The open hardwood floor at work stares at me.  It calls to me, “COME.”  All the while, the beat in the background pulsates through the overhead speakers, and in its most enticing voice, it pleads with me, “MOVE.”

And just like that, as specks of sand in my suitcase, certain places and pieces of music transport me back to a time that once was, a time when I thought I knew what I wanted and how I wanted it all to look like.  A time that currently feels like a million light years ago.

“Have I been dancing?” you ask.

Kind of.  Not really.  Okay, no. I haven’t been; still, before you catapult your best and most inspirational follow-your-dreams line my way, hear me out.

I am not precisely sure I know what my dream is.

Since moving here, circumstances have largely limited my ability and accessibility to dance.  I assure you, it most definitely was and still is not a matter of choice.   Nevertheless, the forced stillness has generated a rather hazardous habit of mine—thinking.  Oh gosh.  What is it that I really want?

I don’t know…

I don’t know.

Now, that’s not to say the flame to dance has died.  Oh how brightly it continues to burn!  And yet these days, it looks a bit more like a votive candle in a pricket stand burning at the base of the great cathedral’s altar; for the truth is, I don’t know where to go from here because I don’t know where I want to go.  Thus in and from this concrete jungle where dreams are made, the only thing I can conclude in this passage is that I can’t be the only one to corroborate this passion.

Lord.  Please.  Help.  Guide.  Lead.  Inspire.  Thanks.

[Photo Credit: Amber Schoniwitz]