Dancing with Myself

This stream of consciousness from a recent concert night out that sparked a realization:

Cheering in the stadium & dancing in the club share sensory input - the roar of the bass reverberating on my breastbone. The mass enjoyment. Not wanting it to end, but knowing it can't continue. And then the inevitable, a light hand on my back. The too long silence & the spell is broken. My unred yet magical shoes stop moving of their own volition, despite my will. My hands fall to my side. And I am still.

In those instances when I'm free, part of a greater event but in my own space, I realise that somewhere along my journey I've become really independent. Mum's the word would suggest that I've always been a fearless girl - someone who would pick an adventure and go for it. But only recently has that trait come as a free choice for a woman whose life is full of love instead of a necessary strategy for a girl who believes she's the only one she can rely on.

So tonight I took myself out on a date. And I have to say, I really know how to show a girl a good time. Baan Thai for green chicken curry. Sitting at the bar wondering at the people looking so nervous in their own skin. Grateful for my yummy, spicy food and not having to hide in my journal or behind a magazine but just being in there. And then escaping to Wonder/Underland with Alice, and being fully engrossed in the movie without whispering to or wondering what's going on for who I'm with.

I still love going being with others. But what I'm realising is that I'm really good at dancing with myself. And sometimes I even prefer it. Not always. But sometimes.