The sign said “Dancing,” and I followed the sign, and no one was dancing there.

If I had had it in me, I would have danced myself, of course. I didn’t, though.

If dancing is still in me, it is buried under a great many other things right now. Things like Why does it feel like the time of possibility is over and only the time of acceptance remains? and Why does no one appreciate me? and Why will no one give me the money? and last, but certainly not least, All right, then, don’t appreciate me. See if I care; I’ll just stomp away and sulk in my corner.

Ugly things.

I’ll be back. I’m just trying to figure out how to dance.

It turns out that without the sanctuary of this space, I feel exposed. I hadn’t expected that, but I understand it. This is not a place where I am judged—or, if it is, the judgments people make don’t have the power to hurt. In every other space in my life right now, I’m trying to prove something, and am only partly succeeding. It’s okay with me that I stumble. It’s okay with me that I am not yet perfect. I accept it as a consequence of experimentation, and believe in my own courage. But maybe, at least for the moment, I still need one small corner where no one expects anything of me but what I choose to give.