Dance

“…like no one’s watching.”
The only thing is, when I’ve tried, I am so deeply aware of the fact that I have no moves…

++++Awkward
++++Lame
++++Stupid
++++Uncreative and uncontrolled
++++Un-cool

So I turn to humor.  Because I’ve learned that I can continue “belonging” if I can make them laugh.

++++Self-deprecating?
++++++++++Maybe
++++++++Face-saving?
++++++++++++Yes.  Well, maybe.

If I act like I’m “dancing” badly on purpose, does it hide anything?

So I don’t dance.  Most of the time.

Except when My Love wraps her arms around me, stares into my eyes, and we move together.  Hardly real dancing.  But then again, aren’t we always moving, adjusting, stepping around, out, and in general responding to life’s rhythms and obstacles?  A bit of improvisation, synchronized movement, holding hands, carrying each other, The Dance of Life.  And if you don’t start moving, then where are you?  Stagnation?

A slow death.

And then the other exception.
++++Dancing with my children – whether on my toes, in my arms, them dancing around me, in a circle, in a line, twirling, they love it.  And they don’t even notice how awkward I am.

And one more: Hip Hop!

++Who knew?
++++A beat comes on
++++++We all let loose
++++++++Each focused on our moves
++++++++++Watching each other
++++++++++++The atmosphere light and electric
++++++++++++++Fun
++++++++++++++++Loose
++++++++++++++++++I make a move
++++++++++++++++++++The others approve
++++++++++++++++++++++It doesn’t matter
++++++++++++++++++++++++We all respond
++++++++++++++++++++++++++The beat,
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Strong

But I don’t dance
++Because I can’t.
++++But I can move
++++++Sway, step, nod my head
++++++++Even between the beats
++++++++++When the music speaks
++++++++++++I respond
++++++++++++++Inwardly
++++++++++++++++And sometimes out.

~ Jeremy

A few weeks ago, Jessica gathered all of the Martin-Webers capable of writing and we all did a writing assignment together.  She explained that she was going to hand each of us a piece of paper with a single word on it.  We would each get a different word.  We would then have 15 minutes to respond to our word.  That’s right, we had 15 minutes to complete a writing assignment.  Writing for me is typically something that I do with as few constraints and distractions as possible.  A timer and the pressure of having to work on it when told to are not a part of my usual approach.  Earthbaby and I have this in common.  But we played the game, and it yielded surprising results.  My word: Dance.  I fought back feelings of injustice, embarrassment and paralyzing fear – as I have about as much experience with dancing as a turtle with flying – and I went for it.  The result is what you see in this post.  Raw, unedited, 15 minutes.  

dance blur

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