When I wrapped up a career in public relations and editing, I looked forward to spending as much time as I wanted to writing fiction, but I also needed to try at least one thing different, something away from computer screens. Deep down I knew what that could be: I wanted to dance again. Or do something like dancing.

I’d danced throughout childhood — ballet, jazz, and modern — and often wondered why I couldn’t find a similar outlet for less agile grown-ups like me. A friend told me about Zumba and Jazzercise, and soon I was sliding into the back row in a room full of synchronized dancers, all total strangers. That class could have been the most humiliating experience of my life, but somehow it wasn’t. I was hooked after a few sessions.

A mash-up of cardio and dance, Jazzercise offers an hour of nonstop choreography, all set to popular music — admittedly not always my favorite songs. Is it really so far removed from the sedate world of a wordsmith? Yes and no.

Dance may be communication without words, but it’s certainly not without its own language.

Consider the variety of names for routine moves: triplet, jazz square, kick ball change, salsa and Latin walks, tango, tabletop, windmill, pendulum swing, snake, heel pop, rib slide, pivot, flick kick and hip lift, to name only a few. Other terms might raise a few eyebrows if mentioned out of context, so the editor in me will just delete those for now.

An outsider would be baffled to hear an instructor’s string of commands through the studio walls: ”Single, single, double!” “Serve it up!” “Squish the bug!” “Cross over.” “Get some air!” “Shoulder rolls!” “Plié.” “Chassé.” “Arabesque.” And even “Drop it to the floor!”

It makes me marvel at how endlessly inventive the combination of moves can be, given that a dancer, has only two arms and two legs. I have a similar reaction when I read a truly original passage of poetry or prose, wondering if anyone has ever used those exact words together.

People sometimes roll their eyes and snicker when I mention what I do for exercise. “Didn’t that go out with the ’80s?” they ask. But the benefits of a dance workout outweigh any drawbacks for me. Those strangers I danced alongside have become friends over the years; we have each other’s backs in good times and bad. Also, when the music is blaring, and I’m just going through the moves, workable ideas for writing or rewriting sometimes pop into my head. After all, I’m cut loose from any screens, phones, interruptions, or nagging problems.

I often wonder at the strange plot twist that led me to a dance floor again after decades of thinking it was way too late. The realist in me knows that I’m slowing down, however, and, at some point, I’ll have to walk away from dance a second time. No matter what, somewhere in my head I’ll probably still be dancing.

Photo illustration: The author as a Little Swan.