Dancing

Sometimes, I dance in the car. With my windows rolled down and the radio blaring, my body bops to the rhythm that’s shaking the side panels…

Sometimes, I dance through the house. To music that’s heard only in the recesses of my mind, whirling around and around through empty hallways, across slick tile…

Sometimes, I dance in my mind. Encircled by people, ensconced in my own fears and misgivings, I alone witness the movement my heart envisions...

Sometimes, I dance. Regardless of my surroundings, of the music, of the eyes, of my doubts. I allow myself to break free and move. And that’s when I’m really dancing.


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I’ve become more mobile in the past year. It’s harder to keep my feet still, almost impossible to not move my hands when I’m speaking about something I’m passionate about. Often, I feel trapped by the limitations of my own physical self, unable to truly communicate what I’m thinking, what I want to say… Somehow this frustration is finding its out pouring in spastic motions that may or may not follow the beat of this world. Slowly, but surely, I’m seeking to find my own rhythm. To learn my own dance.