WHILE CHASIN' THE CLOUDS AWAY
On conga lines, extending a hand, and dancing (badly!) through the dark times.
Dear readers — I hope this week’s offering will lift your spirits (even for a minute) and remind you that yes, there will be singing (and bad dancing) in the dark times… In my experience, it’s the very fuel that gets us through. Thank you for being here, however it works for you. You’ve always got a spot on my conga line… xx Alexa
Years ago, my family and I flew to Northern California for a wedding. I bought a last-minute dress at Zara and some high heels I could barely walk in, but I didn’t care; they were fabulous. For the first time in a long time, I felt fabulous. My son, Lou had survived cancer. It was finally, FINALLY time to celebrate.
At the wedding, I kicked my cheap heels off. I was the first one on the dance floor, my moves rivaling Elaine from Seinfeld and her “little kicks.” My kids were only three but they watched on, lovingly mortified as I did my thing.
I love to dance.
Badly!
And as you may have gathered by now, I love lite rock and disco — you know, the kind of music reserved for weddings and bat mitzvahs. When Lou was in treatment, I always had those tunes on. The vibe stays high in hell if you’ve got Gloria Gaynor singing “I Will Survive,” or Michael McDonald mumbling about how he keeps forgettin’ we’re not in love anymore…
“What the fuck is he even saying?” I’d ask Lisa the nurse, disentangling myself from a sleeping Lou and his nest of chemo cords.
“Things will nev-ah be THE. SAME. AGAIN!” she’d sing back to me, extending her hand, and we’d dance around the monitors, amidst the beeps and alarms…
But back to the wedding.
The DJ played all my faves. Donna Summer. The Bee Gees. The song about the guy who’s never going to dance again. Yes, ‘twas I who then picked it all back up, starting a conga line to Earth, Wind, and Fire’s “September,” just as I had in the hallway of the hospital, after much coaxing from Lisa, joining her and Anita from housekeeping, and the pizza delivery guy…
Ba-dee-ya, say, do you remember?
Ba-dee-ya, dancin' in September
Just then, a friend of the family, a woman I didn’t know very well, cut the line and grabbed me by the hips.
“You look….so good!” she said.
Ba-du-da, ba-du, ba-du-da, ba-du.
“What?!” I yelled back at her.
“YOU LOOK SO GOOD!” she said again.
“THANKS!” I replied, then Ba-dee-ya…
“I JUST….”
“YOU JUST WHAT?” I yelled back.
“I JUST DIDN’T EXPECT YOU TO LOOK SO GOOD AFTER ALL YOU’VE BEEN THROUGH!”
I disentangled myself from her arms and watched as the conga line went on without me.
It reminded me of how I used to feel in the hospital, watching the people below on the streets, going about their lives, while I had to negotiate with Lisa and the others to even step outside for a coffee.
Was I not allowed to take part in life?
Was her comment a compliment or a criticism?
Did she mean my Zara dress? Or the fact that I was experiencing joy, and not hesitating! (Yes, to quote the Mary Oliver poem).
I looked at my boys, my husband. They were eating cake. Lou was wearing a captain’s hat he’d stolen from the photo booth. West was dancing in his seat, Ian was wiping his mouth, waving at me…
The woman who had more or less thrown a piece of cake in my face was now standing at the bar. She had only lasted a few minutes in the conga line. I saw the circles under her eyes. How her mouth couldn’t decide between a frown or a smile. She pulled awkwardly on her own dress.
She reminded me of the scowling mom at the hospital, the one who was always in her pajamas. I had never extended a hand, never made an effort to chat her up and see what, besides being in hell, was bothering her.
So, despite her words on the dance floor having stung, I shimmied towards her, the way Lisa used to shimmy over to me, the way I wished I had shimmied over to the mom in the pajamas at the hospital…
“COME WITH ME!” I yelled.
“WHAT?” the woman asked.
“COME WITH ME!” I screamed over the music.
I led her back to the dance floor, just in time for the Bee Gee’s “You Should Be Dancing.” I watched her frown decide on a smile. And we danced — so very badly, but happily — despite it all.
A MEDITATION
May I extend a hand. May we dance together.
Feel free to leave whatever’s on your mind in the comments. Maybe a time you were pulled into a conga line…I love hearing from you.
More soon, friends.
xx Alexa
PS. Here’s that good old Mary Oliver poem, below…
Don't Hesitate
by Mary Oliver
If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,
don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty
of lives and whole towns destroyed or about
to be. We are not wise, and not very often
kind. And much can never be redeemed.
Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this
is its way of fighting back, that sometimes
something happens better than all the riches
or power in the world. It could be anything,
but very likely you notice it in the instant
when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the
case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid
of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.
Love this. Reminds me that one of my favorite things about my mom is how she is always the first and last on the dance floor, full of joy. Has this caused me to cringe at times (specific ages of adolescence)? Yes. And I love this joyful thing about her.
I know that phrase so well, "but... you look soooo good." I love your approach so much and will try to do the same next time when someone throws cake in my face. Onward and preferably, dancing.