Dance Like Nobody's Watching

Greetings, friends.  Today I want to inject some silliness into your day.  It’s Friday.  We should be able to cut lose and have fun.  I recommend dancing.  That’s right.  Dancing. 

I work in an office and spend most of my day sitting so a couple of months ago I started walking around the perimeter of my building on my breaks to get some exercise in.  It quickly became a boring chore.  So I started popping my earbuds in and taking some tunes with me during my strolls.  Something to know about me, if I hear a catchy tune, I have to dance.  I know, it sounds embarrassing, and it WAS embarrassing for a long time, but it’s a knee-jerk reaction that I can’t prevent.  Now that I’m old I just don’t care about the court of public opinion.  If I feel like dancing, I’m going to dance.  So now I dance around the building rather than just walk.  It feels amazing and is an even better workout than just walking.

You might be thinking, “But Andrea, I CAN’T dance.”  To that I say ‘Nonsense!’  Technically, I can’t dance, either.  I look like everybody’s fat uncle that takes over the dance floor at weddings with feet stomping and arms flailing.  That’s why I don’t dance in front of mirrors.  I don’t need to see that.  I have enough self-esteem issues as is.  As long as I can’t see myself, I dance.  Feet stomping, arms flailing, dance.  I’m sure I look incredibly stupid, but in my head I’m a sexy beast.  Here’s the best part, apparently people don’t think I’m a total wackjob!  Yesterday I was in the restroom washing my hands when another woman walked in.  She went to enter a stall, but paused and turned to face me.  The conversation went something like this:

Her: Hey, you’re happy dancing girl, aren’t you?

Me: Excuse Me?

Her: We see you sometimes dancing around the building.

Me: (face turning bright red, searching for a rock to hide under) Yeah.  I guess that’s me.

Her: You’re always smiling and lip-synching and having your own little party. You must be the happiest person in the whole state!

Me: Ummm.  Thanks.  I try.

Her: Nice to meet you.  Keep dancing!

Now, I’d like to point out that she never asked for my name.  For her I will always be ‘happy dancing girl’.  Feet stomping, arms flailing, lip-synching like I was Brittany Spears, happy dancing girl.  And I am totally fine with that.

Today’s exercise is simple.  Just dance.  Put on your favorite music and cut a rug.  You don’t have to do it out in the world.  Just push the coffee table out of the way and bust a move.  The dog will look at you funny, but he sniffs other dogs butts, so what does he know about class?  Go crazy.  Sing into your hairbrush if you want to.  However you do it, just move.  This is not about forcing you to exercise.  It’s not meant to feel like a chore.  I just want you to have, in the words of Grey’s Anatomy, a 30-second dance party.  I want you to smile.  I want you to laugh.  I want you to be happy dancing girl if only for a moment.