random act of bravery

I spend a lot of time thinking about alternative careers I might have. Some of these are vaguely legitimate (management consulting seems like a thing I could do, as I very much enjoy figuring out what is wrong with other people), while others are even more legitimate, such as "spy" or "saving whales woman." The lost life I mourn most, however, is "Broadway Star," which was my plan until it became abundantly clear that I could neither sing nor dance. Sometimes I still think that maybe I could be an actress who is accidentally cast in a Broadway show, or one on a crime drama who plays a cop who has to go undercover in a Broadway show, and then I'd have to spend 6 weeks learning how to be a "Broadway Star" without actually having to be on Broadway.

No matter. Point being. Last night my coworker and I went to our first Broadway Bodies class, and as you can imagine, I. WAS. AWESOMELY. TERRIBLE. and also, it was the most fun ever.



There's some biological thing that allows you to move your arms and legs at the same time but in different directions. I didn't get that thing. When I was younger (ie. until two years ago), this meant that the general self-consciousness that fuels me would fly into overdrive when I was forced to move while other people were watching and my limbs would seize up as though I were having some sort of 16th century fit. Growing up, apparently, means not caring as much that the 8 other semi-awkward 20- and 30-something women and 2 delightful gay men in the class can see your desperate flailing that is meant to resemble a jaunty Charleston step. I laughed when I screwed up (all the time), threw my hips out in attempting a body roll, and sang along under my breath, and I loved it.