Learning New Choreography
People say time heals.
I don’t think it does.
Time simply gives us the opportunity to learn other choreography.
For a long time I thought every relationship had to be repaired. If someone left, if trust broke, if a friendship changed, I assumed my task was to discover the missing step that would allow us to dance as we once had.
I no longer think that is how life works.
Some dances end because one partner leaves.
Others end because the music changes.
Some continue, but so awkwardly that neither person recognizes what they are doing anymore.
The mistake is believing that because we remember the choreography, we must continue dancing it.
The body knows otherwise.
Sometimes I notice it with old jokes. I think of something that would have made us both laugh years ago. Before I say it, I already know it will land badly. Not because the joke changed, but because the room did.
The old choreography still exists.
The floor does not.
What surprised me is what happened next.
I learned other dances.
I learned how to let a conversation end.
How to say little.
How to let someone read my work without inviting them into my workshop.
How to enjoy companionship without depending on it.
How to write publicly instead of privately.
How to walk alone without feeling abandoned.
Those weren’t replacements.
They were new choreography.
Sometimes someone from the old dance returns.
They remember the music.
So do I.
For a moment, both of us can hear it.
But I no longer feel obligated to step onto that floor.
Not because I am angry.
Because I am already dancing.
There is a strange peace in discovering that the new dance does not erase the old one.
It simply no longer depends on it.
The old partner may still exist.
The affection may still exist.
Even the sadness may still exist.
But the necessity is gone.
And perhaps that is what growing older feels like.
Not learning to dance alone.
Learning that life never stopped playing music.
WE&P by: EZorrillaMc&Co.
Travel in Life 