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