Writing from the darkness of domesticity…again



As some of you know, I have been taking a break from work since September. Three months in, I find myself grateful for the extra time and space and also bristling against my now (even) more domestic mode. (Since there is nothing else to take my focus.)

I hate domesticity. I rail against it. All the time. Almost every day.

I hate everything to do with housework and domestic duties. It is something that I have an ongoing battle with. I struggle, I rage, I despair. I accept, I flow, I enjoy. I struggle, I rage, I despair. This is the rhythm of it for me.

I hate the schedule. The monotony. The uselessness of it all. What does it mean for me to wash dishes, cook food, buy groceries, run errands, pick up toys, change summer to winter clothes? I honestly don’t give a shit. I find it useless, stupid and a waste of everything else I am good at.

I love my children and I honestly don’t give a shit.

I feel like a wolf that has been trapped in the wild and caged. Every day, her wildness dims a  bit. And she forgets what snow on the air smells like.

Dramatic? Maybe.

This place where I am is not where I expected to be. In high school, I did a project with my two best friends and we wrote down what we wanted to be when we grew up. One wanted to be a fashion designer. One wanted to be married with children. I wanted to travel around the world and have “lovers in every port”.

Being the main housekeeper and childcare provider feels like having a job I hate and not getting paid for it.

Maybe, some would say, your healthy and happy children are payment enough.

Nope. No, they are not. Not for me.

And yet, YET, occasionally, there is joy in this role. Occasionally, nothing brings me greater pleasure than being a mother, a mama bear, a goddess of the hearth, a keeper of all things cozy and nutritious and delightful and wonderfully loving.


And then, there are many times where my rage and feeling of unfairness threatens to rip my brain from my head and light my house on fire.

So what does a woman do, a wild woman do, a woman who dreamed of travelling and having lovers in every port, what does this woman do with her domestic rage?

I allow myself to become untamed. I shed the skin of domesticity and become animal. True to my nature. Wild. Free.

I light candles and they represent the burn of every woman who feels like me.

I put on a black dress. I like where it is tight and pulls against me. I like how it caresses my bare skin. How it will expose me as I move. It connects me to my darkness, my vitality, my angst, my vibrant push against it all.

I know I have a choice in this moment. To dive into the darkness I feel or to pretend it isn’t there. To stuff some part of me down, down, down. To suffocate my soul. To stitch myself up on one side only to have myself spill out on another. To cover my shadow with sparkly glitter which burns like poison on my skin.

So I dive into the darkness I feel. I move and sway and let the music take me away.

I begin to shed, cracking open what I mistakenly thought was me. I am reminded of myself. How much life there is inside of me. How much joy. How slowly I can move; like I am leading the world by the tip of my finger.

I touch my skin and feel where it is velvet soft, where it is warmer, where it curves in and out.

And then, aaahhhhh, there I am. My creature. My animal of all the shades, this breath of life in and out. My curves, my opening wider and wider.

I find the hard parts and soften them with curves. My cells open and breath for the first time today.

Yes, here I am. I become exquisite, mysteries, untouchable, magical again.

I leave with no plan, no solution. Nothing has changed. But I have stood firmly inside of myself and tasted my greatness. I belong to myself once again. And I have reminded myself of how much I am, how deep I go, how wide I am capable of opening.

I have celebrated my truth and made poetry from it.



This is how Christmas makes my body feel


So, where to begin…

Christmas! Holidays!

Christmas. Holidays. Sigh.

Every year, I forget how mental the holidays can be. Everyone is sick or just getting sick or just getting over being sick. People are dropping like flies and plans get cancelled at every corner. Everyone is tired from a year of going and pushing and doing. Then there are presents to buy (or make….yuck), money to spend, organizing which family gets you when, prezzies for teachers, extra school events, snowy days, etc. It hurts my heart every year when I feel the perfect Christmas slipping away. Oh wait, I know what that’s called! Life!

I needed to have a dance session to release all of the stress and tension from everything that is going on right now. And I decided to film it because if a picture is worth a thousand words, well, a video must be worth a thousand and ONE words.
This video is me releasing all the shit I have to release. (For today.) I release. I breathe. I celebrate. I am fluid. I go fast, I go slow. I am just me, talking through my body.

