I couldn’t dance. I remember being on a dance floor when I was sixteen, my friend trying to show me how to do a basic figure eight movement with my hips and I felt like an old woman made of wood. I had limited moves – I couldn’t even master this one and besides, I hated getting attention. It was embarrassing.
Then a few years later I was on a different dance floor and I noticed that no one was paying attention to me, they were too busy being self conscious of themselves. The realisation hit and I snapped out of my lifelong funk. It felt like a spell was broken. I had never felt so much joy and freedom while dancing before, and lo – my hips moved eight ways, up and down, sideways on their own. It was exhilarating. Now when I get going, I don’t want to stop.
It was also crazy liberating – not being able to dance was all in my head. It was a limiting belief that came from – well, I wonder?
Was it from being expected to move like Beyoncé in her music videos, but not having the automatic grasp of it? Was it my friends laughing at my attempts? Was it the rock music I was into at the time wasn’t the type of beat I thrived in?
Whatever it was, I was over it.
And I think that’s what’s happening with my writing.
“I can’t write”, I tell myself.
But given the right circumstances, I most certainly can. And I will!
Just gotta find the right beat :’)
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Also here is the Lo Fi soundtrack I’ve been writing to a lot to recently: