I grew up in a “women don’t sweat” type of family. My dad did not watch sports on television and neither did my brother. The closest we got to physical activity was once we played badminton. We did not go to the beach. We would do a ‘walk’ on our vacation. It certainly wasn’t a hike. I was hardly allowed to ride my bike because I might get hit by a car. Mom was a bit overprotective, but, then again, I never got hit by a car.
We had an empty strip of land on the side of our property. Dad had planted a garden on it early on, but when he found other hobbies, it became my dance stage. The neighbors were probably all going, “What is that child doing?” as I pirouetted, jumped and did a version of jazz moves down that strip. When I had the occasional playmate over, they told me that you were supposed to repeat those dance moves every time.
Not me, no way! I was “original.” I danced to the music in my head and it was never the same.
I’m still dancing to that music in my head.
