Carry on Dancing

I met up with a friend yesterday. We drove through the same rush-hour traffic to meet. His experience was filled with frustration, swearing and aggressive driving. Mine was a dance party.

I waited at one traffic light for five light cycles. Normally, this would drive me insane. But I found a good song on the radio and jammed the whole time. My breaks were a bass drum pedal. I didn't hold back. I'm sure other people could see me dancing and were possibly laughing at me. I was stuck at a red light, but I was going to town.

My friend arrived agitated, in a bad mood. I showed up with a smile on my face, overflowing with joy.

We sat in the same traffic, but I danced.

Most people I think are waiting, as Vivian Greene says, for the storm to pass. They don't realize they have the choice to dance in the rain. You can't control your circumstance, but, though easier said than done, you can change your attitude amidst your circumstance.

I'm not saying you should overlook your feelings, stuff negativity or try to cover it up with empty optimism. I'm not telling you to just be happy. Apparently life is not about being happy all the time, since really shitty things happen pretty regularly.

I am saying don't let yourself default to annoyance or frustration. Wake up to the joy and wonder deeply embedded everywhere in your life. When you're mad because Tucson drivers are THE ABSOLUTE WORST, remember that you have a car and places to go. You're alive today, and joy is waiting for you. Choose it. Dance. Enjoy the (slower than you want it to be) ride.

I know you don't always feel like dancing. Me neither. But sometimes feelings follow actions. Deal with what you're feeling, actually feel it, face it, process it. But then dance a little.

I was a panicky mess the night of the 2016 election. Though I had hoped, prayed and voted against it, it looked like Donald Trump was going to be our next president. I wanted to throw up. Instead, I took a deep breath, got off Twitter, put some music on and danced with my two-year-old niece.

I was walking through months of heartache after a recent breakup, and no bone in my body felt like dancing. The pain was too much for just about anything more than doing my best to continue to exist. I was ignoring my friends, I was angry, I was tired, I was lonely, I was hurting. I felt like I didn't have much in my life to look forward to. But one morning, after much of the pain had been processed and much of the destruction had settled, I woke up in a new house with my new roommate feeling like something good was on the horizon again. I put on some music and danced around the house.

At the end of a long day at work, I put on my "Get it Girl" playlist and jam all the way home.

I dance stuff out, Grey's Anatomy style.

I dance in the shower. I dance while getting ready. I dance while cooking dinner. I dance in da clerb. I dance in the car. I love to dance.

But my heart dances, too, even when my body is still. I will my heart to dance. I don't ignore pain and sadness, push it to the wayside or shove it down deep, tucked away in my soul. I don't preach empty positivity. But I have an earned optimism. I have learned that on the darkest days, in the worst times, I am still okay. Love and joy do not disappear in the darkness. I believe love is in the DNA of reality, so there is always something to hope in and be thankful for.

What is keeping you from dancing?

Dance in traffic. Dance around the living room. Dance in the storms of your life.

Dance like you don't care what you look like. Dance like you know what you're doing. Dance however you want.

Dance for the sake of dancing. Dance to stay alive. Dance to really live.

Don't be bored. Don't be annoyed. Don't forget the beauty that is inherent in your life, no matter what.

Don't forget what a wonder it is that you even exist.

Don't wait for your circumstances to be better or ideal. Don't postpone your happiness. Don't rob yourself of the joy you could be soaking in right this very moment.

Dance.

Dance, and the joy will come.

Dance because you and your situation are "not only meaningful but sacred, on fire with the same force that lit the stars — compassion, love, the sub-surface unity of all things" (David Foster Wallace).