Six years old, and placed at the end of a chorus line. I floundered, moved along clumsily, barely recalling the routine established through weeks of rehearsal. I loved to dance (and still do). But it wouldn’t have been detectable then, when I didn’t "own" the dance. My essence lay dormant, divorced from my body, hapless in relation to my young troupe.
Generally, an introverted “daydreamer,” I "closeted" my experimentations,...
