Dance Like No One's Watching

I dance.

Yes, I know, so does everyone.

But you know the phrase “dance like there is no one watching”? I take it literally. It is something early this summer I promised myself I would try. I’m not sure how hyped up on coffee I was when I made that particular promise to myself but that’s beside the point.

Every day, bar none… I set aside four minutes of my life to lock myself in my bedroom, the bathroom or sometimes the living room or kitchen (hoping that my mum or stepdad didn’t suddenly need something from the fridge) to dance.

Photo Credit: per Sattva

Photo Credit: per Sattva

I’ve danced to everything from Lionel Richie, Emeli Sande, One Direction (yes, One Direction), JLS, Rihanna, Coldplay, Michael Jackson, Psy, Tinie Tempah, Miley Cyrus, Taylor Swift, Nicki Minaj, Passenger, Keri Hilson, Kanye West to Neil Diamond and Kenny Rogers. I’ve danced to everything from Bach, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky to Vbyz Kartel and I-Octane. I’ve danced to Bunji Garlin, Machel Montano, Tian Winter. I’ve danced to whatever happened to playing when I put on my music player. Hell, once I danced to “Hurt” by Johnny Cash (this was an oddly liberating experience). But most importantly I dance like an idiot. I waltz (I don’t even know how to), do fake ballet, sway, whine, wuk up, twerk (I don’t expect and invitation to the twerk team but hey, I figure I do a better than job than Miley Cyrus #truth) and then there were times when I am just a mass of limbs moving somewhat surprisingly to whatever rhythm I landed on. Did I mention I also lip sync as well?

For four minutes every day I allow myself to forget about expectations, about what looks cool and about what looks “right”. For four minutes I allow myself to forget everything and I let the silly in me out. And considering how much of my silly I keep in on an average day, it feels good – damn good. In those four minutes no one gets to judge me, I don’t even get to judge myself.

For those four minutes I’m free. It is a catharsis.

Maybe one day I will take a page of out Sara Bareilles’ book and, a la the music video for Brave, dance like no one is looking while everyone looks. If that wouldn’t be an invigorating experience (for me at least), I don’t know what would.

Excuse me…

I think I’m going to try twerking to Tchaikovsky.