So, of all the things I have publicly confessed (thus far), this one is a real stretch.

Because I know some of y’all have some serious feelings about this.

And, before I go on, I assure you: It’s not you. It’s me.

But…

(There’s kind of a funny story involved, so hopefully it will soften the blow.)

Last weekend…

Last weekend, I was at a beautiful wedding (Congrats Jennifer & Kyle!!). It was getting late. We were all having a lovely time. I was a few songs in, on the dancefloor, having SO much fun.

And, then, I heard that familiar beat drop. Not a bad beat. A good beat, actually. I could get down to it.

If only…

“Oh, noooo,” I thought. “Ugh.” That’s right. “It’s the f*cking cupid shuffle.”

I know. I KNOW. Y’all love your line dances. I see you – having so much out there.

NO JUDGEMENT at all, by the way. I admire you, actually. I wish I could blend in.

“What is your problem?” I ask myself. “Just get in line with them. Do the dance. You’re having fun. They’re having fun. Why stop now?”

So, I tried. Really I did. I lasted maybe 30 seconds out there. I just couldn’t. It’s not the moves I’m referring to (obvi). It just felt so WRONG to me. And, then I felt even more wrong for feeling wrong.

In fact, I felt a little piece of my soul die out there on the dancefloor last Saturday night.

But, my God, I tried. (<— Overdramatic much?)

Walking away. Defeated. To the sidelines with that sad look in my eyes. Waiting for the next song to come on. Praying that it was not another line dance. Anything else, really. I would even take a country song, at this point. (Yes, it’s THAT bad for me).

Then, my friend Jack, who was also standing outside of the dancefloor looking in, made an, admittedly, wildly politically incorrect, yet in-that-moment, somehow profound observations out loud.

He said, dryly: “White people love to be told how to dance.”

I know. I know. So wrong.

But, then, it hit me. That’s it! That’s IT!

NOT THIS WHITE GIRL.

It’s like this for me: “Don’t f*cking tell me how to dance.”

That rebel sh*t runs deep. Good lord, woman! I had a strict upbringing. Early curfews. Don’t even think about talking to boys. Catholic school. Mass on Sundays. Aaaaand Fridays. The plaid skirts and all. “Be the good girl.”

This awareness cracked open a whole new level of discovery about myself.

All divine. All perfect.

This is what has molded me into the sacred rebel that I am today. And, in many ways it is serving. I break the rules. I do business and life my way. I question the old ways of being. I enter into the new paradigm. I carve the path for others to do the same.

And, it can show up in ways that maybe aren’t serving. (Hence, exit dancefloor left).

But, the beautiful thing about awareness is this: You get to look at it ALL. Without judgement. And, that’s usually how it goes, anyway. Our greatest gifts are bred from our deepest wounds, fears, and regrets. And, they can show up as both our brilliance AND our hindrances.

Who knew Jack’s irreverence could be so inspiring, eh?

What am I going to do with this newfound awareness? Who knows. Besides be more aware. For now. I probably still won’t get in line with y’all. #toosoon. Maybe one day.

On a side note: For real, though: If you ARE going to tell me how to dance, could you at least give me some more-inspired choreography??

Oh no she didn’t. Too far?

I know. I know. Sorry. Now, I’m just pushing buttons for fun.

You don’t squabble about the Wobble.
You don’t chide the Cha Cha slide.
You don’t play with the Whip & Nae Nae.

Please don’t un-friend me. #loveyou

But, on the serious…

Hi, my name is Dawn, and I f*cking hate line dances. And, I’m no longer ashamed.

So, my question is this? When you hear that beat drop, are you getting in line or stepping on the sidelines with me? And why? No judgement either way. Our differences are what make life so interesting.

MUCH LOVE you! ❤