My babes + I spent a very hot July afternoon at Six Flags Great Adventure.

Almost every word in that sentence makes me laugh – I’m not a fan of the summer heat [particularly clumped in crowds of  sweaty people] nor do I often intentionally go to Great Adventure.  These are both gross understatements.

There’s something about the seemingly never-ending walking AND waiting that make me a little stir-crazy.

Tack on two people with legs much shorter than my own + you have a sight for sore eyes as my GG would say.

This particular day though – just last week- something immediately made me stop when we arrived.

The man who scanned us for potential weapons + contraband was elated to see us!  He asked our names + gave my little one spare change he had collected from the park that morning.

That seemed odd, but I found myself softening.

We moved up to the second station – ticketing – and were greeted by an equally excited man.  He asked the kids which rides they wanted to visit that day + gave them some hints about where to head first.

Now, I was smiling.

Fifty feet ahead, I spotted the dreaded park photographers.  I always feel a pang of guilt around these guys – guilty if I don’t stop + smile when they wave me down, and even more guilty that I know that it’ll be a dark day when I pay $20 for a photo of myself entering a theme park.  [I digress.]

This day, however, as I spotted the dreaded park photographers, I couldn’t help but notice a young woman in her bright yellow Kodak shirt + very expensive camera equipment dancing on the sidewalk.

I would like to point out that I didn’t actually see her taking any pictures.  I think she was just enjoying herself on Six Flag’s dime, but that’s neither here nor there in this story.

To paint you a picture, she wasn’t happily dancing around trying to engage park-goers with her friendliness.  {Come hither, I’m so fun, let me take your picture as you enter the park!}  She was completely immersed in “I Like to Move It” – eyes closed, head down, hair swinging.  She was completely unmoved by the fact that thousands of people were walking by her as she expressed herself to the music.  {I’m dancing.  I love the way I feel moving to this song!  Look on!}

I [almost] wanted her to ask if she would take our picture just so I could get closer to her – but she didn’t.

As we passed her, though, something inside me shifted.

I was at a theme park.  So was the dancing girl.  And so were all of these other people.

What in the world was I taking so seriously about this?

Why did the temperature have to be just so?  Who cares that I’m parked back on Rt. 537?  Why wouldn’t other people want to join in on the fun + stand in line for an hour?  Am I allowed to dance in the middle of the park?

My Juicy Glad-I-Caught-That:  we went on to sweatily enjoy our day in the lines.  I even bought a souvenir cup.

Where can you be the girl who’s dancing on the sidewalk?

At your job?  In your relationship?  With your children?  At your book club?  Coaching your kid’s soccer team?  Shopping at Target?

Heck, I have an OBGYN appointment this morning – I think I will start there!

In love,

N

xoxox