Monday, 2 May 2016

On dancing

Why are some of us self-conscious about dancing? I myself am happy to share my intimate thoughts with people on this blog and elsewhere, with full knowledge that an older, wiser me might well look back and think them pathetic and contemptible, but when it comes to moving rhythmically in public, I need a body-weight's-worth of alcohol to get over the hump of what people might think.


I wonder whether it might have something to do with how you view your body, and whether that in turn might be due to how much trouble it's given you. Throughout my teens, twenties and to a lesser extent still today I've experience problems with my back - nothing much in the grand scheme of things, but enough for me to view my body more as a potential traitor that needs to be cushioned and cajoled, punished and placated than as an ally or a friend. Or as simply me, with no interlocutor.

I am my brain; my body is what will eventually kill me.

So when I'm dancing I'm not moving: I'm pushing a thing around. An unwieldy thing that has hurt me before and won't hesitate to do it again. Something to which I don't feel close without the dissolutive effects of alcohol breaking down barriers.

Or maybe I just don't have any rhythm.

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