When I watch this video, I can see (instead of just feeling) how my body talks. I feel a lot of stress and tension in my arms and fingers so I wave them around like crazy. I need to release my head a lot so I get all head-banger with it. I like to pound my feet and sometimes I just pick up one foot over and over again. Who knows why…

I am messy and sometimes I lose my balance. Sometimes I lift my chin and get low and that’s when I’m in my “bring it, fucker” warrior mode. I also can get closed in my chest so I feel a lot of craving to crack that part open by pumping it or shaking it or basically thrusting it forward.

At one point, I stop to fix a rug and you’ll get a full moon shot (with clothes). You’re welcome.

I scoop energy from the earth, I pump to the sky, I hide in my hoodie.

My body is unique and my body is also every body. It has a language of it’s own. It talks and you can probably see the story it tells as easily as you could understand it if I put it in words.

By the way, I am dancing to an unnamed track from this Youtube playlist. The song starts around the 28 minute mark.

Come and dance with me next year. Reveal your body’s language. Learn how she needs to move, where she needs to release, what expression is her’s alone. She is incredible and fluid and strong and expressive and full of all of the colours of the rainbow.

Until then, eat well. Sleep well. Laugh until you pee your pants. Then, change your underwear and keep on laughing.

I fell off the stage and about the movement I teach


This article is for both people who have been following my blog for many years and maybe have taken classes with me in the past. It is also for new friends who have entered this journey with me later on.

I want to talk about the type of movement I used to teach and what I teach now. My hope is that I will be able to find words for this style of movement and explain the difference between what I do now and what I did then, for those of you who are wondering if there is a difference.

Yes, there is.

To start, I’ve had some pretty good adventures in my dancing career.

My first love was salsa. I don’t know if I have ever had a more alive, more drenched in joy and excitement, more sensual dancing time in my life. Six nights a week I went salsa dancing. That sums it all up. From there, I moved into bellydancing. And hip hop. And jazz. And a bit of swing and a bit of ballroom dancing. (I actually danced in two competitions and mostly remember my teacher telling me “tits to the ceiling”.) And all kinds of African dance. I took a private dance class in Nairobi in the part of town my guidebook told me not to go. The teacher Diana’s house was filled with her neighbours. Who sat watching in chairs against the wall. The whole time. In a very small room.  I have bubbled in Guyana, line danced, taken a summer course in modern dance and probably some other things I have forgotten.

I started to teach dance classes, combinations of hip hop and African and anything else that I felt like throwing in there. It was exciting, even though paying my bills was nerve-racking. It was me doing what I wanted to be doing.

And then, I picked up Sheila Kelley’s book around 2000 and it blew my mind. I was the first person in Toronto to teach exotic dance. I did striptease workshops, white shirt and tie workshops, lapdance workshops, high heel walking workshops.

(I once did private sessions with a man who wanted to learn how to do a striptease dance like Chippendales. On our final session, he took off his underwear. Enough said.)

I taught at stagette parties and danced at private events. I got paid to lapdance all night at a party. I was fortunate enough to co-create and run a dance troupe called “Las Gatas” (with the incomparable, soulful and forever-sister Nikola Steer) that was hired to dance opening weekend at the new Playboy strip club in Niagara Falls. It was exhausting. It was really fun. It was weird. We met feature stripper acts. I did a pole solo. We were introduced as a group from San Diego. I fell off the stage. (More on that later.)

I could dance sexy. Man o man, could I dance sexy. I could just crawl into that persona and I knew what to do. How to work my curves. How to use my eyes. I could tap into that sexuality easier than anything. The clothes, the make-up, the heels, the moves. It was easy for me. It was fun. It wasn’t real. It was an illusion. It was fake.

I loved those years. I loved that energy. And then, I got married and had a kid. I got older. And all of a sudden, sexy wasn’t like that for me. Sexy got complicated. Sexy got hard. My sexy switch wasn’t clickable anymore.

Shit got real.

And the journey for me though my dancing was where the heat of it was. I didn’t want to teach “sexy” dancing anymore. Because it didn’t seem real to me. I couldn’t fake it. My sexy was now tied up in so many other things about me that I couldn’t cut it out from what was going on with me and serve it up, solo style.

When I was in my “sexy dancing” phase, it meant dancing to songs like this one. (Okay, I have to admit, my ass still loves this song…)

I didn’t really know that dancing could be a way for me to record my story. To release my emotions. To give myself permission to feel whatever I felt and be alive and creative in it. To experience ecstasy in movement. To feel totally right – about my body, about my impulse, about my desire, about who I was.

I didn’t know that this way of moving could be anything other than “sexy dancing”.

