we should all dance more
on missing the chaos of actually living in your body
"I want to go out, get drunk, dance, and be stupid," I told him.
"Alright, let's do it."
It didn't take much. One tequila shot and one Tito's soda later I was in a sea of aggressively boring men wearing identical True Classic T-shirts clutching their Miller Lite pints at a bar in Old Town on Friday night, flailing my arms and jumping up and down to "See You Again" by Miley Cyrus. Not a single other person was moving. Not one. They were all just standing there like decently-dressed mannequins, probably thinking I was a textbook pick-me girl desperately craving attention from the nearest bro in boat shoes. But I swear it wasn't that.
For the first time in months, I allowed my body to release itself from the tension it had been carrying around like a fucking stress ball. Also, you think I gave a fuck about getting the attention of a bunch of 21/22 year old finance bros in Old Town? No thank you.
Let me rewind.
Last Thursday was...not a good day (the understatement of the year). I called my mom at 7am in full blown tears, completely losing it alone in my bedroom about...everything? Turns out when you pretend that you're fine for 6+ months, that shit catches up to you hard. The unemployment, the constant performance of being okay, the way I'd been moving through the world like I was made of glass and might shatter if one more thing didn't go my way.
But I promised myself I wouldn't write another depressing newsletter this week.
This week I want to talk about dancing. And how we should do more of it.
Like, collectively, we absolutely need to be dancing more. Sweaty and messy, drunk or sober. With rhythm or without it.
I haven't been doing a good job of letting my body just…exist. Allowing it to freely move when it wants to. Instead, I've been letting the weight of the world sit on it like a pile of fucking bricks. I miss the chaos of actually living in my body.
No, not the bad kind of chaos that I've been drowning in. I miss the free-spirit type of chaos. I know it's still in there somewhere, and it still shows up when I'm in the right environment, but lately it's been buried under a whole lot of other shit that I won't shut up about on this Substack.
I miss the chaotic, messy, might-fuck-around-and-drunkenly-make-out-with-a-stranger-at-the-bar kind of energy. You know?
Friday night came and went. I woke up Saturday thinking "OK, I need to do more of whatever I did last night" minus the Old Town bros.
Saturday night I went to Midsommar Fest in Andersonville and it felt like it was rewiring my nervous system in real time. The house music was deep enough to rearrange my internal organs, bass lines vibrating through my chest until suddenly all that anxiety I'd been hoarding just started melting out through my body.
My hair was sticking to my face, my makeup was melting off in the heat, the strobing lights making everything feel like a fever dream. Yes, the edible was hitting hard at this point. There was this collective energy that said "I'm here to move, not to be perceived." Temporarily unified by nothing more complicated than good music and shared endorphins. No networking. No small talk about whatever the fuck. Just bodies remembering what they're actually capable of when you stop overthinking everything.
I know I'm sounding corny, but just bear with me, ok?
I wasn't performing, I was just existing. For the first time in months, I wasn't calculating how I looked or whether my moves made sense or if anyone was judging me. I was just there, completely present in my own skin, letting the music move through me like it used to. My body felt like mine again - not this anxious thing I've been dragging around, but something that could actually feel good without asking permission first.
I'm a lot of things, but I think I'm my best self when I'm dancing. Even if I’m not very good at it.
More of that, please.
thanks for reading,
b 🫶✨