The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are

Dance   like    no  one is  watching.   Sing    like    no  one is  listening.  Love    like    you’ve  never   been    hurt    and live    like    it’s    heaven  on  Earth.

—   MARK    TWAIN

Throughout human history, we’ve relied on laughter, song, and dance to express ourselves, to
communicate our stories and emotions, to celebrate and mourn, and to nurture community. While
most people would tell you that a life without laughter, music, and dance would be unbearable, it’s
easy to take these experiences for granted.

Laughter, song, and dance are so woven into the fabric of our everyday life that we can forget how
much we value the people who can make us laugh, the songs that inspire us to roll down the car
window and sing at the top of our lungs, and the total freedom we feel when we “dance like no one is
watching.”

In her book Dancing in the Streets: A History of Collective Joy, social critic Barbara Ehrenreich
draws on history and anthropology to document the importance of engaging in what she refers to as
“collective ecstasy.” Ehrenreich concludes that we are “innately social beings, impelled almost
instinctively to share our joy.”^1 I absolutely believe she is right. I also love the idea of collective
ecstasy—especially now, when we seem to be stuck in a state of collective fear and anxiety.

As  I   sifted  through my  data,   I   asked   myself  two questions:

1 . Why are laughter,   song,   and dance   so  important   to  us?

2 . Is  there   some    transformational    element that    they    have    in  common?

These were complicated questions to answer because, yes, we yearn to laugh and sing and dance
when we feel joy, but we also turn to these forms of expression when we feel lonely, sad, excited, in
love, heartbroken, afraid, ashamed, confident, certain, doubtful, brave, grief, and ecstasy (just to
name a few). I’m convinced that there’s a song, a dance, and a path to laughter for every human
emotion.

After   a   couple  of  years   of  analyzing   my  data,   here’s  what    I   learned:

Laughter,   song,   and dance   create  emotional   and spiritual   connection; they    remind  us  of  the one thing   that    truly   matters when    we  are searching   for comfort,    celebration,    inspiration,    or  healing:    We  are not alone.

Ironically, I learned the most about laughter during the eight years that I was studying shame.
Shame resilience requires laughter. In I Thought It Was Just Me, I refer to the kind of laughter that
helps us heal as knowing laughter. Laughter is a spiritual form of communing; without words we can
say to one another, “I’m with you. I get it.”