And then, at a retreat, I danced to this song. My head dropping back. Arching my back. Swirling my hips. In this slow deep sensuality of aliveness, goose bumps on my skin, lump in my throat, tears running down my face and still, moving in my body as my breasts reached forward, my pelvis circles, my hair flew around my face.

This was the sexiest I had ever felt. This was so fucking me, so fucking real, so fucking sexy because I was moving in the rawest truth of who I was. What I was feeling. No illusion. No faking it.

And that changed the way I moved forever. I don’t do just sexy dancing anymore. I do emotional dancing. I do movement that brims over with the realness of what’s going on inside of me. I teach the deepness of sensuality that isn’t for public consumption. I do this movement, this celebration of the body, this dancing to be as fully and as wide and as deep and as real and as free as I possible can be.

And for those of you who are wondering what I did after I fell off the stage, I promptly jumped back up and shouted “I’m okay!” for no good reason at all. And continued to dance.

If you live in Toronto, my next class is on Monday, November 6th. Come and move with me.


What’s hiding in your body?


One of the really big changes I’ve made over the last five years is to feel. I mean, FEEL. Really feel. Feel it all. The good, the bad and the ugly. And from where I am right now, I can look back and see how much I wasn’t feeling before.

I can see the rage that I shoved aside because, frankly, I thought it might blow up my world. I can see the yearning for deeper sensuality and my wanton lust that I sidestepped because I didn’t know how to fit it into my life. I can see the sadness, buried deep…..deep down. Some of it was so deep that I didn’t know it was there until I started going in.  All of the emotions that I didn’t think were appropriate – (or that I didn’t want to have) like jealousy, bitterness, judgement, self-doubt – I tried to “fix” with my brain. But all my brain knew how to do was to ignore and deny them. Or to try to talk them away…or to convince me that they weren’t real, weren’t important or were just plain wrong.

I felt afraid of being so emotional. Of letting my world be cracked open and thrown off-course by all the things I was feeling. And because I had a belief that I had to have a solution to all my “problems”, I never thought that just feeling things, without trying to fix or change them, would do anything.

My emotional bandwidth was narrow. I was living with blinders on, operating on a very small emotional budget.

I was a thin slice of all that I am.

And where did all of that emotion hide? Just because I ignored it didn’t mean it disappeared. It just retreated and found a place to hide. Inside my body. I found my deep sadness right in the heart of me. My lust exploded along my spine. My rage was concrete in my chest and my anxiety was a pit of snakes in my stomach.

They filled my body up with their heaviness and their toxicity when they were not allowed to speak. But when I gave them my attention and allowed them to move through my body, to be seen, they became transformed.

I also know that when we numb out any emotion, we numb them all out. We can’t not feel our rage but feel all of our joy. It doesn’t work that way. We close down one, they all get closed down.

We end up feeling numb. Flat. On automatic pilot. The safety of not feeling anything too much becomes a prison, not the freedom we think it will be.

A part of this journey was learning that I, as a red-blooded woman, am designed to feel. I was born for this. I have the heart, the body, the passion, the fire to feel every shade of rage, every temperature of lust, every exquisite ache of sadness. It doesn’t break me. It makes me.

You are a red-blooded woman. You are designed to feel. It won’t break you. You have the soul for this, the breath, the fireproof feminine heart that can feel it all.  It won’t break you.

I see a lot of us holding it all in. Maintaining a facade of the nice girl or the happy girl when, underneath, there are so many other colours swirling around, begging to be let out. We might think we are being our best selves by not feeling all the other stuff but in reality, we are clipping our wings, staying small and shutting out all of our aliveness, vibrancy, outrageousness, audacity and authenticity.

For me, emotions are like teenagers. They yearn to be understood. To be seen. To be heard. And when you give them that attention, the transformation begins.

Fortunately, we can become the authors of our own story. We can break free from what we were taught…or what we have always done…we are capable of expanding into our lives instead of constricting. We have the courage to be the gorgeously emotional beings we are designed to be.

This post is not about fixing anything you are feeling. But I do want to share with you how I move emotions so they don’t stay hidden and stuck inside my body.

