I love dancing and I have since I was a little kid — dancing to musical comedy albums in my family’s basement.
I heard a lot about dancing back then because my first cousin Liane made it to Broadway, dancing in the original production of West Side Story.
While I knew I never would be a professional dancer, dancing was always an expression of joy that I loved to watch and to participate in as best I could.
When I went through many heart-related operations starting at age 10, one of my coping strategies was watching amazing and athletic dancing in movie musicals like Singin’ in the Rain, The Bandwagon, and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, and musical compilation films like That’s Entertainment.
When I was in my 20s, I got very good at disco dancing, even though I had a fixed-rate cardiac pacemaker and had to rest frequently between dances.
I’ve taken lessons in tap dancing, swing dancing, and — most recently — tango dancing with my husband Michael.
As I’m writing about the obstacles I’ve overcome to participate in dancing, I’m feeling more confidence about the obstacles I need to overcome to put on my first show of original songs next month.
In order to do that, I’ll need to be dancing past several fears. What I’ve discovered about dancing is that partner dancing can be more fun than dancing alone, so I will rely on my partners in this enterprise (including my friend Jeanette who is helping me with ticketing and my videographer Riccardo Pearlman who is also teaching me how to play the drums). Since I did a lot of dancing alone when I was a small child, I need to remember that these people are eager to be dancing with me in this process.
Do you see any dancing in my images for today?
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On National Honesty Day, I can honestly say that I don’t understand why so many people keep dancing around the truth in politics.
Every time I get a COVID shot, I get strong reactions including fevers, aches, and exhaustion. Those reactions didn’t prevent me from getting a shot yesterday, so I’m expecting unpleasant reactions today.
This is the first time I’ve gotten a COVID shot on a Friday (instead of a Wednesday), so at least my reactions won’t interfere with work. My planned reactions for today are to veg out in my pajamas, watch movies I love, and complain.
Do you see reactions in my images for today?
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My planned reactions for today include neither chewing gum nor yoga, but I’ll do my best to love people even when I’m feeling lousy.
Here’s what I find on YouTube when I search for “reactions.”
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You can imagine my reactions when I met Jackie Chan in the 90s. In case your reactions to that video included, “what the heck is ‘parkour’?”, here you go:
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Feel free to find the way through to sharing your reactions to this post, below.
My reactions, no matter what, include gratitude, so thanks to all who help me create these daily posts, including YOU!
I just read a New York Times article titled “What Therapists Don’t Say.” There seems to be some fascination with that — the premise of the TV show Shrinkingis that “a grieving therapist starts to break the rules by telling his clients exactly what he thinks.”
What I don’t say, in an individual therapy session, includes
You think that’s bad? Let me tell you about my problems!
I’m distracted.
I’m afraid you really don’t want to change.
You should do this.
I don’t think I can help you.
I wish I were doing something else.
That hurts my feelings.
I have to pee (this one was mentioned in the New York Times article).
I don’t say any of those things because (1) they are passing, momentary thoughts and (2) unhelpful. Also, when I have a thought that I don’t say, I take it as important information — often a window into what the other person is feeling.
Do you see anything that therapists don’t say in my images for today?
Sometimes I do say a World Holiday or what the Daily Bitch says in a therapy session, if it’s relevant.
Here’s what I find on YouTube when I search for “what therapists don’t say.”
Now I’m wondering what you would say in the comments section, below.
Last night, in a Coping and Healing group, somebody described how — in the midst of ongoing struggles with anxiety and unhappiness — they suddenly started dancing for joy while cleaning their home, with family members joining in. I could see how this person’s story about dancing for joy joyfully affected the other group members because joy — like other feelings — can be contagious.
Today, I’m dancing for joy because I’m about to begin a two-week vacation which will include dancing for joy, walking for joy, resting for joy, reading for joy, eating for joy, flying for joy (with some fear and anxiety mixed in), and joyfully seeing the musical “Rent” in Portland with my good friend Maria.
I’m also remembering a weekend retreat, decades ago, where a huge group of people were dancing for joy — shedding self consciousness because we were all blindfolded and watched over by helpful facilitators.
Do any of my images for today evoke dancing for joy?
Here’s what I find on YouTube when I search for “dancing for joy.”
