Hi. I’m the girl who posts a dance video on Instagram every day. Two days ago, I completed 1,448 days of dancing.
It started in 2020 as a way to stay connected with my niece and distract her as we stayed cooped up at home during the COVID-19 pandemic. Our “Lockdown Boogie” nights naturally drew to a close as life returned to normal and my niece got back to school, but soon I was learning hula hooping and shuffling. Then, it became my daily routine.
Even if it was for five minutes, the goal was to practise and film it, to create a sort of virtual journal. The motivation behind filming it was to be able to review my movement and technique and correct it, and to track progress over time.
Documenting it on social media, having people watching, I felt more motivated to stick to my resolution. I never intended to continue beyond a year, but as I crossed each milestone—100 days, one year, 500 days, two years, 1,000 days—I kept going.
To many, it might seem strange, even juvenile, to do this publicly, but performing comes naturally to me. Regular dance classes during my late teens and twenties included performances and shows. I sing and perform regularly in concerts with a Delhi choir. The “stage” has always been a comfortable place—in this case, it is a virtual one.
I would be lying if I said I am always excited about this time of day. Most times I am. Occasionally, I feel muddled and aimless, even bored. But I am always amazed when I look back at my journey’s visual diary, thinking “Wow, I did that!” or “I look so happy” or “Gosh, I look strong and confident”. It’s been over four years of what many may think is a mad and pointless journey. But some things should be pointless, not about achieving lofty goals, but simply because they provide joy.
Preceding each step of progress has been hours of practice. I look back at older clips, when I first picked up a hula hoop, the circle briefly loping around my waist before clumsily tumbling to the floor. My lips would be pursed in frustration, and my brow furrowed in concentration as I picked it up to try again. Soon, I was swirling it with more confidence, gradually whipping it upwards in an escalator, or steering it smoothly like a wheel. From my first jagged running man while shuffling to complete routines cutting shapes around my living-room floor. A broad smile, an excited shimmy, or a jubilant clap of approval are recurring signs of progress across my journal.
I often liken this journal to a boudoir shoot, as it encompasses the same spirit of body positivity, self-expression, and confidence. I started this journal when I was 41 years old, capturing grace and fluidity, yes, but clumsy flaws and imperfections as well. It occasionally crosses my mind that others watching will think I am way out of my depth, a crazy 45-year-old trying to keep up with a viral dance routine. But that inhibition is fleeting, and I am happy to just try to the best of my ability and have fun with it.
Looking back at the four colourful years on my Instagram grid fills me with happiness and, I must confess, pride. I love dancing because it provides more than joy. During difficult periods, dance gave me stability. When my dog was seriously ill, returning to this daily routine provided calm and a sense of normalcy. My practice has continued through an upsetting health diagnosis, travel, late nights, looming deadlines, and currently, home renovation, where I try to find peace and a non-dusty corner of the house to continue dancing. It’s a testament to all I can achieve by just showing up consistently. Even when I’m really lazy, five minutes feels doable.
Not every day has to yield progress. When I’ve been sick, I’ve lain on the floor or sat and practised hand movements gently. I save easy, quick routines to learn or record on nights I get home late. If I’m tired, I just clock my minutes by recapping what I learned the previous day. Sometimes I learn complex routines in a single hour-long session, or over three days in 30-minute slots, or even a couple of weeks, inching along in five-minute sessions. Daily practice must work around my schedule, workload, and mood. It is meant to be fun, not stressful.
There is often chaos in the scene. Family traipses into the frame, interrupting with something they need. As I dance, my dogs may wedge themselves into the same space, showing how accustomed and impervious they are to my daily jig. In life, as on the dance floor, there will be distractions and limitations, but even a little patch and a few minutes is adequate: Consistency trumps perfection.
People often think about their legacy—an indelible contribution that will help them endure in perpetuity. As a writer, hopefully my words will live on, even if tucked away in the depths of the internet. But this dance journal is a legacy of love to myself, though I hope others can enjoy it even beyond this time. Will I continue daily? Like singer Frankie Valli says in The Jersey Boys, “Like that bunny on TV with the battery, I just keep going and going.” I know I will dance for as long as I am able. This journal has helped me understand that happiness is not restricted to big milestones; it’s bite-sized moments of upliftment.