  • I step into it. When I feel that anxiety in my stomach, instead of distracting myself with something else until it disappears, I jump right into it. I don’t run away from it, I run right into it. And I breathe. Most importantly, I allow myself to feel what I am feeling. That compassion, that fierce self-love, is the real gift.
  • I move it through my body with movement. Dancing for me is the best way I have learned to allow emotions to run through my body. Because I am moving with emotion, not just for movements sake. Here are some songs that I love to use to get some shit out of me:

Sadness – “Don’t worry about me” by Frances

Lust – “Skin” by Rihanna

Rage – “Out of the black” by Royal Blood

Feeling lost – “Unsuffer me” by Lucinda Williams

I do my soulful feminine movement work, which sometimes consists of me sitting on the floor and doing head circles for 10 minutes. Or being on all fours doing pelvis circles. It doesn’t have to be complicated…it just needs to allow an emotional state. For those who haven’t seen it yet, here is a movement video I did that you can follow along with at your computer. It will give you some good ideas for how to create movement that allows for emotion to come out.

  • I walk and spring clean. This also is great for me because the walking gets my body moving (and me out of the house) and the spring cleaning exercise (developed by Mama Gena) allows me to get some big charged emotion out of me before I puke it over someone else or before it becomes a heavy toxic weight in my body.

Here’s how it works, in Mama Gena’s words.

“You can do this exercise alone or to a wall, but it is best done with a partner. You both first agree to keep what is said in the exercise confidential, so that you can be free in revealing your charge. Then, if you’re doing this exercise in person, sit facing each other, either at a café or some private place. You can also do this exercise over the phone. One of you asks the other the same question, over and over in an expressionless tone, for 10-15 minutes. The other answers. Then you switch. For example:

Person 1: What do you have on “desire”?
Person 2: I have no idea what I desire.
Person 1: Thank you. What do you have on “desire”?
Person 2: I remember when I was three, and I desired a ribbon for my hair and my mother criticized me.
Person 1: Thank you. What do you have on “desire”?
Person 2: I want a chocolate-covered pretzel right now.
Person 1: Thank you…

…And so on. Then you switch. The result of this practice is you, uncluttered. You, unplugged. You, unfettered. You, the gazelle. You, the swooping bird. You. Pure, wild, savage, wonderful, irreplaceable you.”

I have found this exercise to be deceptively powerful and intoxicatingly releasing. Please try it next time your body is buzzing with emotion that is demanding to be heard.

If we imagine that our bodies are temples, sacred places to keep beautiful and clean, then we need to stop dumping our garbage there – our unspoken desires, our emotions that we feel ill-equipped to deal with and all of the other things we shove into endless closets and pretend don’t exist.

In the comments below, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. What are you hiding in your body? What do you fear about letting it out? Or how do you manage your heavy emotions?

How I started to get my mojo back – Part 2

Last week, in “How I started to get my mojo back – Part 1”, I wrote about discovering I didn’t feel sexy, having a boo-hoo moment and then starting on a determined path to feel sexy again. For myself. By myself. Through myself. Yes, I wanted to get my mojo back.

When I looked up the meaning of mojo, it took on an even more awesome power for me. Meanings of mojo – a magic charm, spell or talisman. A magical power. And more recently, sex appeal or talent.

Yes, please.

In essence, mojo is way bigger than just sex appeal. It’s having something magic inside of you that allows you to shine. I like it. I like it a lot.




At the end of last week’s post, I talked about the first step I took to reclaiming my sexy. Which was to firmly and without doubt, place all of the gorgeous burden of how I wanted to feel ON ME. Not on my lover, not on my life, not on the outside world. Even the mere thought of that was a game shifter for me. And as I started to focus on and pay attention to how I wanted to feel in my body, heart and spirit (sexy, sexy, sexy), I could feel how it affected all the parts of my life. I felt a skip in my step. More energy. Better connected and in love with my body. A deeper confidence. A bigger sense of fun. Power. Vitality.

I was getting my mojo back. My secret power. My magic. Starting with sexy and then, aiming for the stars.

My job became to make sure that I gave my mojo what she needed to live. To shine.

My mojo does not thrive when overwhelmed (too many things to do, too many expectations), under slept (this will kill her outright) or over scheduled (her delicate little heart does not shine at a fast and furious pace). She does thrive when she is nourished (good food, good sleep, space and peace in my days, mojo-activating-time, fun…) and happy (this hits it out of the park).

As my mojo and concept of my sexuality grew, also decided that I would redefine my sex life. I wanted it to be so much bigger and brighter than just boy-meets-girl. Or girl-meets-girl. Which is usually a benchmark we all use to define our sex lives, right? Meaning, how often are you getting it? If you’re getting it a lot, you must have a great sex life. And if you are not, your sex life must be dead.

