Have you switched off your screens? Are you ready to ponder and/or discuss another topic from my friend, author Tyrean Martinson’s book A Pocket Sized Jumble of 500+ Writing Prompts? What do you come up with when I spring you the idea of dancing in the rain?
Admittedly, it has been quite a while since I have been dancing, at all. I used to be a very avid dancer in a dance group that performed historical and folk dances on stage. They were all indoor stages, so no dancing in the rain there. Also, I was trained in ballroom and Latin dances in my early twenties. But all events took place indoors, and by the time I was comfortable enough on any dance floor, the time of open-air dance cafés in parks (especially that of spa towns) seemed to be over. Nobody would have danced in the rain, anyhow – they’d have moved the event inside.
The thought of dancing in the rain somehow excludes dancing according to rules. It calls for rather unruly, spontaneous movements, maybe accompanied by giddy laughter and a beaming face turned upward. Straight into the shower head that is the sky. And, somehow, one usually does this when one feels unobserved. When one is all alone with Nature. Or when one is a child, oblivious of what society deems as called for.
When was the last time I did THAT?!
I’m probably too inhibited to really, truly dance in the rain even when I’m alone. I remember a night during one of my last semesters at university, though, when I was going out with a few friends of mine. And I DID end up dancing in the street with my umbrella, an homage to Gene Kelly, though not as acrobatic as he. We were all very lighthearted at that time, and somehow, we were a bunch of over-aged, giggling kids. What if anybody saw us?! We couldn’t have cared less.
My dances in the rain DO exist though. They are happening mostly on my inside. I feel that immense bliss, for example after a longer period of drought, and I will turn my face into the falling rain. To feel the wonderful humidity of a drizzle or the pelting of some stronger drops on my skin. I might open my arms if alone, to give the rain sort of a hug. I won’t jump into puddles though – not even in rubber boots. I guess, self-awareness limits one’s outward playfulness. Does twirling a colorful umbrella count?
