The initial days felt like an unexpected gift, a month of Sundays stretched out before me. There was a delightful absence of obligation, nowhere I had to be, no role I needed to play. Having recently embraced a more outgoing version of myself pre-pandemic, even to the point of considering new eyeliner shades, this sudden stillness felt like a welcome correction. It echoed the Sundays of my childhood, when shops were closed, the community was at church, and the prevailing message was one of peaceful deceleration.
However, as a dancer at heart, this extended period of home confinement began to stir anxieties, particularly for my restless hamstrings. I quickly adapted to the digital world, mastering Zoom to join a modern dance class led by Naomi in New York City. We had always cherished her September workshops at The Yard, wistfully wishing we could maintain that level of fitness throughout the year. Suddenly, there she was, virtually present in my living room several times a week, offering a consistent Dancing Place right in my home.
Our modern dance improvisation group also transitioned to Zoom, albeit after a slightly shaky start. I took on the role of music manager, curating a diverse playlist that ranged from Paul Winter and Jay Ungar to jazz rhythms. We even found ourselves moving to the sounds of James Taylor and Isaac on occasion, transforming our individual spaces into a collective virtual dancing place.
Then, my Anusara yoga instructor from Connecticut, a vibrant 81 years young, also embraced Zoom technology. After two decades of missing her classes, which had been instrumental in harmonizing my body, mind, and spirit, she too became accessible within my home studio. It struck me as an incredible silver lining, these unexpected dancing places emerging in the digital realm.
Inspired by Insight meditation teachers Tara Brach and Jack Kornfield, who advocated for “embodiment” as a way to navigate isolation, I leaned deeper into movement. “Breathe. Feel your breath,” they advised. Yoga, with its inherent focus on embodiment, felt particularly resonant. I was already well-versed in this language of the body.
My walks on deserted roads became a form of moving meditation. The usual cacophony of cars, trucks, and semi-trucks traversing the island vanished. The stillness of the island’s paved arteries, eerily empty, is an image that will forever be etched in my memory. The silence was profound, almost deafening, and the air was filled with the delicious scent of nature reclaiming its space. It felt as though nature itself was reveling in this newfound tranquility, finding its own dancing place in the quietude.
I ventured into a GaGa modern dance technique class one afternoon, connecting with a young instructor in Texas as a gentle rain fell in her backyard. There were only a handful of us on her Zoom call, but who was really looking at the screen? The essence of GaGa was to fill the body’s core with joy and liberate the mind. I whirled and twirled through my house and yard, feeling like a balloon joyfully releasing air! This felt like a truly liberating dancing place, a space for unrestrained movement and expression.
The West Coast offered a plethora of ecstatic dance opportunities, exactly as the name suggests. I dedicated Saturday afternoons to these group dances, where the music would begin slowly, gradually building in tempo, encouraging everyone to move in whatever way felt authentic to them. It was a quintessentially Californian experience, finding a communal dancing place even when physically apart.
That first winter in isolation was filled with the warmth of firelight, weekly phone calls for connection and support, my Proust reading group, Hebrew Center services, and online cooking classes with Jan Buhrman from our Vineyard community. Jan provided a pathway to nourishing soups and kept me creatively engaged in the kitchen, another form of movement and engagement beyond the traditional dancing place.
Then, as spring hinted at its arrival, I eagerly plunged into my yard. I even started a garden, finding physical activity and solace in the earth until dusk each evening. This transitioned into beach season, with socially distanced beach gatherings under the sun. Without the usual hectic summer schedules, my friends were readily available for beach dates throughout the season. Another unexpected benefit, finding a social dancing place in nature.
By December, my body began to slow down, responding to the passage of time, and a more structured routine emerged. My enthusiasm for high-energy dance classes naturally shifted towards Qi Gong. I now incorporate its gentle twists and energy work into my week several times, finding a calmer, more internal dancing place within my own body.
Many express concern for those of us who are “alone,” but I often suggest directing that worry towards those confined with politically opposed or abusive individuals, especially considering the concerning rise in domestic abuse. My heart goes out to vulnerable children in such situations.
As for myself, I feel safe, content, and genuinely enjoy my own company. Through Zoom and other platforms, I have access to endless opportunities and am fortunate to have friends and family, near and far, who regularly check in. I am grateful to have rediscovered my more relaxed Vineyard wardrobe of flannel shirts, sweatpants, and worn boots, and to once again truly appreciate the breathtaking beauty of the sky, trees, beach, and ocean waves that are so readily accessible, elements I had perhaps begun to take for granted. My dancing place, it turns out, is not just a location, but a state of being, found in movement, connection, and gratitude, wherever I am.
