Life in pieces...
Take a chance with a dance


Colleen McGinness

We can learn life’s little lessons in the strangest of places.
This summer I lived with my young-acting, 60-year-old uncle who owns a successful real estate company in Seattle. A music enthusiast, he bought tickets for himself and his truly young 32-year-old fiancé to see Jimmy Cliff, a well-known reggae artist.
Like you, I hadn’t heard of him.
After my uncle and aunt-to-be got sick, I was lucky enough to get the tickets. The venue was a very cool, historic firehouse that had been converted to a stage and bar. I wasn’t sure I should go because I somehow contracted the mumps, and was well, a bit embarrassed by the baseball-sized lump on my cheek.
Due to my uncle’s urging, I brought a friend with me who also hadn’t heard of Cliff. We were prepared to just check it out—no long-term commitments.
The place was packed. Looking around the swarm of faces I quickly realized there were no seats. I had planned to find a private corner where I could sit and watch people make fools of themselves.
With a Corona in one hand, I settled in the back near the wall, prepared to blend in with the brick. The band started and to our surprise, was impressive. As my eyes adjusted to the smoky air, which smelled more like pot than tobacco, I began to assess the crowd.
There was that guy who came alone and very obviously for the atmosphere. Wild and free, he danced like there was no body watching.
There was the awkward couple, probably on a first date, who stiffly swayed to the beat, avoided eye contact and appeared a little too interested in their drinks. There were older, married couples who most likely came to spend a few hours reliving their youth.
There were the natural women in crotched knit tops, beefy men in sleeveless shirts and knee-cut jean shorts, geeky Microsoft software programmers and that girl with wild dreadlocks and a long, lace dress.
And then there was me.
Stiffly standing with my beer in one hand, I was wearing a baby blue polo shirt, khaki shorts and flip-flops. I felt completely out of place.
Then I realized the concert didn’t just attract ageing, pot-smoking, dreadlock sporting Caribbean wannabes. There were businessmen like my uncle, moms and dads, grandmas, bikers, college students, bohemians, and yes, a tall, black man who was wearing a Technicolor jumpsuit with an pick sticking straight out of his hair.
So, I danced.
As I grow up, I realize that life isn’t just about me. Nobody cared that my face was swollen like a grapefruit and my conservative, preppie attire wasn’t jaw-dropping. I realized I was the one judging. These people were from all walks of life, enjoying good music and letting off steam. They were dancing, and they were having fun.
We stayed until the end of the show.
What makes us fear other’s opinions? I believe our insecurities can act as chains—keeping us from the very experiences that can shape our lives for the better.
Get a group of friends together and go to the next fraternity party—even if you don’t drink. Join student organizations that interest you, stomp your feet at Charger games and get outside yourself from time to time. The whole world really isn’t staring at you.
Even though Jimmy Cliff probably isn’t coming to Hillsdale, there isn’t any reason why we all can’t go out and shake it. I can’t dance, but it seems there are really very few who can.
So kick your roomie out, close the blinds and turn up the volume.

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