Let's face it. There's not too many positive things going on in the world lately. The economy is going down the toilet faster than Caroline's potty attempts. I rarely talk to someone who isn't concerned about the stability of his or her job and fearful to be living paycheck to paycheck or potentially losing benefits. Not to mention, summer is around the corner, along with high gas prices and out-of-pocket vacation expenses. Will there be an end to the madness? When is the bend around the corner?
I join the millions concerned about life right now. I'm your classic worry wort. For each positive thought I have, my brain instantly counters with a concern.
It's sunny out today. What if I get a sunburn?
We were invited to a party this weekend. I have nothing to wear.
My job is paying for me to take a class. What if I fail?
I'm joining a new social club. What if nobody likes me?
You get the idea. My job, my spouse, my parents, my spouse's parents, my kid, my friends, the economy, the news, the environment, the endangered polar bears and the receding ice caps: they are all swirling around in my head in a big ball of worry. I just want it to all be ok. We're all going to be ok, aren't we?
I let the weight of the world fall on my shoulders and my neck is killing me. I try the usual suspects to help me through the pain like yoga, running, chocolate, a funny movie, a good book and then there's wine. Lots of wine. (After Caroline's bed time and only on weekends, of course.)
These work, somewhat, but I've found most days, before work, after work and before family time and during some of the above mentioned activities, I find myself doing the same thing: dancing.
The cure is thumping, repetitive beat, LOUD music. Whether in the car, on the treadmill or in the living room, I love to turn up the volume and break it down. Like Kevin Kline in the movie "In&Out" I can not listen to a great song and keep my body from moving. First, it's one leg, quickly keeping in step with the beat. Then, a shoulder and then the other one. Finally, I let my whole body wriggle. If I'm not driving, I add in some hoochy momma moves, grinding and bumping the air, shaking my hips and "going low" to the ground, or at least as far as I can get without falling over onto my butt. If I am on the treadmill I let my mind take me to a dance club where I'm wearing a Madonna "Holiday" like get up with a crew of dancers behind me. We form a V and I'm in the front. I end in a split.
There are so many great dance songs but lately my favorite is a regular pop-favorite, Lady Gaga's, "Let's Dance":
I join the millions concerned about life right now. I'm your classic worry wort. For each positive thought I have, my brain instantly counters with a concern.
It's sunny out today. What if I get a sunburn?
We were invited to a party this weekend. I have nothing to wear.
My job is paying for me to take a class. What if I fail?
I'm joining a new social club. What if nobody likes me?
You get the idea. My job, my spouse, my parents, my spouse's parents, my kid, my friends, the economy, the news, the environment, the endangered polar bears and the receding ice caps: they are all swirling around in my head in a big ball of worry. I just want it to all be ok. We're all going to be ok, aren't we?
I let the weight of the world fall on my shoulders and my neck is killing me. I try the usual suspects to help me through the pain like yoga, running, chocolate, a funny movie, a good book and then there's wine. Lots of wine. (After Caroline's bed time and only on weekends, of course.)
These work, somewhat, but I've found most days, before work, after work and before family time and during some of the above mentioned activities, I find myself doing the same thing: dancing.
The cure is thumping, repetitive beat, LOUD music. Whether in the car, on the treadmill or in the living room, I love to turn up the volume and break it down. Like Kevin Kline in the movie "In&Out" I can not listen to a great song and keep my body from moving. First, it's one leg, quickly keeping in step with the beat. Then, a shoulder and then the other one. Finally, I let my whole body wriggle. If I'm not driving, I add in some hoochy momma moves, grinding and bumping the air, shaking my hips and "going low" to the ground, or at least as far as I can get without falling over onto my butt. If I am on the treadmill I let my mind take me to a dance club where I'm wearing a Madonna "Holiday" like get up with a crew of dancers behind me. We form a V and I'm in the front. I end in a split.
There are so many great dance songs but lately my favorite is a regular pop-favorite, Lady Gaga's, "Let's Dance":
"Just dance, gonna be okay, da da doo-doo-mmm. Just dance, spin that record babe, da da doo-doo-mmm. Just dance, gonna be okay, d-d-d-dance. Dance, dance, just, j-j-just dance."
I don't know what tomorrow brings but I know it's gonna be okay and no matter what, I'm gonna just, j-j-j-just dance.
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