Melanie Has Lost Her Groove. And unlike Stella, who found hers with Taye Diggs among the sweeping palm trees and warm breezes of Jamaica, mine can not be found at the bottom of a margarita glass....believe me, I have looked. In fact, lately I have been so "grooveless" that I switched the dial from 105.7 The Hits to NPR, where Mishelle Norris (pronounced "ME-Shelle Norris), helps me Consider All Things, without the pressure of the synthesized backbeat.
Seriously, for months now I feel like I am constantly dancing out of time to music heard only inside my own head. You know, like Elaine Bene's dancing on Seinfield (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xi4O1yi6b0). The harder I try to move and sway and find the beat, the more awkward and stilted and frightened I become. For as long as I can remember I have always loved to dance; music freed me, conncected me to the flow of life and moved me outside my own head. But at this stage I always seem to be a beat behind, gesticulating in the wrong direction and hyperaware of the younger, more fluid dancers. From the inside it is maddening to watch and painful to experience.
It has occurred to me that maybe this is a natural part of aging. Granted, my forties have brought me a dynamic partnership, a more comfortable home, gratifying work, and a new found love of photography and travel. All of which seem to get dwarfed in my own mind by my slowing metabolism, increasing size and failing short-term memory. These days I spend an inordinate amount of time feeling as awkward as I did at fourteen....unsure of who I am becoming, longing for the security of not so long ago when I thought I knew who I was and desperately trying to be one of the cool kids.
Recently, I had a friend tell me that she loved me because I was "not afraid to piss people off." And from the outside, it certainly looks that way. Due, in part to my upbringing, I have never had a problem expressing my opinion; loudly, and in amusing sarcastic tones. But lately, I have been reminded repeatedly that "amusing" can subject to interpretation, that sarcasm can be very divisive and that if people roll their eyes when you open your mouth, then maybe the impact of your message is being diluted by your delivery.
Ironically, in a parallel dimension, I am trying to parent an awkward, hormonal fifth grade boy who is loud, opinionated, sarcastic and trying desperately to be one of the cool kids. He also happens to be exceedingly bright, tender-hearted, thoughtful, beautiful and wise beyond his years. These days I spend an inordinate amount of time hoping that he will find a way to embrace all the goodenss of his life and recognize all the opportunities that lay ahead for him... if he would just look beyond his own fear and loathing, and embrace his own brand of coolness. Hmmmmmm.....
Unfailingly, parenting requires you to face the deepest, most insecure aspects of yourself and continue the painful process of growth. Undoubtedly, it is not mere coincidence that I am parenting a child on the cusp of "middle" school from the outskirts of being "middle" aged. What I am realizing, again, as I type these words is that it is not the desire to belong or the attempts at validation that reveal our awkardness. It is the overwhelming fear that we will never be "enough" that robs us of graceful movement and separates us from the other dancers. The common struggles of humanity actually draw us closer to one another; that is why we like fat Oprah, dancing Ellen and the absurdity of "I'm Sexy and I Know It."
So today, I can try to move through the world more gently, choose my words more carefully and turn off the static inside my head.
But I won't ever stop Pumpin' My Jam :)
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