At a conference after party, folks are getting frisky as Eminem comes on.
A dance circle coalesces.
Reps from other companies are jumping in and being silly.
They cry “Oh!” and “Hey!” as the official videographer captures footage.
My co-worker turns to me and says “You should go in. This is your moment.”
I look at her and shake my head.
For others, dancing might be like juggling or speaking in Klingon.
It’s a party trick, a silly diversion.
For me, it’s like writing a poem or sharing a secret.
Dance is personal and intimate.
I’m exposing myself, the rawest, truest part of me.
It’s not something I can just turn on and off like a faucet.
I sip my Diet Coke and bop my head in time to Dua Lipa.