There was a time when “hold still” meant something unpleasant was going to happen. A shot from the doctor. A peering dentist. The brushing of tangled hair. Even the application of unwanted socks. 

I can’t say the moment it changed. It could have been gradual. But as with most things that turn with time, it felt sudden. And without my knowledge or permission, I often begin sentences with “Wasn’t I just…” 

And as I struggle to hold still the squirming memories of loves passed, I have to laugh and acknowledge, that I was never one to do it. And in the recognition, I think, maybe we are never meant to stop any of it, but simply keep dancing through. All of it. Partnering with the comfort and the uncomfortable — the warmth of sitting in mother’s lap as she wrestles through the nest of your hair.

Time continues to change meaning and tempo, but love remains, not still, but strong. So I keep dancing…