When Was The Last Time You Danced?
Fuck, we've been heavy lately, haven't we?
Heavy with purpose. Heavy with pain. Heavy with all the weight we've been unpacking in post after post about trauma, anxiety, and the price of being human. Week after week of diving deep into the trenches of our collective damage, picking apart the pieces of our broken bits.
But something happened during training this morning that made me realize we've forgotten something crucial.
You know that moment? When something in your body just... moves. Not because it should. Not because it's functional. But because somewhere beneath all that carefully curated heaviness, your soul remembers what it feels like to be light.
It found me between sets - Cher's "Chiquitita" blasting through my headphones. Yeah, you read that right. The bass line, that Spanish vibe through my headphone just hit right. And no, I don't give a shit what you think about that. Because in that moment, neither did I.
There I was, 100kg loaded on the incline bench, 32kg kettlebell waiting for the next complex, supposed to be all serious and masculine and focused on my expedition training - and instead, getting absolutely fucking lost in it. Not just a nod. The whole damn thing. Every part of me forgetting why I shouldn't.
I put it on repeat. Again. Again. Because when something moves inside you, you don't question it. You ride it until your soul remembers what freedom tastes like.
Maybe your moment isn't Cher. Maybe it's death metal or K-pop or whale sounds. Doesn't matter. What matters is that when it finds you, when that rhythm sneaks past your armour and reminds you what alive feels like, you don't let your own bullshit kill it.
Because sometimes the bravest thing isn't grinding harder. Sometimes it's letting a 70's pop song turn you into a dancing fool, and knowing that in those moments, you're more alive than all your serious moments combined.
These moments. These tiny, unexpected eruptions of aliveness. They're not accidents - they're proof of life. Evidence that no matter how deep we sink into our own darkness, no matter how thoroughly we convince ourselves we're damaged beyond repair, our bodies remember how to dance.
You do it too. Don't pretend you don't. Maybe it's in your kitchen when that guilty pleasure song comes on. Maybe it's in your car at a red light, thinking no one can see you (they can, by the way, and it's fucking beautiful). Maybe it's just a finger tap on your desk that turns into a shoulder shimmy that reminds you that you're not just your goals, your trauma, your carefully constructed walls.
Here's the really messed up part - I started looking for the embarrassment. Hunting for that moment of self-consciousness that usually stops us. Trying to find that voice that says "strong guys don't dance between sets." But it wasn't there. Or maybe it was, but it was too busy laughing at myself to feel ashamed.
Here's the weird thing about darkness - we get comfortable in it. Make a home there. Start believing we don't deserve anything else. Whether it's the darkness of depression, anxiety, or just the relentless grind of chasing goals - we start wearing our struggles like armor. Like we'd be betraying something if we let ourselves feel light.
But those moments when your body moves without permission? That's not betrayal. That's not weakness. That's not unprofessional or unmasculine. That's your soul remembering what it feels like to be alive without the weight of everything you're trying to become or escape.
The magic isn't just in letting the moment find you - it's in choosing to amplify it. To put that fucking song on repeat and squeeze every drop of joy from it, dignity be damned.
Because here's the truth - whether you're grinding toward greatness or climbing out of darkness, you're allowed these moments. You're allowed to chase them. To multiply them. To let them remind you that there's more to life than the weight you carry.
Your body knows things your mind forgets. It knows that looking stupid while choosing joy is braver than looking cool while drowning in dignity. That moving like you mean it, even for seconds, isn't betraying your strength or your struggles - it's proving that they haven't claimed all of you. Not yet. Not ever.
This isn't about escaping the work. The grind will still be there. The demons will still need facing. The goals will still need chasing. But in between? In those spaces where life tries to find you? You're allowed to put the song on repeat. You're allowed to dance like a complete idiot. You're allowed to chase the light like it owes you money.
Because maybe that's what we're all really training for - not just to be stronger, not just to escape our darkness, but to be ready when joy tries to hijack our hips in the middle of a Tuesday. And when it does? Fuck it. Hit repeat. Dance harder. Look for the embarrassment and laugh when you can't find it.
So tell me, when was the last time you danced? Not for Instagram. Not for anyone else. But for that pure, stupid joy of remembering that you're alive and that sometimes - just sometimes - that can be enough?