By Victoria Jackson
Somewhere in my parents’ house, in those thick family albums everyone used to have before digital photography, there are photos of a very young version of me. They show a chubby little girl, hair tied back in thick bunches, wearing a leotard in a rather unlattering shade of gr een. I was about four years old and dressed up ready for my dance class. I remember liking ballet more than tap – and not just because the black ballet leotard was a more becoming colour! In my childish imagination I saw myself in full ballerina glory, a dancing princess, loating gr acefully acr oss the stag e, all lightness and poise. I thought I was like the little twirling igurine in the musical boxes my friends had, which tinkled out the swan lake theme when you opened the lid.
But I wasn’t like that. Ever. I was more baby elephant than prima ballerina – which I suspect amused my parents greatly – and after that brief brush with dancing most of my childhood was decidedly more tomboyish. I was much more into running around, climbing trees and playing football and I doubt I gave a second thought to those early ballet daydreams.
But life has a strange circularity and early experiences have a way of catching up with us. When I came to practice yoga I turned naturally to the dance-like vinyasa style. I was once again captivated by the lowing grace of the sequences, the seemingly efortless balances, and the creative linking of postures. It’s no coincidence that many of those who favour vinyasa yoga have a background in dancing, gymnastics or choreography.
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June 2019
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