Is It Time to Dance?

I have been wondering lately about that time of life. You know the time when you are on the downside of the seesaw, closer to the end than the beginning. Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t a morbid study of life and death, but rather a checkup like when you go to the doctor.

I know I haven’t accomplished all that I have intended, but time goes on just the same. It is like planning the itinerary for a long vacation and highlighting far more things to do than you have time for. I often set the vacation plan aside midway and follow my instincts. It usually is a better route and relieves so much of the pressure.

So here I am, counting sixty plus on a scale of say a hundred. It will be more like eighty or seventy, I know, but one still is allowed to dream. The car is loaded and I have traveled long and hard and have cast aside my road map. I’m living by the seat of my pants and making smaller footprints in the sand.

I am reminded of a time when I was growing up. In my small town, we often had sock hops on weekends for the young teens. The large room with polished hardwood floors was filled with loud music playing and boys and girls near the same age. We would have high hopes of discovery when we entered the hall, but we soon found reality.

The boys would line up on one side of the room, standing or sitting and joking among themselves. The girls did the same on the opposite wall, hoping the boys would notice them and ask for a dance. The braver males would cross the DMZ, or neutral zone, and ask his favorite girl to dance, but the majority stood to build up nerve.

Now, I had a plan each time I went to the little gatherings, it had been discussed with my closest friend and rehearsed in my mind. It was a proposal which could not fail once enacted. But therein lies the problem. I was too shy to launch my plan.

I pause here to recall an old saying, “It’s time to put up or shut up.” I think that relates very well to my dilemma. Planning needs to be done to insure success, but to build an agenda is worthless without action.

Back at our sock hops, the best time for interaction was when the boys and girls met at the cookie and punch table. It was an opportunity to talk without the other boys commenting. We cared so much what others thought and said that we were inhibited. But for the shy like me, even this attempt at contact was futile.

But there came a time at each dance where opportunity was running out. The party would soon be over and you had to ask yourself, “Do I want to dance with a girl or just go home? Again.” It was that time when you had to ask, “Is it time to dance?”

I think in my personal life that I have been successful; a long marriage to a wonderful wife, three great kids and five grandkids whom I adore. Outward possessions no longer worry me, I have become more introspective. Some of my friends count the days, hours and minutes remaining at the dance, but I have decided that I will stop asking that old question.
I know the answer, it is time to dance.

Will you join me?