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Iget changed in the office bathroom as I chastise myself for signing up for the dance class tonight.
I knew my first day back would be a lot, but I completely underestimated just how exhausting.
From almost the instant I stepped off the elevator, someone has wanted to talk to me, mostly just to check in and give me their condolences in person. While I appreciate my team’s concern, I really didn’t need to keep repeating that I was, in fact, okay.
Henry had called a team meeting first thing where everyone got me up to speed with everything, and then he left us to it.
I was hoping that coming back remotely last week would mean I could hit the ground running. And to a point, I have, but there was still a lot to take on.
My team has secured some incredible funding for the foundation in my absence, and Jasmine has done a fantastic job stepping into my shoes, but there is a lot to catch up with.
My head was spinning by the time everyone started leaving for the day, but I think it’s in a good way. It still is hours later.
Being able to focus on work has meant the grief and pain I had been drowning in have been pushed a little further back. Not forgotten, I’m not sure I’ll ever lose it completely, but it hasn’t been the most prevalent feeling today. If I’m being honest, being overwhelmed takes center stage there.
All I really want to do is go home, order takeout, and curl up on the couch.
But I refuse to allow myself to do that.
So, with sore, tired eyes, I get changed before heading toward the studio where tonight’s dance class is being held.
I haven’t attended a class of any kind for years, and as I step through the doors to find huge photographs of beautiful, talented dancers lining the entrance hall, I start to second-guess myself.
This isn’t a local community dance class designed to get inactive people moving. This is a real dance company.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt more out of place in my life.
With my legs frozen, my eyes move from image to image. Every type of dance is on show, but it’s the couple locked together mid step that really steals my attention.
Grams wanted to be a dancer. She used to tell me about her dreams of being a professional. It never happened for her. She met my gramps and then soon after discovered she was pregnant with my dad.
She was never bitter about the way her life went. The opposite, in fact. She loved my grandfather will all her heart. My father too, for all the good it did.
But she never stopped dancing.
Knowing that she’s looking down at me with a smile, I raise my chin and continue forward.
“Good evening,” a lady says, suddenly appearing from down a hallway. “Are you here for the ballroom class?” She slips behind the small reception desk and wakes up her computer.
“I-I am,” I stutter, my voice giving away my hesitation. “I’m sorry, I’m a little nervous.”
Lifting her eyes from the screen, she gives me an encouraging smile.
“You have nothing to worry about. Maria is a fabulous teacher, and the group is wonderful. This place will be like home in no time.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling a little better.
“Can I take your name?” she asks, and I move closer.
After she’s checked me in and we’ve had a polite chat about my previous dancing experience, she directs me down the hallway to studio two.
My heart races and my hands tremble as I draw closer to the door I need.
Behind me, I hear some others enter and chat with the receptionist, but I don’t look back. If I do, there’s every chance I’ll walk straight back out the door and never return.
You’re taking control of your life. Doing things for you.
Keep moving forward.