These Boots Were Made for...Dancing!

Soundtrack Selection: These Boots Were Made for Walkin' (performed) by Nancy Sinatra

I've been singing all my life. I get this talent from my father (but he'll be the first to tell you that I'm not as good as he is). Since I was a small child, I loved to sing in choirs, choruses (Virginia Beach All-City 1990! Holla!), and even took six years of voice lessons as a teenager. What my father didn't pass on to me was a love of performing, unless I am alone...in my room...with a hairbrush in hand...wearing my new leather boots.

This pattern of behavior had its height in my college years when I started involving other people in this hilarious coping mechanism. Just ask Carrie about taking the mirror off the wall and dancing around our dorm room to "Man in the Mirror." Or talk to David about Natalie's living room and the brown, suede pants.  No matter how stressful or dull I was feeling, I knew I could turn to that sweet retreat in my bedroom and just let 'er rip and no one had to know (well, at least until now).

Last week, I had a day. You know what I'm talking about. A car splashed me roadside on my walk to work, my "favorite" client called me a bad social worker, my boss and I got into an argument and the microwave died. I trudged up the steps at home, dropped my bags, poured an extra-large glass of red wine and fell into bed. Nothing, but perhaps a giant vat of mint chocolate chip ice cream, could inspire me to move.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of light across the bedroom. It was coming from my closet. There they were lined up like pretty, little maids all in a row...my first pair of shiny, tall leather boots. The "moping" me wanted to lie in the bed all night, but the closeted performer wanted to put on those boots...and what ensued next was a sight to see.

I kicked off my pink, fuzzy moccasins, zipped up those boots and grabbed my big, round brush from the vanity. I turned around, plugged my speakers into my laptop, and flipped to my current go-to song, Lubbock or Leave It. My knees started to tap, my hair came down and I danced around that room, singing that song like I was live on stage at London's Shepherd's Bush Empire (I even think at one point I jumped from floor to chair in one, synchronized movement). It was fantastic and let me tell you by the last chord of that song, I had forgotten the woes of my day.

Why did I bare this horrifically, embarrassing truth of myself to you and the rest of the world? Because I actually, think it works. No seriously, I am convinced it could be clinically proven to decrease depression. I don't care if I didn't sound good and care even less if I looked good (it's pretty much a given that I didn't). But in my minds eye at that moment, I was fabulous and let's face it, that's whose opinion I care most about anyways.

So I encourage you to give 'er a whirl! Next time you feel less than the amazingly, beautiful, talented, loving and sexy lady you are, find some boots, or even some high heels, turn on your favorite song and just let go. And if you've got one lying around, grab that tiara and put it on your head. Tiara's make any situation better (if you don't have one, girl get yourself to Claire's pronto)!

Turn off the TV and stop watching Glee (it's a stupid show anyways), and live out that legendary, mind-blowing one-woman act you are!