The Crazy Dancing Lady
I want to admit that I dance in public, and I hold no apologies for it. I do it when I walk the dog and I did it the other day in Whole Foods. I got a few looks from people and that’s just fine with me. How unfortunate most of the world is stuck in caring about what others may think of them. I’ve decided that I will not wait for happiness to come to me, I am happiness itself, so I’ll express it when I want to.
When I dance, it’s not just for the joy I feel in the moment, it’s for all my stories. Today, I felt something stirring inside me. I didn’t really know what it was only that it felt familiar, but I hadn’t felt it for a while. As the day went on and I sat with it, that old familiar friend that I’ll never forget knocked on the door. It said, “hello it’s me.” It was Grief, paying me a visit. As I opened the door and let her in, the tears streamed down my face and gushed out of me and in that moment the celebratory tears flooded and reminded me of how much I miss husband Hassell. I miss his smile, his laughter, his smell, the way he would hold me, the tender way he used to look at me. I miss all the usual things that we take for granted. I allowed myself to feel and like a warm blanket, it brings me comfort knowing the joys of these little things. It also made me realize how very close he still is.
That these feelings can suddenly erupt isn’t a bad or terrible thing but the heart alerting us too how very alive we still are. When grief suddenly erupts after years of loss, it’s not about moving on but pausing to feel the immensity of what loving another human being felt like and still feels like. To receive such a gift and to be able to feel that gift through tears, reflection, and missing that person is a gem that I found in the middle of my day.
I don’t know about anyone else, but my grief journey is awakening my soul to greater heights. There’s a boldness that wasn’t there before and I can’t help but think that it’s because I’ve been giving myself permission to be so very vulnerable, tender, and open with my heart. Sometimes when it comes on, I turn up the music and dance like a wild thing, the pets’ scatters in fear of the wild crazy dancing lady. There’s something therapeutic about losing yourself in your raw humanity, a kind of remembrance of a sacred truth I think we’re all yearning for, dancing takes me to that wild, untethered place. I sometimes grab his picture and dance with it, crying and saying thank you. His life wasn’t meaningless, I see the gifts he’s left behind in who I’m becoming. And just like that when it passes, there is a sweetness in my body that isn’t heavy but an ease that settles over me because I’ve chosen to listen and express the unexpected eruption of love being remembered. What else can be so amazing but to be so completely human?
I know so many of us are struggling being human right now. It’s not an easy job we’ve taken to come here on earth, it’s the toughest job we have ever said yes. As humans, we’re going to experience the most gut-wrenching losses and the most awe-inspiring love if we choose to love and it’s all worth it. Every hot tear, every fear, every doubt, it’s worth it. Please forgive me if it feels like I’m romanticizing being human. There’s nothing romantic about it at all, it’s real and heavy at times but only when we resist the knowing that life is meant to be a kaleidoscope of all experiences, do we suffer. Only when we resist does the heaviness persist.
I’ve tasted all sides and angles of this being human, from sexual trauma from a very young age to deep losses of both parents, a spouse, wonderful friends, PTSD, and I’m sure I’m missing a few other things. I’m choosing to not let it leave a bitter taste in my mouth. I’ve recognized that I have a choice here. I don’t know about you, but I never thought it possible to embrace being human the way that I do now and at this level. To be willing to accept me, my faults, imperfections, my biases, and still love me so deeply. To not throw myself under the bus when I think I’ve failed or done something wrong. What’s wrong is never giving myself permission to be human and accept all that comes with that. I am learning through every experience.
My grief has taught me that I’m doing just fine, that it’s okay to be a mess once in a while, in fact, it’s more than okay because there’s something magical coming in. I’m learning how to make space for being even more human. Not having to pretend to be okay, to have it all together is freeing. Not trying to be spiritual is freeing. My spiritual nature was already a gift bestowed upon me when I came to earth. The lesson was never to be more spiritual but more human.
What I know is how exhausting it is to be anything but me. A faulty human being that is capable of both cruelty and beauty. Yes, we are capable of both, and I accept that. Acceptance is my first step into graduating into the adult class of life, it’s the degree beyond PhD. I don’t know what that is, but someone needs to come up with a name.
I love this life. I honor all my stories that I find myself a part of. They all hold a sacred place at my table. We hold wild carnivals from time to time, dressed in wild Caribbean colors as bold and spicy as you can imagine. We can be found dancing and gyrating to calypso and soca music, the music of my land. We are joined hip to hip, sweaty like a night at a hedonistic nightclub.
This boundless joy I feel at times reminds me to keep dancing through the joys, love, tears, and heartbreak. There’s something magnificent about making this kind of offering every day to life and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I hope you too can find your own magical way to express your humanity in a way that honors your whole life story. Maybe, just maybe, try dancing in the aisle of your next food shopping excursion and to hell about what others may think. You’re bringing joy to your moment.
Esha Estar
The Crazy Dancing Lady