Private Dancer

Do you remember that commercial where you got different people walking through streets listening to music on their headphones and when they pass by their reflection, the reflection is dancing like there's no tomorrow?

That's me.

When I first saw that commercial years ago, I'm pretty sure I stood up in a mix of fear and excitement that someone had discovered me. And my dancing.

I have my public forms of dance. Some signature moves here and there that I pepper in to get the party started. I got the MJ moves, the Beyonce moves, the Bee Gees moves (my favorite) and the twist. However, when I'm alone, with my noise canceling headphones, and my ipod is on playlist: "Move It," I move it.

But this moving happens within the realms, and privacy, of my mind, and no one but me is really watching or knows it's happening. Walks to class when I started college were collections of my greatest hits. Popping, locking, head-bangs, and hair flips were only but a few in the mix. On the exterior though, I was walking briskly, a well-mannered student zoned to her next destination.

Dancing to me has always been part of the package that is "I."

Even before my beloved passion for reading, dancing was there. I had my Big Bird slippers as back-up shoes during the family Christmas party at age 4. The heels always killed my groove (as they will prove in years to come to continue to do so) , but I kept on the lacy socks.

Back then, I shimmied a lot. You gotta shake like you mean it. My cousin Frankie was my dancing idol. "Pump Up the Jam" played and it was "go time." Frankie would kick, slide, and I would stare jealously and vowed to one day kick and slide just like him. Dancing was my first love, and I fell hard. I saw others giggling with it, naturally fitting into its embrace, (like Frankie) and I was mean and green. I wanted Dancing, and damn it, I would get him.

In one way or another, I did. Snagged up Dancing real good. There were the public performances at parties, sometimes the music would be so right I would fall into that private dancing and for a few moments I couldn't hide it. Last time that happened was my Quinceanera. I had full charge in picking all the music for the night, needless to say that was like my parents saying I could have my own dance party with a bigger space than just my room. And louder. Much louder. That dance affair was epic in my life.

I'm hoping my wedding will be the next.

But back to the commercial and really my appreciation for what it presented: we're all dancers. Dancing can be one of the most liberating acts, more so than skinny-dipping (trust me). The best way is to do it is like you don't care about anything else but how your body moves and how that music feels when it's pulsating through those moves.

Let the music lead. (Lame, I know but there's really no other way to describe it)

The bass, the beats, are like extra hands to ripping each clothed layer your Ego has draped you in. Your heavy with insecurities and pressured to always impress. But in dancing, you take that right off. Ego, in true liberating dance, can sit down for once. Mind his own business and the only thing he needs to be in charge of is raising the volume.

So I say go dance, and if you don't have a reason to, play Funkytown by Lipps. Inc. and tell me your hips don't start moving.