The First Dance with Vulnerability

I remember seeing her over on the dance floor. I was maybe 20 years old. The place was packed but no other guys were paying attention to her. She was just there, cooling out, with what seemed like a spotlight over her. Sure, I knew I had seen her before, but we never said much. I was always so scared to talk to her. She was the one that guys were nervous to talk to because she carried herself differently than other girls. She was confident not condescending, daring not dramatic, funny not fake, alluring in all aspects of life.

A part of me felt like I wouldn’t know what to do when I walked up to her, but I had dreams of holding her hand. I had visions of her dancing through my head. It was intoxicating. She was so graceful; it was as if she was walking on air.

She was special, with one glance in my direction she could look right through me and into my soul. I felt like I could pass out from my nerves. She made my palms sweat, my voice stutter. She made me uneasy about everything and yet so very calm at the same time. It was the strangest yin and yang I’d ever felt.

It was remarkable how once I first saw her I couldn’t unsee her. Now she was everywhere I went. The train, the office, the bar. I was always so afraid to approach her. It felt like I was at a dance in junior high all over again. I couldn’t stop thinking about her and yet I could not walk up to her.

It wouldn’t be until fifteen years later when I finally saw her again. I knew I couldn’t make the same mistake twice. Not now. I’ve come too far, lost too much. I needed to say hi, I need to introduce myself, she needs to know my name. Although I was older and had a bit more confidence, I was more insecure and more anxious. But I was determined to hold her hand. I would’ve been proud to hold her hand as we walked down the street. I knew once we locked our fingers, I would never let her go, and she would be a part of my life forever. I could not be me, would not be me, without her for without her, I would be nothing.

When I finally started to move towards her, it felt like time stood still. It was a life of slow motion. I asked her the all-important question, “hey, what’s your name?” She just smiled and winked then said “Vulnerability.” And just like that, she was gone. I may have watched her float away, but she never truly left, for after that moment, I danced with Vulnerability every time I had the chance.