I'm not much of a dancer. I'd like to be. Once upon a time, eons and eons ago when I was young, I took dance lessons. I went to dances in high school and loved to get out on the dance floor and shake my groove thang. I liked to dance in college too. But somewhere along the way, the opportunities to dance grew fewer and farther between. And at some point I became self-conscious about dancing. Now if I dance, it's when I'm by myself and I have my ipod on, and sweet cracker sandwiches, you'd better believe the blinds are closed!!
It's been a long time since I broke out in spontaneous dance on a sidewalk. It's hard to do that when your dance partner is Self-Consciousness and he's riding on your back.
My youngest daughter, however, doesn't have a drop of self-consciousness. If she's happy, you'll know it. There will be loud singing and joyful dancing. She doesn't care where she is or who's around to see or hear her.
She was bustin' her moves a few nights ago as we went on an evening walk.
It was fabulous.
Her joy was contagious and I was ready to jig along with her. I didn't. I was too chicken.
But I've decided that life is too short to be chicken about such things. I'm taking a page from my daughter's book. Next time she starts to dance, you'd better believe I will be a ready and willing partner. I can't promise it will be pretty and practiced, but I'd be willing to venture that it will be fun. So if you see me dancing down the street, and that sight doesn't cause you instantaneous blindness, join me.
We can have a dance party.
Seasons of Change
10 hours ago
