Why Isn’t Everyone Dancing?
One day, on my way home with my headphones plugged in, I broke into a dance. See, I didn’t exactly realize I was dancing in public until someone ran into me, breaking my rhythm. I paused my music and looked around, seeing every other person looking so stern, so serious, so boring. In that moment, it seemed so ridiculous that I laughed and asked myself,“why isn’t everyone dancing?”.
Hyperthymia is a condition where a person is happy and energetic, all the time or most of the time. Some argue that it’s a mental condition on the bipolar disorder spectrum, but in a world where people are eager to slap a name on everything, I don’t think it matters much. Even when considered a mental condition, research shows that people with hyperthymia, one, are less suicidal, and two, are most likely to beat the sh*t out of most mental disorders. So, condition or not — yay?
Life’s weird. I say it all the time, especially when faced with grief or confusion. It’s like choosing to stay alive is signing a contract to be thrown into a boxing ring and punched repeatedly in the stomach. No, no one has it easy. I believe everyone is fighting a battle, even if that battle differs from one person to another. How do I know? Well, here’s my theory: Regardless of gender, societal class, wealth or the absence of it, we humans have certain emotions that are universal. We all experience love — whatever form that takes, we all experience loss (what loss means may differ), we all experience happiness, and we all die. As long as these “laws” guide us, we’re all frail, all in the boxing ring with life. There’s no point hoping for only good days because, as long as we’re here… punch punch.
So, what do we do? Dance. Dance on the road, dance in your room, dance in your office, dance when you hear good news and when bad things happen. Whether you dance or not, life is going to suck anyway. They say love is blind, but I think what’s blind is life. It can’t see that you don’t deserve to be hit, it can’t see that you deserve better, or that it’s all unfair. It can’t even see your tears or your pout, so why waste a g̶o̶o̶d̶ time when you can be “shaking it”.
Why dance? Well, for one, it instantly puts you in a better mood — trust me, I know. Secondly, it clears your head a bit and gives you clarity on the next steps to take — even if that next step is crying. I know this doesn’t make a lot of sense, but then again, it does. Thirdly, in that moment, in the middle of uncoordinated or coordinated dance steps, you are free. You are happy. It feels like victory, and even if it’s brief, it’s a good feeling. So, dance.
I know that sometimes, when bad things happen, it feels like betrayal to have a hint of happiness in the midst of it or even after it. How dare we be happy with weariness heavy in our hearts? We want time to pass, but I put it to you that no time is ever enough, especially for something as big as grief. When is the standard mourning period? A day, a month, a year? When is enough time? See, that’s tricky to answer because there is no standard. We can choose to dance in spite of it all and let our wounds heal rhythm by rhythm — or we can stay wounded. In the end, life sucks, whether we dance or not.
