I’ve been dancing in the park
One March morning, instead of walking to the kitchen to make my daily matcha, I turned right, put on my shoes, and walked out the door.
I walked past cars headed to work, and kids biking to school, until I reached the cracked crosswalk that marked the entrance to my favorite neighborhood park.
I cut across the grass and made my way towards my go-to spot under the redwoods. I gently put down my things and looked around.
There were cars circling the park border, a person sitting on a bench, and dog walkers strolling through the park.
My heart began to race.
I took off my glasses, turning the world into a blur.
Much better.
I took a breath.
I put in my headphones.
And I began to dance.
—
It all started at the Blue Bottle in San Mateo.
That day, I had to take my virtual meeting from a coffee shop. It was for a group coaching program, but I was only a participant. I didn’t expect there to be a problem.
Until I heard my coach say this —
“In celebration of our month-long challenge, Ben would like to lead us through some celebratory dance and movement. Are you all in?”
While the rest of the group expressed joy and excitement, my jaw dropped.
Fuuuuuuuck.
I laughed nervously, then raised my hand.
“Uhmmmm, can this be done inside a coffee shop?”
“If you want the challenge,” Ben said.
With that, we got started.
I’m not sure what compelled me to do it. At first, I tried to hide. I pointed and laughed at my computer screen so people would know I wasn’t crazy. I even sat back down and tried to do the movements from my seat.
But at some point, I gave in to it all.
And for the next TWENTY minutes, I DANCED.
We shook our limbs, we boogied, we schmooved. We pretended we knew tai chi and did our own flowy movements. We virtually paired up and performed a dance-off. We leaned into the silly and stayed far far away from looking cool.
And I did it all within the confines of that coffee shop.
I was so certain that someone would tell me to leave. That people would openly stare and judge.
But it never happened.
When I finally got up to leave and took a look around, not a single person cast a second glance in my direction.
No one. fucking. cared.
It was as if my spontaneous dance break had never happened.
It was shocking.
Freeing.
And I walked away feeling like I could do basically anything.
—
Since then, every morning, I’ve been dancing in the park.
My routine starts off slow. I’m a little creaky, a little self-conscious.
What I do looks no different than a morning stretch at first.
But over time, I give in to the music. As it shifts from genre to genre, so do I. Underneath those beautiful redwoods, I let myself flow — from graceful twirls, to spunky hair flips, to angsty head bobbing.
No movement is too weird or too big.
And as I move, my heart and body begin to relax.
The world gets less scary.
And I feel more and more at home.
—
If you had asked me one year ago, even 3 months ago, if I could imagine myself doing this, I would have laughed in disbelief.
NOPE.
That was sure as hell not me.
I was the kind of person who never wanted to stand out.
Who danced only in settings where you could hide in the crowd.
Who won’t sing even one karaoke song on her own.
Anything where I might end up looking weird? I stayed far far away.
Because the last thing I wanted was to look like a fool.
Dance was my natural enemy. It was too expressive, too loud. I craved structure and rigid technique with few degrees of freedom (hello sports), where it was easier to do it “right”.
But doing it “right” came at a cost. The more I learned through coaching and somatic work, the more I aware I became of the tension that I carried.
And I was tired of it.
Tired of living a life where I didn’t fully trust myself.
Where I had to draw within the lines.
I yearned for more freedom, for the ability to be unabashedly myself.
But for that to happen, I had to start expressing myself.
I had to gather the courage to take the leap.
—
I reach the end of my three songs,
and take a seat on my favorite brown wire bench.
My bare feet pressed into the dirt,
sweat dripping down my spine.
I breathe.
And I find stillness.
Silence comes so easy after all that.
There’s no need to force it.
I hear the birds chirp away, the wind rush through the trees.
Everything feels natural, easeful.
And for a moment, I feel so at peace.
—
I never thought I’d still be dancing two months later. New habits are hard for me.
But I think keep doing it because it feels SO DAMN GOOD.
Dance has made things feel lighter.
Asking hard questions, reaching out to people, being the center of attention — it all feels easier.
Just the very way I carry myself feels easier.
Dancing in the park has become about so much more than just dance.
It’s about letting go of the need to be perfect, polite, and unassuming.
It’s about leaning into looking weird and dumb, and still feeling like I deserve to exist.
Because of dance, I now feel like I can create what I want,
show up as I want,
do what I want.
Because here’s the truth.
No one fucking cares.
And knowing that has granted me true freedom.
Yessss!!! Go Kelly go!!!!