Dear Daughter: I Hope You Dance

Thousands of hours—and dollars—later, I never thought I’d say this, dear daughter, but I hope you dance.

You see, despite countless (long) drives to the dance studio, multiple (extremely long) dance competitions, and one (endless) Garth Fagan Dance production, I’ve never really known what it means to dance.

Part of that, of course, is my own ineptitude, a complete lack of rhythm and fluidity that makes even the kindest souls cringe. The only thing I have in common with Travolta, apparently, is the ability to gain weight quickly.

But I’ve tried.

I’ve even perused books on the subject, turning a physical activity into one that lends itself well to sitting on the couch.

Then, the other day, by accident, I stumbled across the answer.

It started with this Christian school in Tennessee, one that was built upon the former summer estate of Adelicia Acklen, whose first husband had acquired great wealth as a slave trader and plantation owner.

The educational outfit began in 1890 as a women’s college but eventually went co-ed in 1951 after being sold to the Tennessee Baptist Convention. Anyway, the place—now nondenominational—claims it’s good at music.

That claim opened a rabbit hole, and never one to avoid the trivial, I dove right in.

There, I acquainted myself with a former student originally from Jacksonville, Texas, named Lee Ann Womack. In her younger years, she dabbled in beauty pageants, along the way embracing tunes as well.

Thanks to her, I rediscovered a ballad I had heard hundreds of times. It was about dancing…or so I thought. Beyond the title, I guess I had never really listened to the lyrics before.

When I finally did, I heard a few good lines:

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder

You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger (Note: I haven’t lost my hunger.)

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean (Note: I do, just less small.)

Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens

And then, the best lines of all:

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

I hope you dance

I hope you dance

I envisioned myself, the master of sitting it out. (Note: More often than not, this actually involved standing, usually close to a bar.)

And at that moment, as I asked myself if I should be doing more nephrology and less blogging, I had a light-bulb moment.

It could be in an operating room.

Or maybe a boardroom.

It could be on a stage.

Or perhaps in an office.

It could be on the front lines.

Or completely behind the scenes.

Online.

Or offline.

But no matter what, dear daughter, I hope you dance.

(Final note: There might be cheaper and less time-consuming ways of having such insight.)