Forget about Dancing Queen … I was almost home and I saw Dancing Man. It was so surreal. So surreal that it makes me wonder if perhaps he was an angel or if my head was just fuzzy from cold medicine but any which way Dancing Man has a story to tell.
He was walking. He was wearing a little jogging suit. And he had music playing in his ears. He would walk a few feet and then he’d do this jig — he’d dance. Now keep in mind that Dancing Man was doing his thing on Old Hickory Blvd near I-65 at rush hour. Dancing Man was doing his jig on the High Street.
I was actually somewhat mesmirized by Dancing Man. He was so alive. You could see joy dancing in his body as light spinned out like a disco ball. And he was doing this with cars and cars and cars and cars passing by – not fast but very slowly (it was rush hour). He didn’t care.
I couldn’t help but think as I watched Dancing Man about what my friend Ali said today on her blog about whole-heartedly wearing her skin. Dancing Man was whole-heartedly wearing his skin without any shame.
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
As we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
Nelson Mandela, Inauguration Speech, 1994
Whole-heartedly wearing my own skin. working on it. definitely working on it.
May I, like Dancing Man, one day be free enough to twirl in the middle of rush hour spinning beams of light on the world around me. And may I one day be as comfortable in whole-heartedly wearing my own skin as Dancing Man.
So maybe we should remember Dancing Queen after all. The party is always better when the dance floor is full. And even Dancing Man looked pretty daft on his tod.