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October 26, 2016 - Image 14

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The Michigan Daily

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Wednesday, October 26, 2016 // The Statement
7B

by Sam Rosenberg, Daily Arts Writer
Dancing Like Nobody’s Watching

A

nyone who knows me well enough knows that I love to dance,
whether at a party or even in the most mundane setting.

For the record, I’ve never taken a dance class in my life —

nor have I ever been interested in being a professional dancer. And
yet it’s a quality about myself that most people note immediately once
I start moving and grooving. Anything with pounding bass and wob-
bly synths, a pop or hip hop number, I can dance to. I’m all for up-
tempo songs, and my favorites include the typical Top 40 bangers:
Outkast’s “Hey Ya!,” Usher’s “Yeah!” and Mark Ronson’s “Uptown
Funk,” to name a few.

I’d like to think that my dancing skills stem from my maternal

grandparents, who were known to always be the first and last ones on
the dance floor at any occasion. But the truth is that my passion for
dancing derives from trying to escape social awkwardness growing
up as a shy, sensitive and mostly introverted kid. It was my cousin
Alex’s bar mitzvah party in 2006 that changed the trajectory of all
that, transforming me from a restless, socially inept kid with an infe-
riority complex into a more self-assured young adult.

The night of the bar mitzvah party, I recall the evening starting off

on a bad note. Entering the event, I immediately felt out of place. I
was dressed in a black shirt too big for my torso, gray slacks that felt
too long and leather shoes that seemed too fancy for the party. There
were a variety of activities, including a pop-culture trivia tournament
that I thought I’d try out. After waiting a while, it was my turn, my
opportunity to stand out among the crowd. Up against four other par-
tygoers, I did my best to answer the question as soon as it was asked.
But alas, I missed my moment: My cousin Austin buzzed his button
before me and gave the wrong answer. That was that, and my turn
was over. My 15 seconds of spotlight faded and I wallowed back to my
seat, feeling defeated and disappointed.

During the rest of the evening, I sulked outside the main ballroom,

where all the customary bar mitzvah party traditions were taking
place. I missed the Hava Nagilah, the corny candle-lighting ceremo-
nies, the sentimental speeches. But I didn’t even care. Still upset
about the trivia tournament, I was fuming with angry silence, staring
down at the ground and sitting in a rigid, crisscross-applesauce posi-
tion. It wasn’t until hours later that I finally decided to join the party,
where I sat at a table by myself in the midst of it all. To this day, I
have immense gratitude to one of the female, referee-jersey-wearing
entertainers, who approached 9-year-old me, sitting by my lonesome,
and asked if I’d like to dance.

Stubbornly, I declined her offer at first. But as the night dragged

on and the music got funkier, I thought, “What the hell? I’m 9 years
old. I’ve got nothing to lose.” (I didn’t actually think that, but I assume
that’s how I felt in the moment). And thus, Sam Rosenberg the Danc-
er was born.

As my legs wobbled and my hips gyrated to the thumping beats

blasting from the speakers, I could feel the adrenaline pumping
through my pre-teen veins. I got such a rush, simply from taking the
risk of dancing along to whatever mid-2000s pop hit roared over the
speakers. The entertainers would pass out glow sticks, goofy glasses
and silly hats to every kid and I made sure to wear and flaunt each and
every item I could get my hands on. My cynicism of the night changed
quickly into optimism. I no longer felt insecure about whether people
would care about what I did; I liked this new side of myself and want-
ed to continue to explore this aspect of my personality.

As I entered middle school, dancing gave me a space to express

myself, even at my most self-conscious. I’d often be the only boy at
a bar mitzvah party who was dancing to the rhythm of the music,
instead of just jumping up and down in a circle like the rest of my
male peers. Sometimes, I would get strange looks and when I did, I
would immediately notice and stop dancing. But other times, people
would encourage it and even ask me to give them some tips on dance
moves. I recall a specific moment at my middle school social in sixth
grade when I got the attention of an attractive seventh grader after I

rapidly moved my arms in a wave-like formation. It was stupid and
weird, but for some reason, people liked it and that’s all that mattered
to me.

High school came and I continued to glide seamlessly into the

party scene, shaking my shoulders, inventing spontaneous dance
moves and letting the beat carry me at every homecoming, prom and
function I attended. College has been an even better experience
for me, with almost every party offering a comfortable
capacity for me to dance.

Personally, dancing has always been a way

for me to deal with social anxiety and to
boost my self-confidence. But I also
consider dancing to be a beautiful
expression of human behavior.
We don’t often think about
how ubiquitous dancing can
be and how fun it is to just
let loose and groove with
your friends and family
and even strangers. And
the best dancing is the
one where you don’t care
if you look stupid. What-
ever the song, you can
shimmy, shake, twerk,
bounce, whip, nae nae
and milly rock without
being judged.

Despite what most

of my friends say, I
don’t consider myself
an exceptional danc-
er. I don’t know how
to salsa, box step or
moonwalk. I can’t
do the Worm or
the Running Man.
I’m not trained
to perform or do
dance-offs
like

the dancers from
“Step Up,” “You
Got
Served”

and “Stomp the
Yard.”
When

people spread
out to make a
circle at par-
ties or music
festivals,
I’m

always hesitant
to step in, think-
ing that my brain
would freeze in
the moment and
I’d do the same dance
move over and over like
a broken record.

Nevertheless,
it’s
always

comforting to know how much confi-
dence dancing has given me over the years. I may still feel somewhat
overwhelmed whenever the spotlight is cast on me, but when the
opportunity comes, I do my best to not miss it, and I just dance like
nobody’s watching.

ILLUSTRATION BY SHANE ACHENBACH

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