Here’s the thing. I can dance. I really can. When dancing is required in a public space my limbs get rigid and I freeze. Dancing in the bathroom? Oh yeah, I’m the business (IMO). Dancing out in the open? Fugettaboutit. While finding forty, I figure there are some things that are going to have to happen. I am just going to have to bite my lip, close my eyes and do. Today, I will dance. It won’t be forced. I will just allow myself to feel the music in my ears and move as it glides down my soul. Dance today—anywhere and enjoy every beat. I know I will.
In my head, I am a dancer. I breathe music. I have a playlist for just about everything. Shower? Do you want happy or sad? Cooking? Want get down or fancy-shmancy? Sex? Well….I’ll let you figure that one out. The point is, I love music and how it makes me feel….especially when it moves through my body.
Currently, on the last day of 2014, I am sitting at a wedding reception with some of the best reception music I have heard in forever. The bass is tingling my spine, my stomach has that loud music ache to it and the vibrations are tickling my feet through the floor…yet I stay seated in my chair. My body is pleading for me to get up and go but my brain is in severe protest.
I stay seated because I feel as though people will stare or make fun but really…who cares? Right? Dancing is a person’s way of self expression, of freedom…Right?
Perhaps I am far from free. Actually, that’s exactly how that sounds. I am a prisoner of my own stupid self. Today. While snooping through my grandma’s closet, I found a book about Buddhism with my grandfather’s scribblings in it. He asked himself (basically) why he allowed outside forces effect his inner being. I wonder that, too, Dad. Why do we allow ourselves to be prisoners? Good question. Perhaps I will figure it out sitting in another party chair watching everyone else party…maybe one day I will actually party too.