Stopped at a traffic light this afternoon, I spotted a teenage boy waiting for the walk light. His hands tapped out a secret beat only he heard through his ear buds. His feet shuffled side to side. As I watched, I could see him struggle to keep his body from breaking out of its shell. This boy wanted to dance. Of that, I have no doubt. Had he been alone, he probably would have practiced his best moves. But with heavy traffic and so many eyes watching, he held back. He kept himself in check. He stifled that joy that wells up inside people who love to move, to launch their bodies into the air like they can fly. I wanted to say to him, “Go ahead! Get your groove thing on!”
Why do we never see a Gene Kelly singin’ in the rain as he heads down Main Street? Why does a Fred Astaire never skip down the stairs outside City Hall? Most of us have feelings that bubble up inside us on the first warm days of a winter thaw, when the promise of spring is in the air. It’s the promise of what will soon come, and it excites and delights us. And yet, even with a full-blow case of spring fever coursing through our veins, we hold back. We want to skip down that sidewalk and twirl ourselves around. We want to fly. But we stop ourselves. We refuse to grant ourselves permission to dance. What a shame. What a waste.
If tomorrow is promised to no one, shouldn’t we accept these wondrous moments in our lives and string them together like pearls? Shouldn’t we capture the sweetness of the fine days as they flow over us?
I can still remember the shock of the moment when the doctor announced my mother had lung cancer. I can still see that look of dread as that deep ache welled up in her. We knew the news would be bad, but we didn’t think it would be that bad. After the doctor broke the news, he stepped out of the room, to order more tests and treatment. That’s when I told her that no matter what happened, she wouldn’t sit out the rest of her life. We would make the most of the time she had. She would dance.
I kept that promise to her as best I could. On the days when she felt okay, we went out exploring. On the days she felt like something the cat dragged in, we had the memories to carry us through. Sometimes if she was tired, she would initially refuse to go out. Part of it was the sadness of how her life had changed. Part of it was sheer exhaustion. I made a point of being flexible. because I knew that it was more than likely the phone would ring and she would change her mind. She always had fun when we went out. Sometimes it was a trip to the lake or to the river. Sometimes it was lunch in a busy restaurant, where all the waitresses knew her and made a big fuss when she came in. All she really wanted was to feel connected to life. She wanted to put cancer aside and just feel free — to laugh, to linger, to live in the moment and cherish it.
That’s the thing about cancer. You will have good times and bad. There will be mornings it will be hard to get out of bed, hard to convince yourself to even bother trying. But there will also be days when the sky is blue, the air is clear, and you will feel the magic call to you, beckon you. On those days, don’t hold back. Give in. Let your body sway to the music. Get your groove thing on. Don’t think about what other people might think or say. Dance!