Dance Like No One Is Watching

From time to time I out headphones in and don a sports bra, don running shorts, a long skirt, whatever covers me. I tuck my Ipod into the bra, and I wear my hair down. I remove all jewelry, even the smallest things. I go out in my bare feet, and I close my eyes, and I dance. 

Sometimes it is in public, sometimes in broad daylight, sometimes at night, but almost always my eyes are closed. I’m sure people laugh, but I can’t hear them. 

This Saturday, I will have been in Tel Aviv one month, and I do not regret my choice. The heat is brutal, rudeness is common, but…

The grapes still taste like sunlight, and I have discovered that my smiles earn me many strange looks, but after a moment, if I do not back down, they find many smiles in return. 

 

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It takes some boldness to be a Tel Avivian. I have never felt like a particularly fragile person, and I feel fragile here. In a place where the car horn is merely a request of  ”Please, kind sir, let me merge into your lane without squishing you like a bug,” I suppose it’s to be expected. 

That said, there is vivaciousness to this place that is delicious and new to me. 

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