a search for clarity in an ambiguous world.

There are things that make life really enjoyable. 

Hemming a dress to help a friend out. Feeling the strength of the fabric between my fingers, having to imagine the removal of fabric before it occurs. The strange terror that come when you slash the scissors together for the first time. The ritual that is prepping the sewing machine; sending the thread through a lope, around a knob, down to the bottom, back to the top, hooking it, swinging it around and finally threading the needle. Once the sewing is complete, the moments where lingering threads are snipped and seams are checked.

Making a pot of coffee at 3:30 in the afternoon because it sounds delicious. Discovering that cinnamon in coffee is one of the most revolutionary things in the world. The ability to slowly, deliberately, choose a mug free from the rushed mania of mornings. The luxury of sitting down on the couch and watching the afternoon sun beams dance across the floor. 

Opening the fridge pulling out vegetables, chopping them and creating a roasted medley of nutrition. The time before it is cooked, smelling the flavors, watching the transformation into golden, crispy deliciousness. 

Taking the time to complete the laundry, working around the machines’ cycles, folding when the clothes are still hot to the touch, putting them away, allowing them to cool in closets or drawers. As Ron Swanson would say, “Whole-assing” the project, so that it doesn’t linger into the days ahead.

Sitting on the couch, painting toes and fingernails a pale pink. Knowing that you were productive. That you lived in the moments of the afternoon. Relished the timing of every task you completed, feeling a profound sense of peace and satisfaction. 

Then realizing that for five hours you didn’t speak a word. Sure music played for a portion of that time. Yes, you danced alone around the house as you unloaded the dishwasher. But in a world that barely stops talking, you were quiet. Because quiet is exactly what you need to thrive. 

Feeling the space between tasks, thinking of how a dress needs to be hemmed, creating a colorful and flavorful meal and indulging in moments of relaxation is what gives life. The only way that the hurried moments are bearable. 

Cultivating space and quiet is how you become you. 

The next person who tells me they don’t know how to dance is lying to me. You ALL know how to dance. Don’t shake your head and tell me any differently, I believe that EVERY person know how to dance. Not everyone dances like Shakira, which is unfortunate, because the world would be a better place if everyone’s hips didn’t lie. 

Everyone know how to dance.

I watch young dancers every single day. Kids ALWAYS know how to dance to the music.

They jump up and down, pump their arms, spin in circles, shake their hands and wiggle their hips. 

They know how to get down and it is an impressive sight. 

There is something awesome about looking at a sea of children who are bouncing with all of their might, kicking their legs, attempting a pirouette and leaping to and fro. They are all in, no reservations.

But there is always that one kid, the kid who someone has told them a terrible awful. Someone has told them they can’t dance. That they should feel ashamed of their impulse to dance. They have been informed that their dancing is “less” than what it should be and so they sulk in the corner, arms folded across their chest. 

You can tell they want to join in, but shame has already trapped them and separated them from the others. The longing is plan to see, but nothing will pry them from the corner. 

One of the best things about working at preschool is that I get to dance. I am able to flail my arms around and move how the music beckons me to. To laugh and be crazy with the kids. There is something so magical about experiencing music with people, the way that rhythm compels you to join into something that feels larger than yourself. 

It makes me sad that we teach ourselves to feel shame when we dance. 

[Side note: I am not a good dancer, nor am I comfortable dancing in front of strangers. But I am trying to be brave. Some days I am brave, others days shame traps me, but it is not about perfection, it is about commitment to try.]

But one of the many things I have learned working with 3-5 year olds is it does not matter what you look like when you dance, what matters is that you connect. 

Connect with the music. 

Connect with the people around you. 

And if a kids ask you to dance with them, get off your ass and dance.