The Last Dance

Mar 2, 2014 by

          After my dad, my sister’s boyfriend, and I (okay, just my dad and my sister’s boyfriend) moved the remainder of my stuff out of my home tonight, I stayed behind to check the mail – a.k.a. dance around my apartment – one last time. For my final solo dance party in front of the city-like view that has served as my backdrop for over two years, I chose Kings of Leon’s Sex on Fire. I wanted my last moment at home to embody the happiness of the freedom to choose that I associate with that song. I’m not going to lie; I bawled my fucking eyes out during the first few rounds. I was about to walk out of the apartment that I adored for the last time and into my parents’ house until further notice – at age 24. I allowed my tears. They were justified. I was not in the mood to force myself into a positive, this-was-my-best-option, at-least-I’ll-save-money, one-day-I’ll-have-an-apartment-that-I-own mindset. I was scared shitless that I had made the wrong decision by moving.

          I used that fear as motivation to make my last moment at home a happy one. I decided that I was not allowed to stop dancing until I was genuinely smiling while doing it. Gradually, with each repeat of Sex on Fire, my tears gave way to happiness. I was happy for the time I had there while I had it and the beautiful opportunities leaving would bring by natural consequence of change. Twirling until dizziness as I loudly sang backup for Kings of Leon, I was bursting with anticipation to begin the next exciting chapter of my life. With that as my encouragement, I vigorously strummed a final silent note out of my air guitar, confidently strutted out of my apartment with an unstoppable smile on my face, and courageously closed the door on what I knew in pursuit of thrilling uncertainty.

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