A DANCER DANCES

Dance Even if People Are Watching & You Suck At It

You were born to dance

We are born dancers. While we might not have the technique or talent, from the beginning of our lives, we have a love of movement. Every twitch, kick, or grasp of our hands is a thing of wonder — every movement is our own special dance.

To live, we have a personal symphony made up of the beats of our hearts, the rhythm of our breathing, and the energy of our life force.

We are music, and we express it through the motion of our bodies.

“Is this how you do the twist” my mother would ask and then do a terrible version of the dance Chubby Checker had made popular.

“No, you have to do it like this,” toddler me would say demonstrating the correct and highly energetic way to do The Twist.

When I was five years old, I showed off my dance to These Boots Are Made for Walkin. I buggalooed, did the pony, and performed a series of jerky moves all my own.

I didn’t worry about being a good dancer or if I was doing Nancy Sinatra proud — I was having fun.

When I was nine, I went out to the furthest point in our sizable backyard with my transistor radio and began dancing between the hedges to an audience of fruit trees, birds, and squirrels.

The hedges helped give me the illusion of a Soul Train Dance Line, where dancers free-styled as they made their way down the line.

Suddenly, Tommy, my behind-the-house neighbor, and a genuinely nice boy, and Chuckie, Tommy’s across-the-street neighbor, and bully popped their heads up over the fence.

Uh oh, this wasn’t good.

“We saw what you were doing. We’re going to tell everyone in the whole school you were go-go dancing in your backyard.”

Oh no, the shame! The embarrassment. I’d be known as a reputed go-go dancer.

“You wouldn’t!”

“Yes, we will if you don’t pay us a dollar!”

Their silence wasn’t cheap, but what could I do? They’d caught me in the act. If they had cell phones back in the day, there’d already be a meme of me circulating during recess.

It was extortion and blackmail all rolled into one, but I had no choice but to agree. I ran inside, broke open my piggy bank, and fished out four quarters.

I was back at the scene of the crime in seconds flat.

“Here’s your blood money. But you’d better keep your promise,” I said throwing my quarters at them.

Although I’d paid their hush money, it didn’t take long for the entire Willow Glen Elementary School to know that I’d been go-go dancing in my backyard.

I tried to explain to my schoolmates that I hadn’t been wearing a mini-skirt or black patent leather boots nor had I been dancing to specifically go-go music in a cage.

My explanations convinced no one of my innocence and the kids just laughed in my face.

I couldn’t swear completely off dance — I loved it too much, but I made a promise to myself to be discreet about it, and only dance in the shadows.

In 7th grade, Sue-Ann, the ditzy yet still snotty cheerleader coach taught us jazz dance for P.E. I mastered the grapevine, the jazz square, and the step-ball-change.

I learned to do The Hustle and the Bump knowing I’d never get to demonstrate my prowess at them in public.

At the few school dances I went to, I practiced my best wallflower impersonations or played the role of Comforting Friend In the Girl’s Bathroom. We were preteens and teens and there was always a lot of emotion.

When I auditioned for the school musicals, it was obvious I wasn’t a dancer when I couldn’t learn the choreo (dancer-speak for choreography,) but that didn’t mean I’d lost my love for it.

I only released my hidden dancer in my bedroom.

Music videos started to be a thing in the 80s, and I was powerless against the infectious beat of New Wave, Pop, Ska, and rock. No more would I suppress my love of the dance.

I danced in clubs, at parties, and sometimes in the aisle of the supermarket. I blended my core moves of the twist, slam dancing, Belinda Carlisle’s of the Go-Gos dancing, and the way the blonde girl in the English Beat’s Save It For Later video danced.

When my friend’s boyfriend told her that I was a really great dancer, I felt redeemed.

My self-imposed Footloose dance ban was over.

Now whenever I feel like dancing — I do it.

When I’m cleaning the bathroom, during exercise videos, and when I hear a song I like on a T.V. show or movie, I move to the rat-tat-tat of the drum and the groove of the guitar, bass, and piano.

I’m a dancing fool and proud of it.

If my knees aren’t feeling great, I’ll dance with the rest of my body — snapping my fingers, moving my head, torso, and feet to the beat.

When I’m at a summer concert in the park, I may not dance through the entire show, but if I can’t resist, I’ll dance my ass off to a favorite song or two.

It doesn’t matter that there are at least a hundred people in the audience watching me, I’ll shake my groove thing.

My friend has been taking dance and dancing in street festivals for decades and it helps keep her strong, body, mind, and soul. I wish I’d felt that freedom to express myself through dance — I’d know I’d be in better shape.

If you have limitations, don’t let that stop you from dancing.

You may not be able to do a jump or some fancy footwork, but you can move your head to the beat and let the music guide your movements.

When you feel like dancing, even if you have two left feet or limited mobility, do what you can do.

Remember you don’t need to hear the music to dance, just hit play, and listen to the music in your head.

Dancing is a way to connect us to the essence of who we are and is a source of joy.

We may not all excel at dance but that doesn’t matter because in our hearts we’re all dancing to the beat of life.

And if you need me to show you how to dance to These Boots Were Made for Walkin with or without go-go boots, I’m happy to!

Are you ready, boots? Start walkin’

Thanks so much for reading!!