Like no one's watching

I walked in on (one of my kids) dancing the other day — spinning, jumping, gyrating, and singing at the top of (his) lungs. It was so incredibly unbound, gleeful, genuine, and care-free.

I can’t remember the last time I did that.

What about you? When was the last time you picked up a hairbrush, tennis shoe, pencil, or Pringle’s can and bounced wildly around the room with your “microphone,” while scream-singing your favorite song? If you’re like me, it’s been a while.

I don’t dance anymore.

What keeps us from that — or any freeness such as that: casting aside any and all inhibitions and expressing unadulterated joy simply because emotion overtakes us, the beat of the drum moves us, or maybe, just maybe we think that no one is watching?

Perhaps, as we get older and more tired, it’s the weight of the day that keeps us grounded; the busyness and the constant running from here to there and yon; the responsibilities of the responsible that still our feet and bind our flailing arms.

Whatever it is, I want less of it in my life.

I want more dancing. I want more laughing and smiling and spinning and jumping and singing and losing myself in the music or the moment… or whatever!

Don’t you? 

Do me a favor, though. Dance with your clothes on, for goodness sakes! My kid was buck-naked, and it was preeeeetty gross.

And awesome.
And hilarious.
And, well, kind of impressive, actually…