So You Know You Can’t Dance?

I can not dance.

It is no secret really.  I avoid the whole dance thing.  I usually say it is because while I have an inherent sense of rhythm (the musician in me) my feet have not been informed of this fact and therefore dancing is impossible.  But really it is a lack of confidence that has stopped me from being the dancing fool I know I probably could be if I let myself.  The idea of shaking a body that I believe to be too big, not to mention the possibility of that look (you know the one, the one that says…poor delusional fat girl…shaking while everyone is watching…she shakes enough just walking much less dancing).   I am self-conscious about me and so I avoid any situations where movement is accentuated.

In fact, this refusal to dance has led me to say something that some find bizzare:  If I ever met a man who made me WANT to dance, I was gonna marry him cause it would mean that he made me put aside my reservations and just be.  (So careful to any would-be suitors:  If you ask me to dance, you may be in for the long haul if I say yes).

I notice this lack of confidence in other places as well.  I don’t lift my hands in church usually – and never on stage unless forced – because it accentuates the jiggle under the arms.  I avoid looking in the mirrors at the gym – something that drives Liz my trainer crazy.  I never never never attempt to see myself in the mirror below the neck.   I try to wear shirts that are too big – or at least too long – so there is no possibility of it riding up and exposing something no one should see.

I have spent a lifetime hiding the very thing that I can’t really hide.  I am not fooling anyone but me by trying to recede into the background.  I am covering up something that can’t be hidden.  It is public whether or not I like it.

You will still not see me dancing anytime soon.  And if you do, one of 2 things has happened – I am getting married or I have met Jesus himself…that would make me dance.


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