Day 66 of 365: old people can still dance

I enjoyed a girls’ night this evening at a bar (with fabulous live music!) where 95% of the patrons were 60 and above. And holy Kevin Bacon, could they dance!

I had a few moments of getting tears in my eyes while I saw the older married couples… because I’m a romantic and because of course I’d like to think that there’s a possibility of old married couples still being in love and going out dancing together on Friday nights as their weekly date night.

Also there was one song that mentioned something about a big butt or a nice butt or something similar, and an older guy in his 70’s dancing with his [presumably] wife sang that part out loud and then playfully spun her around to get a good look at her ass. Later he buried his face in her neck and kissed or nibbled.

The ass comment and neck nibbling isn’t what brought the tears behind my eyes, though I did smile a lot while watching these older folks get feisty. It was the slow-dancing couples that tickled my tear ducts.

The thought of each couple (in reference to those married or together for a long time) standing and swaying in that present moment, carrying with them a lifetime of memories with this other person… Fights and firsts, surprises and holidays, perhaps kids or dogs or a bunch of cats or a mediocre herb garden… Together in the “now” shimmying about, smiling. Fully enjoying each other.

I know that I’m applying my own meaning to all of this. Old Man Constable and his Lady Gretchen may actually hate each other. Maybe their therapist recommended they come to this. Maybe Constable needs the exercise for his heart, and Gretch forces him out. Or maybe Con is married to Eunice and Gretchen to Earl and this is their sneaky night out.

There are endless possible combinations, and I get that. What was cool for me is that my interpretation and my initial perspective was a joyful one.

This is a big deal.

I used to hate people.

Or at least, I used to say that I hated people. Really I was afraid of people, I think. This was before I realized that we’re all insecure and we all have weird fantasies and everybody poops. No one is special-er than another.

Which brings me to the group of ladies I was with. I’m blessed to be at a place in my life where my group of girlfriends is growing. And they like me for me. Because I allow myself to be myself in front of these people.

And that is fucking weird. In the past, I’d push potential mates and friends away because I’d be convinced that they only liked me for the ideal they had of me. They only liked who they thought I was. They didn’t know the messy insides.

And now… The people in my life do know the messy insides. I actively challenge myself to share vulnerably… And guess what? I’m not scaring people away.

In fact, we’re just getting closer.

It’s like… The more of myself I share, the more of myself there is to love. As if sharing myself exposes more of me to the sunlight. So I can be, y’know, seen. Really truly seen.

It can feel terrifying at times, for so many to have access to my behind-the-scenes.

It’s also the most freeing feeling I’ve ever experienced. To not be held back or down by some false standards I or another applied to myself. I’m finally allowing myself to be me. With my ridiculous dance moves and cackle laugh and big romantic heart and all.

Grateful… And tired…



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Some days, I paint. Other days, I write. And rap. And tell stories. And do comedy. And doodle. And [attempt to] bake. And, one week out of every month, I merge with my sofa and sob about mortality and things like the existence of air and how we can't live without it and how utterly claustrophobic that is to consider. I'm relatively particular. And this is a place for me to share ALL the quirks.

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