Gotta Dance

I've been making a conscious effort to be, well, more conscious of my true desires lately, and I've noticed that I often just want to dance.

I mean, not like ballroom dance, but when I'm at the grocery store, and I hear some BeeGees, sometimes I just want to bebop a little. So, I made a decision that when I want to dance, I dance.

Sometimes people back away slowly while I'm nodding my head and doing my little bumbling hula moves in the produce section. (I never said I was a good dancer, my pretties.) But sometimes, people see me in my mini-groove and they join in. I like that.

I usually get the happy feet when I'm at the gym, too. I get some looks, but I figure I'm burning a few more calories, right? Right.

This move to listen to what I want, regardless of how it looks to others, has had other repercussions than the boogie woogie. I had my first guitar lesson in nearly six years last week. Eeeeek.

I'm excited to learn from my teacher, Towson. He has the longest thumbnail I have ever seen, and for a 23-year-old beautiful, urban man with a head full of dreads who is likely very gay, he seemed sincere when he told me he was excited to help me develop my bluegrass techniques.

I got another heap of encouragement in the form of an e-mail from a pilot with whom I used to work and hadn't spoken with in at least five years, Paul. He got hold of some of my songs from a mutual friend and wrote to tell me how much he loved it ("It's stuff I would actually listen to."). Moreover, he was happy and proud that I was putting my music out there so I wouldn't regret not pursuing it, which I know seems funny to many of you who still haven't heard any of my stuff.

My music makes me feel very vulnerable, like anything else that I'm not entirely convinced I am good at. In that vein, the thought of playing basketball or of baking a cake frightens me because, sweet heaven above, what if I try it and fail and people realize I'm not good at everything? Oh, we humans are funny.

But, Paul was always one of my favorites and he said he remembered when I first got the guitar and was amazed at how far I'd come. Paul is probably the epitome of many women's fantasies: he's a rock star pilot, who manages to play with two bands when he's not soaring through the clouds.

Paul's kind words got me thinking that, you know, we really can have everything we want. We really can.

The only obstacle I'm encountering to that theory is I forgot when I exercise, my boobs are the first areas to shrink, which is a crying shame. I mean, it really is. But it seems I have more than enough to spare.

So, I'm just going to keep on sweating. And dancing. And singing. And strumming. And knowing that everything works out as it should (especially me).

In the Comments section, tell me what you want. What you really, really want. –Because I wanna, I wanna ziga zig ah.


Oh, some of you are still lovingly pissed off at me for my chubby confession and think I simply chose a bad photo of myself, which is true, but it's an accurately bad photo. But, here is one of my sisters and the kidders and me that I actually quite like. I find the Diet Coke highly ironic. Now, kindly take your love and concern and stuff it. Nuttin' but lurve.