“A Duty to Dance” by Caleb Owens

Throughout my life, I’ve always had difficulty managing my innate desire to dance. Perhaps the urge goes back to childhood road trips, restrained by a seat belt while watching High School Musical on a loop and wanting nothing more than to “bop to the top.” Maybe the film Happy Feet kickstarted my early desires to dance. Regardless, at some point in my early development I acquired an irrepressible need to let my limbs loose at the sound of catchy music, wherever and whenever that may be. Unfortunately, the rest of the world couldn’t relate.

I never had much desire to pursue formal dancing of any kind. Attending my sister’s tap dance and hip hop recitals left me with a distaste for choreographed dancing (although they did create a special place in my heart for Mariah Carey’s Christmas album). I found the “grinding” method frequently employed at high school dances to be useless. What I was looking for was the kind of formless, liquefied dancing seen on the old iPod Nano commercials. Purposeless, liberating, free. I gave it a try, and after a few perplexed stares I ended up with an inhibition that prevented me from dancing publicly, despite my strongest inclinations to do so.

Years went by, and I gradually regressed into a danceless state. I lost touch with the passion of my youth, my movements becoming expressionless and robotic. I never even gave dancing a thought. That is, until I stepped foot into Russell Dining Hall.

With Caesar Rodney Dining hall and its elite status in the world of UD cuisine, I would at first walk by Russell with disapproving glances. In fact, I would openly degrade the dining hall. But in a Pauline form of conversion one morning, my blindness was lifted.

In an overslept panic, I came to terms with hypocrisy and rushed into Russell. I darted to the oatmeal section, haphazardly tried to pour myself a cup of coffee, and sat down. Amidst all of this mental and physical commotion, I realized that my head was bobbing to the beat of Beyonce’s “Love on Top.” I looked down and noticed that my legs began to move as well. Before I knew it, I had surrendered myself to the melodious magic of Beyonce and was standing up dancing. The retro atmosphere of the dining hall simply fueled my movements, and in a rapturous release I was vindicated of all of those years of dancing repression. I simply didn’t care who say, and continued to dance for the whole day.

On that day, I realized I made the right college decision. All uncertainty was erased, and I knew that, if I can dance here, I can thrive.