive and by honoring her I honor myself.  

Wishing you much love and honor for your mini me as doors open and close on your heartfelt journey! ~♥~