I used to love dancing. I danced every spare moment when no one was watching; in my room, in “Gran’s room,” in the lounge, anywhere! I loved it so much, I felt free and I so good in myself.
The other night I whirled myself, in a somewhat drunken haze, around my room, and felt the same way.
I miss it, dancing. I really miss it. It speaks to my soul. I know how kooky and woo woo that sounds, but it does.
I wish so hard that I’d been that kid that pestered hard for dance lessons, that learned a craft, that lived her dream.
But I didn’t. Life got in the way. I was studious, mostly, in a fashion. I did well at academic stuff, I wasn’t a dancer, or a creative, I was an academic.
Right now, I wish I could dance. Not just to dance for money, as a job, but to let go. I wish I could dance to fill my soul up.
I will concede that the times when I dance I am either drunk or alone, but I adore it, in a way I just don’t adore other things, even writing, my love for dance exceeds my love for writing. I love watching dance (hello Strictly, and SYTYCD before it got cancelled!) and I love doing it. Maybe it’s my calling?
But now I’m too old, too old to find out.
Nearly 30, that’s too late to get into it. Even if I give it all I’ve got, no dance school will take me on now. How has it taken me this long to realise? To see what really speaks to my soul?
I am shy, my social anxiety causes issues, but maybe if I could dance that would change things. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking…