“I wanna dance with somebody who loves me.”
And I did.
He spun the Bob Dylan album on my bright blue turntable, took my hand, and we danced in the glow of my computer screen – my bedroom as the dance floor. He wrapped his arms around my waist and guided me on top of his feet like a father teaching her little one to dance. I was never any good at dancing, but he taught me how to simply feel the music. Feel it deep inside my bones, and just enjoy the moment, before the track and time is up. Before the clock strikes twelve.
I have danced with him for 365 days and I want to keep dancing, dipping, and twirling for 365 more.
As we spun and twirled around the mahogany-stained wooden floor, my thoughts began to sway with the folksy beat and became flooded with images of him.
My hand resting on his shoulder.
His stomach glued against mine.
My laugh replaced the music.
His smile replaced the pale glow of the computer screen, transforming into one million lanterns floating in the midnight sky.
We were one: One person. One human. One soul.
He wasn’t trying to swoon or amaze me in any way. He was swaying to the melody of our hearts beating as one; my chest against his. Each step we took was the act of one. There was no competition, no need for one to follow the other, because the energy could simply be felt. And it ignited like a forest fire, overcoming me with a sense of warmth and safety. It felt like coming home after a long, frigid winter day, sipping hot chocolate by crackling logs under a fleece blanket.
When the song ended, he stepped away, and looked at me with a slight, but soft smile. I wish he hadn’t stopped, I wanted to keep dancing all night. I wanted to be so close to him that we literally morphed into one. Even as our bodies were crushed up against each other as we danced to If Not For You and I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight, it didn’t feel close enough. I wanted to be closer than that.
The truth is, every person out there wants a fairy tale ending. They want to go for a whimsical ride in a magic pumpkin without losing their shoes. They want to take what their mothers and fathers have recited over and over again in story books, and bring that magic to life with a little bippity-boppity-boo.
We will lose lots of things – bobby pins, car keys, time, and people – but sometimes you just have to keep moving through life onto the next thing until you find a pair of dancing shoes that fit just right.
They’re not too tight, too limiting. They aren’t too loose so that you trip over the notes. They’re snug enough to fit you through life. They will get beat up through the pirouettes. The leather will scuff up, peel, and the soles will ware and fade to black. If you’ve really danced, perhaps there will even be a hole or two.
Lose the shoes anyway. Walking through life barefoot is more of an adventure. It builds calluses and makes you tough. Let the bottoms of your heels and toes feel like the working of someone who has wandered in the desert for years and years. Wander through this life without regrets. Find your dancing partner, and dance like everyone is watching, because in the end, the music will stop. And I hope you like your playlist, and your dancing partner, when you look back.
I think my girl Whitney Houston had a point. Don’t just dance through this life with anyone. Don’t settle on easy or what feels comfortable, because things in this world are meant to be difficult and uncomfortable. You’re supposed to feel awkward, like you have two left feet. Don’t just dance through life with anyone. Dance with somebody who loves you. And even if you feel like you may not have a dancing partner, you’re wrong. God will always dance through His beautiful world with you.
He’s the cool guy every girl wants as her prom date. Sometimes, He’s the shy one hiding in the back, and you choose not to notice him. Every day, he stretches out his hand and whispers, “May I have this dance?”
It’s up to you whether or not to choose “yes.”
This is your song. Please choose yes.
soul.dier scripts 