Dancing For The Soul
Photo by Olivia Bauso on Unsplash.
It’s a no-brainer that music and dance go hand in hand. There are certainly some people in the world that can stand still while music is playing — I’m definitely not one of those people anymore, but at one point dancing was a thorn in my side.
Growing up religious, I had a strange relationship with music. I was taught that music should only exist in a space of worship. Lyrics were supposed to be about God, otherwise they were deemed worldly or demonic. Tunes that were too upbeat or grandiose vocals were distracting and dancing in the front row of the chapel was only acceptable if it was done in worship of Jesus. Even then, dancing was generally frowned upon. Everything was kept humble, mild and somber for the sake of focus. When you came to worship, you came to commune with God and fellowship with the body of Christ. Music that wasn’t about God was drawing attention to yourself or worldly desires, and that was bad.
I was home-schooled up until middle school, so I was not exposed to a lot of mainstream or secular music for a long time. We didn’t dance in my house nor did we sing. If I was caught doing it, there was an air of embarrassment or humiliation about it. My parents were never mean, but it was just not something that was embraced in my childhood beyond academia — a few ballet classes here, a few theater or choir groups there. When I transitioned to a private Christian school in seventh grade, school dances were my first exposure to non-religious music and dancing for fun. It felt awkward and scary, like everyone’s eyes were on me and I feared judgment. As I continued into high school and started my rebellious phase, I opted for the emo scene, headbanging to metal over dancing. At least in that social group, being weird and different was the point, so it served me to break out of my shell, bit by ever so small bit.
As I got older and went off to college, dancing took a different tone. The clubbing scene was huge for my classmates. Partying every weekend was the norm and crunching your studying in the night before was commonplace. Unfortunately for me, college was not the most exciting period in my life. I moved out when I wasn’t ready, was taking classes full time at the university and at one point, worked three jobs just to get by. It was a stressful season. I didn’t have time to enjoy music, much less dancing and partying or socializing. Out of the four years I attended college, I believe I went to two or three house parties total. I couldn’t take vacations and barely had energy for anything extra curricular. No concerts, no music festivals.
Dancing was something I truly began to understand in the years after graduating college. I landed a job in my field and started accruing vacation hours. I had more time for a social life and slowly, I collected a small circle of friends. I became more independent and free-thinking. It wasn’t until I attended my first concerts and music festivals that I saw the raw beauty of dance — old hippies twirling their hands in the air, children spinning in wild circles, women my age flailing their arms and legs in abandon. I was exposed to a different visage of humanity, dressing up in costumes for the hell of it, howling at the moon in the desert at midnight, celebrating music with a magical wonder in the same vein as holiday cheer. No one cared what you looked like. Dancing was an expression, a way to connect to the spiritual world and others around us.
It is, quite frankly, worship.
It’s a worship of art, a worship of humanity, a worship of life itself. Oftentimes in my adult years I have found myself wondering about Heaven in the midst of a concert. I remembered my days raised in the church, listening to hundreds of people singing along to the same lyrics, raising their hands to the sky. That love and embrace of music didn’t change for me as I grew older. Dance is no longer something that’s uncomfortable for me. Dance is not confined to religion. It’s not a nod to any one entity, nor is it a self-absorbed display for attention. It’s an untamed embodiment of music, something I believe goes beyond our earthly understanding and certainly beyond man-made faiths.
When the COVID-19 pandemic reached my state and everything shut down, I didn’t realize how important dance was for me until it was gone. I think part of the reason why some people are having such a hard time with mental health during quarantine is because of this lack of unbridled art, being near live music, boogieing with our fellow humans, sharing in joy and worshiping life. For those who don’t prioritize music or dance, it wasn’t a big deal.
For people like me, it’s our lifeblood — and I didn’t even know it.
Recently I attended a music event for the first time in almost six months. I went to a socially distanced, masked art reception during what was supposed to be Burn night at Burning Man. It was a fundraiser for a group called the Empathy CoOp.
At first I felt that familiar self-consciousness creeping in: “I don’t want to look silly,” “What if someone’s watching me,” “I hope I don’t trip or fall.” Then I watched as burners and performers let loose on the floor, twisting, turning, smiling and laughing, kicking their feet into the air. I’ve never felt my spirit literally get lighter within my body, but it was the most incredible wave of bliss I’ve felt in a long time. Eventually I followed suit, allowing myself to dance and release my worry and anxiety.
It was the happiest night I’ve had in half a year.
If you’re feeling down or heavy, I highly encourage you to stop what you’re doing right now. Get up, put an upbeat song on and dance. Even if it’s swaying side to side, even if it’s bopping your head, even if it’s only for a few minutes. Dance to let go, to move your body, to be present and in the moment.
You might be surprised at how you feel afterward.
To learn about the Empathy CoOp, visit this link here.
