You Can Dance If You Want To

"Only when I'm dancing can I feel this free" -Madonna

I love dancing. Some people who know me may be surprised by that statement. But they don't know me well enough. Or they don't know the me who isn't weighed down by depression or stifled by anxiety. That me has made a comeback in recent years. I'm ready to give the floor to my Leo moon and shine.

I'm not sure when my love of dance first began. I think babies are born wanting to move joyfully however they please. Maybe I was a dancing baby. I'll have to ask my mom sometime.

I may not know where the love began but I do know that it was strengthened every Saturday while watching Soul Train. The musical guests were just background music to the real performances. The Soul Train dancers were every. thing. The confidence. The drama. The sheer freedom to move their bodies however they pleased while remaining on beat.

In addition to Soul Train, there was the TV show, Fame. And all of the music videos of the 80s. After school, my friends and I practiced Michael Jackson's Thriller choreography religiously. And when I was home, I'd re-enact the latest videos in my basement.

My basement was like my private Studio 54. I played music, roller skated, and danced there all of the time. All I needed was a disco ball. I still need a disco ball. I think I'm ordering a disco ball.

Sometimes I'd come home from the playground and try to emulate the older kids' breaking moves. The floor was smooth enough for me to get a decent spin but it was also hard as hell. I decided that I'd remain a spectator.

One performance I always wanted to give involved dance and gymnastics. I'd choreograph gymnastics floor routines in my basement. I used to dream of being in the Olympics and winning gold due to my amazing floor routine. I had a beautifully choreographed routine to Endless Love by Diana Ross and Lionel Richie. I wanted to be a Black gymnast winning with a song by Black artists. I can't tell you how much I played and danced to that song. I'm sure I wore that 45 out.

Last week, I attended a Liberate Village virtual campfire meeting. It is a gathering that centers Black healing. Jeru, the facilitator, asked me a question related to my inner child. I think the topic was play. I don't remember the exact question but the vision it elicited was abundantly clear.

The young gymnast/dancer/choreographer version of myself appeared and reminded me of when I felt most alive. She reminded me of the freedom I felt while dancing. She reminded me of the joy I felt spending hours giggling with friends as we practiced Michael Jackson's moves. She reminded me of the hip elegance of Debbie Allen and Gene Anthony Ray and the Soul Train dancers.

This is not the first time little Nikki has shown up to remind me to dance. The topic of dancing has shown up in class discussions, journal entries, and meditation images. There are dance documentaries on my Netflix list. My exercises of choice lately are pole dancing and Zumba.

Clearly, my inner child wants to dance again. She has been playing the wall for too long. She longs to take up space and pivot and flow. She longs to become one with music that touches her soul. She longs to express herself---all of her selves. The good, the bad the ugly. The crazy, sexy, cool. The carefree child.

I long to be that carefree child again. Because of the healing work I've done in recent years, I can be. My inner child and current self can be partners. And having a partner you can trust on and off the dance floor is golden. What more could I ask for? Well...maybe a disco ball.

Categories: : Wellness