Saturday, 6 August 2016

A comment made by a fictional character recently had me feeling guilty. She said something about middle aged people looking ridiculous on the dance floor. Being on the upper end of middle age myself, and loving to dance, I immediately felt blameworthy. Then last night I went out dancing again, hoping to do my best to not look too ridiculous, and I started observing from an (almost) impartial viewpoint. Young people on the dance floor on the whole don't exactly look all that credible or accomplished. Only younger. And bedecked with nose rings, brow piercings, and copious tattoos. The coordination in your average middle aged versus young dancer in your average club is about the same. So, I essentially feel vindicated.

And then I got a special treat last night. A beautiful Latina, even older than I am, started dancing with me. I've known her for some time now. She looked beautiful, swinging her hips gently, the soft fabric of her long skirt swishing around her ankles. Her smile whispered, "I'm dancing my dreams and I am doing it well."

Let's all dance our dreams. If we do it genuinely, we will be beautiful.

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