Now, I love getting it as much as the next girl but to have my sexuality and my mojo defined by just that? Hmm, no thanks. Too small, too limiting, too dependent on the other in the scenario. So I changed the rules and decided that my litmus test would be so much more ME, so much more exciting, EXPANSIVE and way more fun.

What was important to me, beyond what happened with a partner, was;

Getting turned on. Feeling lustful.

Turning myself on.

Knowing what turns me on.

Continually evolving and developing my knowledge and my curiosity about my sexuality.

Being able to write down 5 fantasies on demand. (See? Way more fun, right?!)

Reading erotica. Keeping desire in the brain.

Connecting with my sexual essence through dance.

Feeling desirable. Wanted. Adored. ALIVE.

Those were my new benchmarks. My new goals. And so my sexuality and my mojo got steadily bigger. Better. Stronger. A swivel of the hips. A twinkle in the eye. A flip of the hair. A self-satisfied smile. A flirt. A feeling of being able to create magic within. My own magical power. My mojo.

How is your mojo feeling these days? In any way that you define it? If it’s not where you want it to be, what can you do about it?

I lift a glass to all of our mojos. The ones floating high and mighty, the shining ones, the growing ones, the ones starting to push through like new growth in the spring, the sleeping ones that are willing and ready to be awaken. As Austin Power’s once (or twice) said, “Yeah, baby, YEAH!”


Meet your most fearless, confident and pure self

“She does what she wants and never anything to impress or please. She dances in the shadows when she wants and on centre stage when she wants. Her body is made for pleasure and she curves and rolls and reaches and mesmerizes. She is ice cold and fire hot. She is untouchable. Untameable. Unknowable.”

These are some of the notes I made at the S-Factor retreat in January 2014, almost a year ago. They were notes made about my EC, my erotic creature (as Sheila Kelley defines the “feminine body” all women have). I remember having such a clear idea of who my EC was. Once I was ready to see and feel her, she took shape in an effortless and magical way. I questioned nothing about her; she was my perfect fit.

When I tapped into her (with the benefit of the time and space that retreat allowed me), she had an instant effect on me. Anxieties disappeared. The thought of apologizing for anything was gone. Self-doubt, questioning my actions, thinking about what I should do instead of what I wanted to do seemed like an ancient and forgotten way of being. My deep core confidence was both as light as a feather and as unalterable as a mountain. She was unshakeable. I was unshakeable. Pure magic. A deep love affair.

Seeing her, really seeing who she was, was one of the greatest moments during that retreat and had a lasting and powerful effect on me. I was so inspired to keep her with me, to give her what she needed to show up more often in my life. I wanted her to be a strong presence in my life and, therefore, to change it.

Let me ask you, who is your “erotic creature?” Do you know her? If you are like me, maybe you lost track of her as your energy got directed everywhere else (really, everyone else) except within.

She won’t come out if you just call her. She requires time and space to be known. She is not likely to be your outward personality, the facade you put on at parties or social events. She’s not likely to be who your friends think she is – although she might have some elements, if they know you well. She might not even be who you want her to be. But she will be the purest and most fearless essence of yourself. And when you wake her up, that confidence and fearlessness will start to pulse through your “real” life as well.

She is not in your brain. You can’t think her alive. You have to feel her alive. Move her alive. She is in your cells, your soul and your spirit. She is in your body; all it’s curves and stories and moments and tears and heights and depths and passion and despair.

When does she show herself? I have found her most easily when I dance. When I dance for myself, in my own moves, being guided by my own feelings and emotions.

When you move in meditation, with music that fits you, she’ll come out. When you feel free to feel anything you want – your lust, your shyness, your anger, your coldness, your aggression, your sweetness – she’ll come out. She is your core sensual essence, your intrinsic nature, your quintessential soul, stripped clean of anything that tarnishes and devalues her. She has a fearlessness that blows away self-doubt, expands your spirit, blows your mind and makes you feel FINALLY AT HOME.

If you listen for her, she’s there. All the women joining me next year in the inaugural Juicy Woman Revolution Course will have the honour of meeting her perhaps for the first time or of re-aquainting themselves with her.

In further news, I will be taking a break from these letters over the holidays to just unplug and have mad fun. My most juicy best to everyone over the holidays and here’s to a bubbly, inspirational, diamonds-in-the-sky and magic-is-possible New Year’s. I look forward to our adventures in 2015. And thank you very much for all of your emails and support and attention this year. I am honoured.



What EXACTLY happens at a workshop?




The other day, I was talking to a friend who has taken many dance classes with me and who is such a great support and enthusiast of my new path.

