Dancing. Like no one is watching.

A very serious essay about Hugh Jackman, old lady knees, and things we do not do in public.

I know that I’m offending everyone who has this quote embroidered on a pillowcase or stickered on their living room wall, but here I go.

Dance like nobody is watching?

The subtle eye roll is the key to being low-key offensive instead of really, truly offensive. Extra points if you can make the smooth transition to drinking.

And yet.

Here I am. Hiding away in my home office. Staring at Beginner Dance Tutorials on YouTube. Tap dancing.

And nobody is watching.

Which is exactly as it should be.

Faith Conrad was my best friend in 7th grade. Faith Conrad was awesome. She could sing and act and dance. And so could I. hahahahahahaha. Not so much.

But Faith was OK with my humble efforts. She was so OK that one day she told me that she was going to take tap dancing lessons at a real dance school and that if I wanted to, I could be in her class.

Reader, she was in a class of one. This will become important in 4 paragraphs.

I asked my mom if I could take tap dancing lessons and she allowed it because she saw my potential for greatness.

Another effective method for eye-rolling without offense.

Listen, maybe she did.

Because she bought me tap shoes and (oh gawd) a leotard and some white polyester tights. She did draw the line at the tutu skirt, which frankly, I was totally OK with.

And then every Saturday, Faith and I would suit up and click clack our chubby little pre-teen legs all over the dance studio. It was fun.

Until the day our instructor started saying words like: recital.

What? No.

No no no no no no no.

You know what recitals are, right? That’s when you suit up and click clack your chubby little pre-teen legs IN FRONT OF PEOPLE.

One: No is a complete sentence.

Two: It was just me and Faith up there. Not like a group of 20 where I could maybe be somewhere in the back shuffling off to Buffalo.

Three: Faith was cute and looked like Hugh Jackman dancing in The Music Man. I looked like Hugh Jackman in X-Men. Mid-transformation.

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that I did not return to dance class.

Ever.

Until January 2025 when I thought I’d like to do something ridiculous for fun.

While joining an actual dance class would certainly be ridiculous, I was not about to be fooled into thinking that it would be fun.

Because I know that at the end? There is going to be a lot of old lady skin flapping around (because loss of skin elasticity is absolutely a thing when you’re in stinkin’ menopause!) while I’m click clacking like an off-balance toucan eating a pickle. There is going to be a recital.

(sigh)

Thankfully I am not in 7th grade anymore. And also? Now we have the world wide web.

Which is how I ended up turning my desk around to clear a parcel of tile in my home office so that I could learn how to tap dance to Uptown Funk by Bruno Mars.

With nobody watching.

Because that is what home is for.

Home is for playing.

Home is for trying.

Home is for doing ridiculous things that may or may not turn into anything other than a whole lot of fun.

Home is where you don’t have to perform.

For anyone.

Not even yourself.

(which really is a much better saying to embroider on a pillow, amiright?)

The most ridiculous tap dancer who ever lived,
Vivian

PS: What weird, small, probably super silly things do you do in the privacy of your home—just because you want to do them and they make you happy?

Do you sing karoake? Write poetry? Draw floor plans for houses you don’t live in and watercolor in some furniture? Crank up the disco and roller skate in your garage?

👇🏼 How are you “dancing while nobody’s is watching” at your place? 👇🏼