I generally don’t dance. Not at weddings, not at parties, not anywhere. It used to be my absolute rule. Dancing is awkward. You don’t know where to put your hands or what exactly to do with your feet. You can make a fool of yourself. Avoid it. It’s a good rule…except for when people tried to change your mind.
Our long time family friend has a hoedown every fall on his several acre farm. There are enormous tire swings made from tractor tires and a bonfire that once reached a record height of 33 feet high and food and laughing and square dancing and a hayride through the property and if you show up without a cowboy hat one will be provided for you at the door.
I take pictures.
But one year, I was listening to the caller, who was barely understandable with his fake southern accent, and enjoying my hot apple cider when a voice interrupted me.
“Would you like to dance with me?”
I jumped, sloshing my cider over the rim of my cup and onto the hay-covered barn floor dangerously close to his feet. Normally I laughed invitations off kindly or flat out refused. But this time, for whatever reason, I said, “Sure.”
It was the worst dance of my life.
It was awkward and jumbled and I didn’t know what to do or where to go and at one point I jabbed him in the stomach with my elbow. I was completely out of my comfort zone.
It was the best dance of my life.
Dancing is a lot like love and life. You don’t know what to do and sometimes you make mortifying mistakes for the whole world to see and sometimes it clicks and something beautiful is born.
It all depends on your partner. Choose wisely.