Day 1
I don’t dance.
I’m taking my very first Gaga People class.
To be honest, from the point of view of an American with no dance background, it looks like pretty weird shit.
Still, I’m curious.
And I’m in a country where no one knows me.
It’s nine a.m. on Friday and I’m in a large studio in Tel Aviv as it starts filling with people.
Some stretch on the ground... probably dancers... but others are from all walks of life. Men and women. Young and old.
I’m introduced to the teacher. He’s in long shorts and T-shirt. Buoyant.
He puts on music, walks to the center of the room, and starts moving. Conversation fades.
People gather around him loosely and then begin to move too. On the outer edge of the room, I follow along.
No choreography.
That’s a relief. In other “beginner” dance classes I’ve taken, I’m lost after the first ten minutes, making the rest of the class pure agony.
Here, the teacher seems to be improvising the class as he goes. He speaks as he moves, and we follow as best we can.
He alternates between English, and what I can only assume is Hebrew. And possibly French?
The cues aren’t defined patterns like Yoga. They’re sensory images. Feelings. Metaphors.
He invites us to explore our bones, joints, and skin.
“Sense the room with your skin. Listen with your skin. Feel smoke come out of your pores. Send the smoke out all around you!”
Uh.
Sure.
No problemo.
I’m conscious of the fact my movements bear only the slightest resemblance to my teacher’s.
I think to myself, Man, I must look so stupid.
It’s uncomfortable, but I guess that’s to be expected. I‘m moving into places normally untouched.
As the teacher encourages us to explore our internal sensations, he does his own exploration.
It’s giving him pleasure.
A LOT of pleasure.
He lets out an “ahhh,” then a “whoo,” as he slides across the floor.
It’s a bit much.
But when I look around, there are no cynics. People are all smiles. Everyone is into this.
We shake our tails.
We let our eyes lead us around.
We get down and up from the floor.
We move with silly images.
Am I REALLY into this?
Then I notice something.
In this dance studio full of students learning dance, there are no mirrors!
Not a single one.
I have an AHA moment.
No one is looking at themselves...
No one is looking at me...
No one gives a fuck what I look like...
And if no one gives a fuck what I look like, why should I?
The music and energy in the room builds to a crescendo.
This is about what dance feels like from the inside.
People are going for it, lifted by the ebullience of our teacher and their own joy to move.
I throw my flailing body into the mix, and go for it too.
And you know what?
I start smiling.
Okay, maybe not on the outside. But certainly on the inside.
I can’t help it.
The enthusiasm of this nutty teacher...
The energy of the people in the room...
The warm breeze blowing through the window by the desert by the sea...
It all starts to affect me.
When the class ends, I’m buzzing.
I’ve found something I didn’t know I was looking for.
I’m extending my stay.
One month. 30 days.
I want to know what this practice will do to my body, what it will show me, and where it will lead.