When I grew up in Japan I really loved to dance. Every summer during the Bon festival to honor our ancestors, I joined the circle of Bon odori dance in a park across the street from my home. Everyone danced around the stage in a big circle, copying the good dancers on a small stage around a Taiko drum. Some wore yukata, a summer kimono, but we could wear pretty much anything. After dancing to a few familiar tunes over and over for three nights, we learned the choreography fairly well. Of course we would forget most of it by the following summer but it didn’t matter. Each of us danced in a unique way and had a good time anyway.

When I was a teenager I stayed at a youth hostel in Tokushima to dance Awa odori, one of the most famous Bon odori in Japan. There are male dance and female dance in Awa odori, and male dancers were encouraged to improvise. Most women staying at the youth hostel tightly wrapped a long white cloth around our chests to flatten our breasts so that we could dress and dance as men. I felt incredibly free to improvise.

When I was about to finish my Ph.D in North Carolina, I attended a big scientific conference in a ski resort. There was a dance gathering one evening, which I eagerly participated in. Everyone seemed to be dancing in his own way, so I also started dancing in my own way. A student from my school came up to me and asked whom I was dancing with. ”Nobody,” I said without realizing that people around me were apparently dancing in pairs. We chatted a little bit while dancing, and he went away.

Back at school, a friend came up to me and said, “Such and such told me that you were a party animal!” with a big smile. This did not sound like a compliment, and I never went dancing again.

For a long time I did not dance. Even when there were dance opportunities at some events, things usually got awkward. When people were dancing in pairs, for example, no one would ask me to dance. Even in a big group, something about me seemed to make others uncomfortable. Once a friend tried to teach me waltz steps but I was absolutely hopeless.

Several years ago, I discovered the 5Rhythms dance meditation. I attended a workshop by Eliezer Sobel because it was supposed to help people sing from their heart, and as a music director I wanted to know how he taught that. As I anxiously walked into a dimly lit room with beautiful, slow music, I saw people moving in many different ways, some lying on the floor. I remember myself sitting on the floor and moving my arms so that my hands would gently travel back and forth around me on the floor. The cool wooden floor felt good and calming. As the music moved from slow and quiet to fast and loud, I was captured by the rhythm. After many hours of dancing, I came out as a different person, and singing my “signature song” was cathartic for the first time in my life.

Since then, I have attended several more workshops with different teachers. Each one has been healing and transformational, and opened a new awareness for me.

Whether I am sad, happy or angry, I am no longer afraid of dancing my own story. How about you?