Sandra’s Saga: Chapter 9
“Take care of your body. It’s the only place you have to live.” - Jim Rohn
I Am Sandra: Chapter Nine – Dancing Into Joy
I never thought I’d be one to take up dancing in my sixties. To be honest, it wasn’t even on my radar. Sure, I’d always loved music—the way it could shift your mood in an instant, lifting you from the lowest lows and filling your spirit with life. But dancing? That felt like something for the young, the nimble, and those who hadn’t spent decades teaching in sensible shoes.
But then came Dilma—Dilma, who’s always got another idea up her sleeve. “Sandra,” she said one morning as we laced up our walking shoes, “why don’t we try a dance class? Something fun. You know, to shake things up.”
I hesitated. “Dancing? Us? Have you forgotten the state of my knees?”
She waved me off. “They’re stronger now! And anyway, we’ll take it easy. It’s not a competition—it’s about fun.”
I didn’t realize how much I needed fun until I stepped into that dance studio. It was bright and airy, alive with music that instantly made my hips want to sway. Couples, friends, and even a few solo dancers moved across the floor with smiles on their faces. There were no judgments here—just movement and joy.
Our first class was a beginners’ session on Latin dance. The teacher, a woman with an infectious laugh and endless energy, started with the basics: a little step here, a shuffle there, a gentle sway to the beat. It was awkward at first. My feet felt like lead, and I stumbled more than once, but I didn’t care. Dilma was beside me, laughing so hard she could barely step in time. “Sandra,” she giggled, “we are terrible.”
And we were. But we were having the time of our lives.
What surprised me most was how dancing pulled me completely into the moment. I wasn’t thinking about my to-do lists, my worries about my mom, or the health concerns I’d been carrying like a weight on my back. I was just there—feeling the music, moving my body, and letting go.
The weeks that followed brought variety and excitement. Some days it was salsa, others the smooth rhythms of ballroom waltz, and even line dancing with new friends. The music filled me with energy I didn’t know I still had. My posture improved even more as I learned to stand tall and balanced. My knees, strengthened by walking and Pilates, held up surprisingly well as I glided and swayed.
And Dilma? She was transformed. Dancing seemed to light a fire in her soul. She moved with confidence and freedom, and her laughter was contagious. “Sandra,” she said one evening as we collapsed onto a bench after a particularly energetic cha-cha, “can you believe we almost missed this? Life, my friend, is happening on the dance floor!”
She was right.
Dancing wasn’t just exercise—it was therapy, laughter, and connection. It was movement with purpose, strength disguised as fun, and joy set to music. And the benefits were undeniable. I felt lighter—physically and emotionally. My core grew stronger as I learned to hold my frame. My mind, once foggy and easily distracted, sharpened as I memorized steps and patterns. Even my small bouts of forgetfulness started to feel like distant memories.
Then there was my mother. When I told her about our classes, she lit up in a way I hadn’t seen in years. I brought home music and showed her a few simple steps. At first, she sat in her chair, tapping her toes and smiling. But one day, to my surprise, she took my hand and stood up. We shuffled slowly around the living room, her small steps matching mine. “It’s been years since I danced,” she said softly, tears welling in her eyes.
In that moment, I realized dancing wasn’t just about movement—it was about connection. Connection to my friends, my family, and most importantly, to myself.
Life felt exciting again—like doors were opening that I didn’t even know existed. With each class, each laugh, and each beat of music, I was rediscovering what it meant to live.
I am Sandra. I’m dancing my way to better health, deeper joy, and a brighter future. And I can’t wait to see what the next song brings.