Can't Stop The Feeling!

The other weekend I drove from Virginia to New Jersey by way of Interstate 95, or The 95 to some folks—a name which I think is supposed to confer infamous status due to the horrendous traffic the road sometimes serves up. At any rate, I was driving along and, lo, I hit a wall of traffic. But not just any wall. The road was stopped in its tracks for as far as the eye could see. We weren’t going anywhere. Slowly info began filtering through from the various sources of intel: up ahead a pack of elephants had gotten loose from a nearby circus show in Maryland and were now clustered in the middle of the road. There was no protocol for something like this. Apparently, it was a very delicate situation.

I don’t know which was more difficult: not being able to move, or not being able to see the elephants. Either way, I was getting a little antsy, so I started to check out the scene surrounding me. This is when I discovered the cars on either side of me, parked and waiting this thing out, too.

You will not believe me when I tell you this, but the Tesla on my left had a bunch of raccoons in it, and the Dodge Ram on my right had deer. My head did a ricochet back and forth between the two in a disoriented muddle until I noticed other cars in the immediate vicinity: all of them had animals of various sorts—a convertible with flamingos, a Fiat with a bunch of rats, cats and dogs in a minivan, and so forth.

As I’m sure you’d have done, too, I quickly began scanning the area for other humans. The unsettling feeling was taking hold: am I the lone person out here??

As it turned out, I was. Never before had I felt so alone and so much the odd person out (or does that idiom not work here?)

However, as serendipity will have it, before I could slip any further into my unease (which was beginning to spiral into anxiety into panic), a funky percussive beat started to emanate from the raccoon’s stereo system; drum mixed with cymbal, and then synthesizer.

Rat-a-tat-tat-bap-bap.

Then, like music of the spheres radiating out [pop version], Justin Timberlake’s disco voice joined in from the speakers, and we had music right then and there in the middle of I-95, in the midst of this unprecedented menagerie:

I got this feeling inside my bones It goes electric, wavey when I turn it on

The deer quickly caught wind of this and yelled over to the raccoons, “Dawgs! Turn it up, man,” to which the raccoons promptly rolled down their windows and cranked up the volume well past what is legal for The 95. Pretty soon what began to transpire around me I can hardly describe, but I’m going to do my best because I think you will want to know this, in case elephants get loose again and you find yourself in this situation.

At first it started as innocent car dancing, with lots of smooth moves from the car seats, but then it slowly shifted to something more remarkable:

The 95 Dance Party

A deer to my right was the first chap out of his truck. My grip on the steering wheel tightened as I watched him bend his torso down low and move side-step right in front of my car, hoofing a wiggle-hip step, shaking it on down, eyeing me with such a groove in his soul that I could feel it in my body, too. I was infected. My hips did a little press to the right, my head tapped to the left.

And Justin Timberlake:

I can’t stop the feeling!

So just dance dance dance!

Out of nowhere a surge of rats came prancing across the hood of my car! I gasped. They had small, barely audible voices, but collectively I heard them sing in a miniature screech. “Got this feeling in my body!” I don’t know about you, but I’d never seen a rat dance until that moment, and you know what? They’re sort of born for it. They got a booty in back, a feisty set of hands in the front, and a tail that whips around to the bass drum: boom boom boom. If I said they didn’t look extremely choreographed, I’d be lying. It was a music video right there.

The line of them moved in sync, in step with each other just past my windshield, the front rat dancer tucking his hands behind his head and thrusting his little furry hips up-up. I blushed a little. I’m getting older, you know. But between you and me, it jazzed me up, too. I love to dance. This situation was hitting me right where my joy energy loves to be: moving to the beat, grooving to the tunes. The spirit in the air was undeniably pulling me in, and the desire to jump out of my car and join this crazy thing was building, but a thought was welling up from the depths in me, too.

I can’t do this. I’d look like a fool!

It’s a sad thought, I know, but the problem was that I’d be the only human at the party. I slowly looked over the theater sprawled before me with my glum point of view:

Look at those raccoons. They have those huge tails which are perfect for strutting their stuff. I only have a truncated rear. So boring.

Look at the flamingos! Could a neck ever be more suited to that waltzy thing they’re doing? I have a short lollypop stick. It’s not even long for a human.

Those geese! Their wings are the most spectacular display of this whole spectacle. If I went out there with these little arms? Scratch that. These limp worms??

I tapped my fingers impatiently on the dashboard. It’s hard sometimes when you feel so inadequate about something you know doesn’t really matter in the big scheme of things. It’s a fear born out of wanting to fit in and be accepted, which is normal, but at the same time it’s often related to something of little consequence.

Then I asked myself this: What’s the worst that could happen if I went out there and danced like a human among these fabulous creature dancers?

I thought about that for a moment. I played through all the terrible scenarios--the rejection, the mocking, the laughing at my expense--and realized there was one clear answer.

They could maul me and eat me. That would be the worst-case scenario. They were animals, after all. But would that happen? Probably not. I should be able to outrun the geese, wings notwithstanding. The rats for sure couldn’t pull that kind of smorgasbord off.

Therefore, if they wouldn’t eat me, then what truly did I have to fear? That was an easy answer because it was the real answer: I wouldn’t be good enough. And yet, when I looked around, I noticed an interesting thing. Each species was quite different from the other, but none of them seemed to care much about the difference at all. The raccoons were doing their thing, which was so different from the deer, and from the dogs and cats. But they shared the enjoyment of the dance. That was the common ground, not what they looked like or how they danced. Frankly, they all seemed to be more invested in Justin Timberlake, and Justin happens to be a human.

In that moment of reflection, I received a spark of courage which was just enough to power my hand to reach for the door handle and open the car door. I wasn’t just going out there to dance. Honey, I was going to dance dance dance!

Wouldn’t you know, the minute I stepped out of the car the entire place lit up in a roar, or squeak, depending. The flamingos, the geese, the deer, rats, raccoons. Everybody was giving me a hero’s welcome. I was flabbergasted, but overjoyed, too. My worst fear, being rejected and then possibly eaten, had been completely erased. In its place came a joyous understanding that it’s okay to simply be yourself, however short the neck or brief the bottom. However human the being.

It took mere seconds for all of us to become joined in the pulse of the music as one. I have never felt so alive and so free. I was actually dancing with a deer! I allowed the rats to do their silly tango up and down my arms, which felt beautiful on my skin and had me cackling it was so ridiculous. It dawned on me that they were out there freely being who they are: rats. Not everybody loves a rat, you know. But I can say I do. I love a whole Fiat of them. We’re friends on Facebook now.

By the end of Justin’s song, the most incredible moment of my life had transpired, and I could hardly breathe from the dancing and the excitement. As all stories must come to an end, the cops started whizzing by us on the interstate shoulder, alerting us that the road was now clear up ahead. The elephants were safely herded back to the circus. We reluctantly got back into our cars, buckled in, and waved our goodbyes with hooves and wings and arms out our windows. For a while, as we travelled up The 95, cars would beep at each other in good cheer. Such fine feelings all along the road that day.

What I walk away with more than anything from that extraordinary experience is that fear is normal. But so is the courage to let it go. Courage isn’t such a rare thing, I think. It can be summoned, and often it’s used to overcome something not so dangerous. One of my biggest fears of late was starting this blog. I really wanted to do it, but I worried you guys would maul me and eat me. As it turns out, you haven’t. Instead, you’ve been quite kind, even though I tell an inane story like this one. What have I gotten as my reward for pushing through this fear? The chance to invent a story that was fun to write, and one that further solidified in my mind that doors are meant to be opened—most especially doors to ourselves. I hope one day you get to dance with the animals, too.