I Hope You Dance

I saw a armadillo dancing in my backyard last week, and I can’t stop thinking about it. Some background is in order, so I will tell you that a family of four armadillos took up what seems to have been temporary residence in my back yard last week due to extensive rain in the area. The creek where they would normal spend their days was flooded. My backyard provided safe haven.

While glancing out my back window to watch the rain fall, I noticed one of the armadillos standing all alone in the rain. He reared back on his hind legs, tilted his face up into the rain, and wiggled his upper torso and head back and forth as if he could hear music in his head and was moving to the beat. It was charming. He did this for maybe a minute or two, then put down his front feet and—I kid you not—jumped straight up into the air. He must have achieved a height of at least two inches if not three. From where I stood, it looked like the purest joy.

I plead guilty to anthropomorphizing animal behavior to suit my own needs as much as anyone else, but the dancing armadillo for me was a reminder of the pure joy of dancing. I attended the wedding of my niece recently and was hesitant to join the dancing. I’m too old. Too fat. Too dignified. So, instead of dancing, I watched people dancing. Shiny, happy people dancing. I danced a little at my seat. A wiggle here. A head bob there. Hands up they’re playing our song.

When the DJ played "Stayin Alive,” I gave in and took to the floor where I danced the Hustle with my sister-in-law, my daughter, her boyfriend and a large contingent of strangers. Pure, unadulterated joy.

The country singer Lee Ann Womack had a hit with the song, “I Hope You Dance” by songwriters Mark Sanders and Tia Maria Sillers. I’ll leave you with my favorite verse:

“I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,

Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens,

Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance,

And when you get the chance to sit it out or dance,

I hope you dance.”