When I think of Christmas, I still hear my grandfather whistle harmonies to the Christmas classics of Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, and Frank Sinatra. To this day, I cannot get through a holiday season without watching Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye dance and sing in White Christmas.
My fantasy would be to have the grace of these dancers, singing and moving in unison with each other. However, when I dance, I resemble Elaine Benes from Seinfeld, spastically moving around the room, always one step off the whole time. Because of this, whenever I have had a chance to hit the dance floor in the past, I usually sat and watched instead.
Last December, while listening for the first time to “I Hope You Dance” on a Spotify playlist, I was struck with the way those words reflected my hope for 2024. Right then, I decided it was time for me to quit being a wallflower and instead dance my heart out. 2023 had been a year of trudging one step in front of the other, just trying to survive the first year without Anthony. I wanted more for 2024. I wanted to live. I hoped for a booklet to provide me with the secrets to dance, a step-by-step process to find joy again, to dream again, and to thrive again. However, there is no such book. There are no Arthur Murray lessons I could take. Regardless, I tried. I figured out a few new dance moves, a few new truths of dancing in this life of ours, including some of these:
- There are moments of utter joy. I spent numerous days last December in my hometown, soaking up the waterfront views of Lakeland, sitting beside my favorite lake while writing, and visiting childhood friends. This June, I spent 3 days alone in a little cabin in north Texas writing and reading on my annual Writing Retreat. I have spent time with family in Illinois and Florida, laughing and loving. I have sat across the table from my two sons, watching them interact, laugh, and share the events of their lives. These are the moments where my heart lifts off the ground, pirouettes in the air, and glides in beautiful harmony with life.
- There are moments of utter pride. Nothing could have made me happier this year than to watch my youngest, Jonathan, walk across the platform at Baylor University, receiving his bachelor’s degree in Environmental Studies. Andy and I whooped and hollered. Standing beside Jonathan in his cap and gown after the ceremony, I thought of all the challenges he faced with ADHD, dyslexia, and dysgraphia. Yet, his hard work and dedication had paid off, and he was dancing on his own!
- It is important to listen to your own rhythm. Jonathan worked as a full-time front desk clerk at LaQuinta for 4 months, even though it wasn’t his dream job. He continued looking and got a full-time job at the Waco Animal Shelter this fall. He has remained true to his passion for the environment and animals. When he talks of his new job, his joy reverberates because he has found what makes his heart beat and skip and bebop.
- Dancing means knowing when to let go. Andy is still in Reno, Nevada, with a new job at Tesla. He is director of new projects, now working on the powertrain for the electric semi-truck, rather than focusing on just the battery. He has found his own dance moves, snowboarding at Tahoe, driving to San Francisco for a weekend, and camping with friends in the desert or beside mountain rivers.
- In every dance, there are moments of utter exhaustion and sadness. If the smile on my face or my dedication to my job were the measures, everyone would think I was fine and happy, completely “back to normal.” I don’t think anyone goes through the shocks of my past 4 years without a bit of a limp. The dance is not the same dance as it was. Some days are hard. Some are even harder. Some days the house is just too empty to endure. However, as listless as my spirit may be, I still find a way to move to the beat, even if it is just to enjoy the excitement of my dog during her morning ride, to savor the taste of a cold Coke Zero, or to reflect on the waver of the flame on my fire pit.
- It is OK if your dance moves are different from others. This year while listening to an audiobook about autism in females, I recognized so many similarities that I found myself in tears. After a psychological evaluation, I discovered I am neurodivergent, meaning that the way my brain twirls and twists and meanders is that way for a reason: my brain moves differently than most. Understanding this has helped me love the way I “dance” even more. Rather than wondering why I cannot be like others, I am now learning to appreciate me just like I am. (For a great read, check out the children’s book Giraffes Can’t Dance—I am that giraffe!)
- Dancing with others strengthens the dance. I am still teaching full-time at Temple College, and I am the department chair of English and Foreign Languages, working with about 32 faculty teaching on 11 different campuses. I love what I do. Helping faculty discover their strengths and supporting their endeavors is one of my life joys. I cannot imagine my life without my work friends/family.
- The dance may change at any moment—and it may not look like the dance you imagined. Once you have faced the unexpected phone call or knock on your front door with life-changing news, the way you dance changes. I have stopped worrying so much about what others think, so I have attended a James Taylor concert completely by myself in another state, taken weekly summer antique shop trips headed in a different direction to places I have never been, and literally danced in the rain in my backyard. I find ways to create spots of joy in my yard and house.
Never would I have imagined life would turn out like it has, but I am invested in this dance—no matter if it is clogging, ballet, or Texas two-step. I may not do the dance steps like anyone else. I may be waving my arms up when they should be down, but I am still dancing. I am still Elaine Benes physically, but I have taken every chance I could in 2024 to move to my own heartbeat around my figurative dance floor of life, to acknowledge and honor my feelings at each moment, and to live with my arms spread open. I love big. I feel big, so I am trying to dance big, too.
May your 2025 be one full of foxtrots, jitterbugs, heel pivots, and even some hula. “And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance.” I will be out on the dance floor with you!
