Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Dance More

Today is a dreary day in Atlanta. I've been told it's the beginning of 4 to 5 days of rain, which we desperately need, but I will find totally depressing. In order to be more proactive with my somewhat tempestuous mental health, I was contemplating how to battle the little black clouds that will soon be swirling around my head. Since it's inappropriate to have a cocktail at noon on a workday (which creates swirling of another nature), I've decided to dance more.


For those of you that don't know me - I don't dance. I move my feet, swing my arms, nod my head, etc., but I definitely don't dance. Rather than moving like Beyonce' or Janet Jackson, I move more like Kevin James in the movie "Hitch". It's a series of movements that have been known to leave some people speechless, others snickering and my daughters totally embarrassed. In my defense, I haven't injured myself since Line Dancing was popular.


Which of my female friends hasn't felt the inexplicable high of dancing to "Mustang Sally" in the dingiest of bars? There's something about the about the way that song begins that just summons my feet to the middle of the dance floor. Forget about the fact that the last "modern" dance I learned was either the Macarena or the Hustle. I hear the first chord of that song and I surrender the urge to fight. My sister, my girlfriend(s) and any other person of the female persuasion suddenly join me in my plight. Arms are in the air, booties are shaking, hips are gyrating and we're singing to each other at the tops of our lungs. During this daring show of female fortitude I, we, forget the boyfriend (or lack there of), kids, laundry, conference calling, blow drying, nail breaking, menial tasks of my day to day life. Instead, my life becomes all about the music, the dance and sheer unadulterated joy I have in not giving a hoot about who's watching and what they are thinking.


Dancing is good for my soul. It inspires me. It leaves me feeling like I can survive another day, hour or minute. It chases my blues, and sometimes the men who take me to the dingiest bar, away. It refreshes, reminds and requires me to be happy. What better way to survive!


Sorry, but I have to go. I hear Boot Scoot Boogie in the radio. Time to DANCE!

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