Because I don't need permission to dance. I will not waste precious time sitting on the sidelines waiting to be asked to the floor like some forlorn teenage girl at prom--not when I can be a song beating out the rhythm of my joy.
I have allowed myself to sit too long on these foldout chairs, a would-be-wallflower wilting under the silence, the invisibility of my own hesitation. It is no longer enough, a small voice inside me whispers, to sit and observe. Abstaining from the pleasure right in front of you is no virtue.
And it is a pleasure, a pleasure to never be without a dance partner because they see you are unafraid of hips and hands and feet and sweat. It is a pleasure to twirl around the dance floor, allowing each turn to peel away one more petal from that old wallflower until you are the boldest expression of your dance.
You are no longer vulnerable when that last petal falls to the ground, forever banishing those years of sideline-sitting because in your desire to move your body there is freedom. There is power in your grace, though it is your job to follow. And even if you lose a step or fall out of rhythm, you are on the dance floor all the same.
And you will stay on that dance floor (those old foldout chairs a distant memory of some other woman).
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