Here’s a dancing for joy number from the movie version of “Rent.”
I look forward to your comments about this dancing for joy post.
Thanks to all who help me dance for joy, including YOU!
I remember playing records of musicals — including “West Side Story”, “Oklahoma,” “South Pacific,” and “Guys and Dolls” — in the basement of my house, pretending I was in those musical numbers. I danced and sang across the basement floor. Nobody saw me doing that (except for my cat, Tuffy). It was one of my favorite and most joyful things to do, during some difficult times as I was growing up.
I also took singing lessons, starting when I was a kid. The main thing I remember about that teacher, Mr Payette, was that he had some strong opinions about what was good and not good about my voice. He told me that the main thing that made my voice special was that I could sing really, really high. I was a Super Soprano — I could hit B flat over high C. I remember him laughing, with delight, when my voice would keep going — up and up — as he played the scales.
He also characterized my voice as thin, with not a lot of power. He told me that if I wanted to pursue singing, that I should only sing songs that highlighted my strength — the high notes.
So I sang mostly sweet, pretty songs, that had a high range, with not a lot of dynamic changes. Songs like “Those Were the Days,” by Mary Hopkins:
I loved singing these songs, but I never stretched beyond them, into something more dangerous or bold.
I remember something else Mr Payette said to me, during my singing lessons. He told me to make sure that I never, ever hit a note wrong, when performing. That would be disastrous, he said, because …
you could sing every other note beautifully and perfectly, but if you hit one note imperfectly, THAT’S what the audience will remember.
I can remember him saying those words, so vividly. That really stuck.
I liked working with Mr. Payette. I think he was a good guy.
But I have been working on letting go some of those lessons he taught me. Because for most of my life, I’ve been kind of a timid singer. I’ve focused more on the imperfections in my voice. I’ve thought of my voice as weak. I’ve thought that there were only certain types of songs that I could sing. I’ve thought of myself as a “stiff” singer, not able to show the full range of human emotions.
I’m realizing that those ideas about my singing were formed when I was a kid, and they may be …. rather outdated.
When I was a kid, I DID have limits as a singer, especially as an interpreter of lyrics. I mean, I couldn’t give the lyrics of songs a full-bodied interpretation back then. Geesh! I didn’t even know what some of those lyrics meant.
I didn’t have the experience to give life to all those words about love and loss.
However I’ve been realizing lately that I’m not a kid any more, when it comes to song. Now that I’m an adult, I can sing like one.
I don’t have to be timid — holding back for fear of making that one mistake that people will remember. I don’t have to imagine the audience forgetting everything else I may have sung, no matter how beautiful it was, if I sing one note imperfectly.
Now, I DO understand lyrics. And I can channel this understanding — and the full range of human emotions — into songs.
Also, about two months, ago, I made a real change in how I sang. It started when I suddenly made room– through song — for a certain powerful emotion.
Anger.
About two weeks ago, when I was angry at somebody, and was considering trying my new anger technique of Screaming As Loud As I Could In the Car, I tried something different, instead.
I made up an anger song — which included some rather rude words — and sang THAT in my car, as loudly as I could.
Man, it was fun singing that song. It helped me let go of the anger. And — holy moly! Did my voice sound different! It sounded clear and really strong, in all registers. No matter what notes I was hitting in The Anger Song — high notes, low notes, in-between notes — everything sounded good — and different — to my ears.
Since then, I’ve been singing differently. I’m singing with feeling. I’m not holding back. I’m not afraid of the imperfect notes.
I’m thinking I’d like to keep singing more, this year. I may take some chances — maybe go to an open mic night and sing a solo. That’s always been a dream of mine, as yet unfulfilled.
Maybe I’ll sing, in front of an audience, a full-bodied, adult song, with complicated lyrics, and trust in my ability to deliver that song. Maybe I’ll have faith that I can translate my ability to communicate passion and conviction — while using my regular speaking voice — into the musical realm.
I’m hoping that before This Year of Living Non-Judgmentally is over, that I will overcome some fears about singing in front of other people and do something new and spectacular.
No matter what, though I’m really lovin’ the different ways I’ve been singing lately.
Thanks for hearing My Bloggy Song here, today. And I hope you let your full voice out, too, in any ways you can.
