To dance is to live.
It doesn’t matter if you dance with a partner, with a brush, with a keyboard or with anything else as long as you feel the energy and joy of life flow through you, creative and nurturing, opening you to joy and possibility.
Happy people dance. Their days have playful and loose energy that lubricates every moment, letting them feel light as they go through the everyday, routine struggles of a human existence.
Insufficient dancing, though, and you have no nourishment, no replenishment of the cost of the daily human fight.
People only have so much willpower, so much pure push. Use that up and you feel worn, frayed, decayed, shattered, broken. Unless the reservoir is refilled, the tank runs dry.
Like an engine without oil, a life without the lubrication of dancing, is just a grind, wearing out the moving parts quickly, adding stress, strain and breakdowns to an already compromised system.
When life is almost all fight, the life drains from you quickly. You cling to whatever lets you dance, even if the return is limited, even if it still means a net loss.
For me, writing is where I dance, where I let myself out to flow. While the return from it is very meagre, there is no other place in my life that feels like I get more back that I have to put in. Everything is a cost, nothing a joy.
Running on fumes is hard, so when people tell you that all you have to do is make one more leap, use one more burst of energy, one shot of willpower, to get someplace new and rewarding, it feels like too much work. More than that, it sounds like a lie, because if you have been human for long enough, you know that there is never just one more challenge, there is always a string of them coming your way.
When life is all fight and no dancing, well, that’s not a situation which can last forever. The cycle becomes chicken and egg; how can you find affirming space to dance without fighting to seek for it?
I know how to fight. I have a long history of fighting for other people, and a long history of other people choosing to fight with me, wanting me to be silent and only challenging in ways they desire.
I’m not unhappy, nor am I unable to affirm and amplify the happiness of others. I can still dance in my own sheltered space, alone. Everything hurts, not least of all my feet. I’m tired of fighting and am not hopeful of finding anywhere I can still dance and feel beautiful.
But you have to try again, don’t you?