The first time I can recall dancing was in my friend Maureen's bedroom. We were listening to the Beatles' She Loves You. We were probably 6 years old. Her room was really small. I remember we kept bumping into the bed. And we were holding our Beatles bubble gum cards. She was a Paul; I was a John.
I took a modern dance class when I was in eighth grade. It made me more self-conscious than ever. It definitely wasn't for me.
High school gym classes had us square dancing, doing the lindy and, oddly, "the bump." Now that I've completely dated myself (raise your hand if you even remember "the bump"), I should probably just stop. I remember we had these fantastic '50's themed dances too. And I loved dancing at my proms; they were fun--we had real bands, not DJ's.
I cannot recall any dancing in college although there might have been a frat party that I bought a gorgeous blue sparkly dress for. There had to have been dancing there.
There was dancing at my wedding. I have pictures of that. That was ill-fated dancing as it turned out.
After that, no more dancing. Until Dancing With the Stars. Until Gavin DeGraw on Dancing With the Stars. That's when the music changed and hope, fun and spontaneity flooded back into my life. In the last year and a half there has been dancing at home, in the office (after hours, when I'm alone--you can't go totally nuts when you're the principal's secretary), in the car and when I'm walking in the park. And at concerts. Especially at concerts. (I'm a terrible dancer, by the way, but that's not the point anymore.)
In 22 hours it will be 2014. A new year. Like most people I have goals for the new year. Lots of them. My favorite is More Dancing. As often as possible. More Dancing. Because if I can live my life dancing ... well, I believe a lot of good can come of it.
Let's dance.
No comments:
Post a Comment