There are moments in life when you don’t just exist—you live. This morning was one of them.
I woke up in a space that was quiet, entirely my own. No obligations, no expectations. Just me, the morning light, and the kind of sound system that deserved to be used at full volume. So, I did.
Bruno Mars, Michael Bublé, the Bee Gees—I let them in, filling the space with rhythm, nostalgia, and the kind of joy that shakes something loose inside you. And then, without hesitation, I danced.
I danced like the main character in a Disney movie opening scene. I danced like my life had just begun. And maybe, in some ways, it had.
For so long, life has been measured in decisions, responsibilities, and the next steps. Today, it was measured in movement, in breath, in the feeling of my body keeping time with something greater than myself. It wasn’t just happiness—it was something deeper. A reclamation. A reminder. A realization that no matter what has happened, no matter what will happen, I am here. And being here is enough.
There’s something about dancing that makes you feel alive in the truest sense. It forces you into the moment. No past, no future—just now. And if now is all we really have, then I want to fill mine with music, movement, and moments like this.
And beyond the music, beyond the dancing, there was something more—a shift. A new energy, a pulse of inspiration that stretched beyond just today. It carried into everything: the way I see my work, the way I make decisions, the way I am stepping into a life that is truly mine. The world is moving, and I am moving with it.
This morning, I danced. And in doing so, I lived.