Lit Up in the Dark
The SOL Session starts, the lights go out. I’m immersed in darkness. And I mean can’t see my hand in front of my face – darkness. I can’t see anything but my “firefly” under my feet and the faint shimmer of other glow tape dots scattered across the floor. I’m not 100% sure why, but my brain slams into hyper-drive to try to make sense of my surroundings. My eyes dart around in search of something, anything, to remind me of where I am. To keep me from disappearing, I guess.
After a few more minutes, my eyes adjust enough to find an outline of light seeping over the exit door and a window. Not enough to illuminate anyone or anything else around me, but it’s something to focus on. It distracts me for a few minutes.
But, no matter how hard I squint and strain, I can’t find anymore light. That’s it. Nothing else to see. I have to surrender to the fact that there is 3/4 of an hour more of darkness ahead of me.
I take a deep breath and let the music hit my body. It’s loud and when I relax, I can’t help but move to the beat. It’s a crazy sensation. I know that I’m swinging my arms, but I can’t actually see them. The laughter and hoots and hollers from women around me make me feel more comfortable. I start to get into it more. Before long, I’m practically dancing.
And then, I begin to see. Everything. In a whole new way.
I swing my hips and I see what freedom from self-consciousness feels like. I attempt something like twerking, for the first time ever mind you – and I see what liberation from judgment feels like. I let loose some sort of animalistic screech and I get a glimpse of what it looks like outside of my comfort zone.
It’s blazing and bright. And brave. And I love it.
At the end of the session, the lights come up and I realize that not only did I not disappear, but I saw more of myself than I have in a long time. Sweaty, full of laughter and feeling one with Tina Turner, I am still lit up and reminded that – as so often in life – sometimes it takes the darkness to see the light.