I attended my sister-in-laws wedding at the beginning of May. Leaving the kids behind, my wife and I got away for the weekend.
Weddings can be great events; they fit into same category as family reunions. There are more pleasantries and less honesty due to the nature of the event surrounding a single person. That respect is nice.
Like most stereotypical weddings there was a dance following the ceremony and the dinner. I have a history with dance. Despite my childhood dream of becoming the tap dance guy from Sesame Street I’ve only had a week (3 days) of formal lessons.
Like Ellen, I just like to dance.
I went to two different high schools. At the first one it was customary to spend upwards of $100 on tickets to the dance only to show up for a couple of slow songs and then leave. At the second, my date and I were always the first ones through the doors.
It took my high school girlfriend a little while to get used to this. The reason I liked to show up early was because we’d have a sold half an hour with the dance floor to ourselves.
I love the dance floor because of the lack of judgment. It’s a safe place to let loose, even for a moment. I don’t judge anyone, including myself. That is incredibly freeing.
Although I don’t think I realized it in high school there is a part of my authentic self that will only show through on the dance floor. When I can move to whatever music is playing, preferably surrounded by friends (but not always).
This freedom creates vulnerability and connection. Adding in touch it is a great way to connect with anyone.
I got sick at dance in high school and the girl I went with was great about it. It didn’t workout romantically but we have history that can’t be replaced. While she doesn’t know my darkest secrets, she has seen me vomit. That’s worth something.
It’s vulnerability that gives power to dance and makes it scary as hell.