It all started, as things often do, with a trip down a YouTube rabbit hole. Back in the good ol' days, my siblings and I were allotted an hour of screen time and I liked to spend mine watching funny animal videos. Who doesn't? But one thing led to another which led to something else and, as it often goes, I somehow managed to find myself on a completely different subject than where I'd started. That subject was Michael Flatley.
Now to set the stage here, it's important to remember that, at the time, I was a small town girl going to a very small school and spent most of my free time reading and watching cooking shows on the weekend after the Saturday morning cartoons were over. We didn't even really watch movies when I was growing up. As a result, my threshold for intrigue was (and still is) very low. So when I found myself watching the finale of the original Lord of the Dance, it absolutely blew my tiny pea brain into smithereens. The lights, costumes, music, rhythm, and insane precision - okay, okay, fine, and Flatley himself... I was hooked.
Learning more about that world soon became one of the great phases of obsession that delineated my younger days. I found full versions of the shows, I learned about Riverdance and the controversy that drove Flatley to branch off and create his own production, I read his biography, and, as much as it makes me cringe now, I watched and rewatched my favorite clips to try to make my feet do what theirs were doing. Spoiler alert: they never did. For me, though, that was never the point. Sure, I was pretty much just running around legs akimbo while the video played in the background, but it was the joy of feeling like I was part of the dance that made it so much fun.
As with all my obsessions, my interest was eventually diverted to some shiny new thing, but I never completely lost my love of Irish dancing. Instead, I developed a more well-rounded, slightly less obsessive appreciation of it: discovering the different types and styles of the dance, learning that endless hard work and grit are the bedrock of an effortless-looking performance, and even switching from a rose-colored glasses view of Flatley himself to one that recognizes his immense skill while still acknowledging that he is, like the rest of us, only human. But for all my interest, I never really went any further with it.
Fast forward to a couple of years ago when a YouTube short from the Gardiner Brothers popped into my feed. If you weren't aware, they're two Irish brothers, formally part of the Riverdance troupe, that pair lightning fast taps and fun choreography with modern, popular songs. I started following them and, once again, found myself wishing I could learn how to do that... and then I wondered why I couldn't. After all, you can learn almost anything online these days; why not Irish dancing?
So I poked around on YouTube, found a couple of channels I thought might be helpful, and tried to teach myself a few skills. I even got a pair of tap shoes and a little board to practice on. What I quickly realized, though, is that this approach was like learning to play a song on an instrument without any kind of training on technique; maybe you can play the right sequence of notes, but without knowing how to play them or put them together into a song, you're not going to get very far. Similarly, I could replicate what the videos were showing me how to do, but they referenced things I knew nothing about and I felt like I was starting in the middle. Without some kind of formal instruction, I could tell this wasn't going to be a very successful endeavor and resigned myself to once again retiring my dream, maybe for good this time.
But those pesky Gardiner Brother shorts just kept popping up, my shoes stared at me wistfully from the floor, and the tap patterns from my favorite routines - old and new - once again started playing in my head. Finally, I told myself it wouldn't hurt just to look and see if there were any classes in the area. I wasn't going to do anything with the information, after all. It was just to shut my brain up for a bit. But lo and behold, my searching uncovered a legitimate Irish dance academy in town, barely 15 minutes from where I work. After a futile couple of months of trying to forget this information, I reluctantly decided to give it a try.
Signing up for an actual class was the last thing I wanted to do for a variety of reasons. For one thing, the typical Irish dancer takes up the sport around 3-4 years old and many of them retire in their early 20s. At 29, I would be majorly pushing that envelope, especially given I've already had the occasional knee issue from time spent in Brazilian jiu-jitsu and running. Aside from that, all of the Irish dancers I'd ever seen were tall and lithe and graceful; I'm short, a few cookies heavier than I would prefer, and I could count the number of times the word "graceful" has been applied to me on my fingers even if I were a double amputee. Would people make fun of me? Was I physically capable of participating? Would people make fun of me? Was it worth starting at the bottom in a completely different form than what I was really interested in since you have to learn soft shoes first? And, most importantly, would people make fun of me? I know, I know, I'm working on it.
The first class was, as anticipated, challenging. Adults are lumped in together here, so you've got people like me - who wouldn't know a change-2-3 from a do-si-do - with people who have danced before and know what they're doing. Being a beginner is always hard, but it's harder when half the class is obviously way ahead of you. Luckily, my sister decided to sign up too, so we had the advantage of at least being able to struggle together. After what I'm sure were some truly hideous attempts at what we learned in that first class, I went home, sore but already looking forward to the next class. My poor muscles had no idea what was about to hit them.
The next day, my legs were a bit stiff, but that was pretty much expected. They'd had us doing a lot of drills on our tip-toes and I spend most of my week sitting behind a desk, so there was bound to be some of that. It seemed to get worse as the day went on, but I still wasn't too concerned: using new muscles, need more practice, etc etc. By the next day, my legs were so sore I literally couldn't walk straight. Thankfully, it was a Saturday so I could spend most of the day abusing a tube of Icy Hot and laying on the couch with my legs propped up in weird positions, but a thread of doubt started to worm its way in. How long was this going to last? And was it going to be like this after every class? The stiffness slowly went away and I showed up to the next class with slightly more trepidation than the first one. It went better than the first and I was both shocked and delighted the next day to discover that, except for being a little achy, my legs seemed like they'd already acclimated pretty well. And we've been going ever since.
It's now been about 3 and a half months since that first semi-disastrous class. We've learned two full dances and are just starting to learn a third. It took some getting used to being taught by younger instructors and having to watch myself in a mirror - something I usually try to avoid - but I can honestly say I'm having more fun than I ever imagined I could. Our class has been whittled down quite a bit from the original group, but we all help each other when we get stuck and there's no judgement when anyone messes up. It works up a good sweat and the concentration required to get the sequences right makes the stresses and cares of the day disappear for a while.
Despite my initial hesitation at having to start in soft shoes, I've found there's a different kind of beauty to these dances. I may not look the same as the dancers I grew up watching, but that doesn't change the feeling of freedom I have when I'm flying across the floor or the fierce satisfaction of landing the final step in a dance perfectly executed at full speed. One of the practice songs is even the same tune as one that's featured in Flatley's Lord of the Dance, which was absolutely surreal the first time we got to dance to it. It was one of those full-circle moments that makes you realize that, sometimes, things can turn out way better than you even dared hope.
So what's your dream? Maybe there's something you've always wanted to do, but you're afraid to try it. Maybe, like me, you're worried about the judgement of others. Maybe there are other obstacles standing in your way that you think are insurmountable. But maybe - just maybe- all you need is a little courage and then you can fly too.
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