Musings

I want to dance in the living room.


Since watching John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John falling in love every Saturday morning, I immediately wanted the same thing happen to me. I’d make my dad put Grease in the VCR (I was really little) at about 6:30AM (I used to wake up early) and watch them dance and sing to each other over and over again.

 

Okay, so it wasn’t just The Sound of Music, Titanic or The Little Mermaid that created this romantic side in me, it was the music too. It was hearing some smooth deep vocals about someone called “my baby” (I didn’t understand the concept and thought it was a name). I couldn’t help thinking that it must be nice for someone to miss you like that.

I watched my parents dancing in our living room to ABBA, Crowded House, Def Leppard and many others; sometimes they would dance with me in the middle. I loved it so much.

It wasn’t just the love songs either; from a young age I could belt out angry Alanis Morissette lyrics and really believe in it. I used to make up songs of my own, love songs and break up songs too. I always imagined loving someone so much that they could make you angry enough to write about it and sing it to the world. Shania Twain, you filled up my bedroom with the craziest love/hate songs I was many years away from understanding.

 

So I there I was thinking I was in love because I couldn’t stop staring at Anthony Kiedis in his raunchy music videos and admiring the teen angst movies starring Chad Michael Murray and Hilary Duff. But in high school, after some unsophisticated relationships I kind of lost hope in this idea. Every time I thought I’d found love, it ended rather dramatically and usually with me crying. I started my first ‘grown up’ relationship at 16, and figured out very quickly that I was rather naïve. I thought it was normal to stay with someone after they were repeatedly unfaithful and I thought I was being oversensitive every time he treated me rather poorly.

 

After that there were a few boys in and out of my life, nothing permanent or really worth mentioning and then I just kind of accepted that relationships were not for me.

I tried kissing boys I didn’t really care about instead, but I always felt cheap so that foolish activity faded fairly soon.

 

I coasted through the days, I knew I didn’t want a relationship and was reassured of this fact every time I met a guy at a bar or through mutual friends who was either an asshole or too drunk to communicate with much class. I cringed at couples’ Facebook statuses, and told myself I would never participate in such an act. And that was it, I told myself I should focus on myself and that I couldn’t even deal with myself so what made me think I could deal with someone else.

 

Alas, a night out with my roommates ended up with three of us in our neighbours’ kitchen –it just so happened that our neighbours were a bunch of guys.

 

After meeting him, I knew I liked him but I didn’t have the confidence to really pursue anything. It wasn’t long until he snuck into my life and I couldn’t sleep at night because I didn’t want to stop
thinking about him. It wasn’t long before I was in total awe of this one person who stepped into my life with such force it cracked the ground beneath my view on everything.

 

I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know this:

The songs suddenly all make sense and the movies have more meaning.

I want to dance in the living room.

My heart is fragile and I am vulnerable.

Most importantly, I love this man. He’s made me want to become a better person, he’s motivated me to become better and create more.

He’s held my hair back, he holds my hand, and since I’ve never really written about someone in particular before, its pretty clear he holds my heart too.

 

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