She mentioned that she knew that I was running some workshops in the fall. Excellent, I thought. Email newsletters DO work! And then she said, “What actually HAPPENS at one of these workshops?”.

Hmmm.  Well, I thought, if someone needs to ask me, then I need to do a better job of explaining it.

When I used to teach “Hip Hop”, or “Learn the Thriller dance” (yes, I know the whole dance!), or “Pussycat Dolls”, it was really clear WHAT would be taught. And it was easy to imagine what would happen in the class.

But now that I am talking about things like love your nature and love your body and express yourself and feel authentically awesome, that is much harder to visualize. (As in, do we get naked/crazy/sing Kumbaya or use hand mirrors?!)

I realized that I wasn’t doing as much as I could to explain a workshop and entice you to join me. That perhaps the terms and words that I now hold dear (I would have rolled my eyes at visualizations in a previous life) were like a private joke. Unless you “were THERE”, you wouldn’t get it.

I am still finding the perfect words to describe what happens at the workshop.

I want to talk about the power of visualization without sounding totally flaky.

I want to talk about accessing your sexualilty without making anyone feel afraid or nervous about having to do something they are not comfortable with.

I want to talk about getting into your body and feeling at home and at peace there without making that sound meaningless and trivial.

I want to talk about feeling so good about being YOU.

So, I have a big job to do. I’m up to it!

Continue reading “What EXACTLY happens at a workshop?”

Let’s share music – what are you listening to?



I love sharing music because, even though I have a giant library, I get bored of my own tastes. When I start to listen to other music, I realize how limited my range is – I have my favourite genres that I tend to gravitate towards. But when I hear something outside of my experience, and it’s good, it allows me to express differently. To feel different. To be different. And that I love.

In the spirit of sharing, here’s my current dancing playlist. Perhaps there are some songs here that tickle your fancy…or other parts. Skip to the bottom to get listening right away.

Continue reading “Let’s share music – what are you listening to?”

Dance, dance, dance

I’m going to challenge you to try the same experiment that I am trying. It’s good. It’s hot. It’s super-sweet.

It’s kinda super-easy too – but somehow difficult. Isn’t life intriguing, with all these little mysteries and conundrums?!

I want us to dance more.

Yes, I do think that if we danced more, we’d be able to reach a state of happiness more often.

When I am angry, depressed, frustrated, sad, overwhelmed or feeling totally at odds with my body, the BEST thing I can do is to dance.

When I dance, a few wonderful things happen;

a) I stop thinking.
b) My body gets a bit warm and sweaty.
c) My body becomes my best friend because look at all the cool things she can do!
d) I feel happy.
e) My problem or stress is still there when I stop but I am less frantic about it. Less attached. I have snuck out the window and partied while the problem wasn’t looking.

Hey, are you thinking what I’m thinking?

a) I don’t have an hour.
b) I don’t feel like it so I shouldn’t do it.
c) Actually, I really don’t feel like it so please stop telling me what to do.
d) I don’t have time to take dance classes.
e) I can’t just go out to a club every night.
f) I don’t have a dance floor or disco ball. (This is actually a very fair complaint.)

So here is my challenge. When you need a pick-me up, dance. Get up and move. To one song. Or two. Or seven. It can be a sad song, happy song, horny song, angry song. Get up and move.


How do I find a song?

Umm, awkward pause. I’m going to give you some time to think about that question because I know that a) you have heard music before and b) some of it made you feel good. It may have been awhile but you get out there and FIND A SONG!

I don’t know how to dance.

I can’t believe that the judges from “So You Think You Can Dance” are at your house! Please tell them to leave immediately so you can start dancing.

I don’t have enough time.

Most popular songs are about 3-4 minutes. If you don’t have 3-4 minutes to brighten your day and love yourself, then this email is the least of your problems and we’ll leave it at that.

I can’t dance at work. What will people think?

That you are the coolest employee.

My partner/roommates/kids look at me like I definitely should not be dancing.

Poor them. Jealous much?

I’m too tired.


I’m still too tired.

I don’t care.
What if I feel worse after?

Ha ha.
Ha ha ha.
You are so cute and funny too!

How do you dance on the subway without anyone knowing?

This is actually a lot of fun. I like to see if I can maintain a deadpan stare while I get my pelvic thrusts on.

We were born to dance. To move. To shake and sweat and groove to a beat.

Get out of your mind. Get out of your problems. Take a break and flood your body with love and freedom.