Shall We Dance?

Sometimes as you get older, you discover something about yourself. In the last month, I have realized that I love to dance.

Not the beautiful, stately dances a la Jane Austen, or the romantic waltz that requires a skilled partner to be any fun. Just modern gyrations that make no sense other than they follow the beat (mostly). And they bring me joy.

Now, I am a terrible dancer. I admit this. For those of you who remember Seinfeld, cast your mind to Elaine’s spastic leg kicking and thumb tossing movements. I’m not that bad. I stay contained in my own space for the most part. But I love it.

I have discovered that it is fun to be forty-six years old and no longer give a flip about whether or not I look ridiculous. I am sorry it took me this long, but I am so grateful that it happened.

Whatever your age, if you try to stay open to the moving of your own heart, it may lead you to an undiscovered country. You might sing, you might write a song, you might climb a mountain. You might even dance.

Ever since Christy English picked up a fake sword in stage combat class at the age of fourteen, she has lived vicariously through the sword-wielding women of her imagination. Sometimes an actor, always a storyteller, Christy works happily with Sourcebooks Casablanca to bring the knife-throwing women of her novels to life. A banker by day and a writer by night, she loves to eat chocolate, drink too many soft drinks, and walk the mountain trails of her home in western North Carolina.