Dance Like Nobody's Watching

By Alis Cerrahyan

Life, as we all, young and old know, is not fair. So what do we do about it? Do we let it defeat us while we are in the most vulnerable state, suffering what seems to be immense pain that we cannot endure? Or do we take a personal journey through our own reality, and face the ultimate knowledge? We are not alone; there is a loving God who cares for us.

Dance is a book offering answers by a wise woman who has traveled not only continent to continent (and writes in her fourth language after Armenian, Turkish, and French) but from abject hopelessness to survival and success through her faith, her self-reliance, and her devotion to Christianity, her religion, but not one to which she limits her insights. She tells us how she survived through her own rough-honed spirituality, her never ending search for confidence, and the path that provided her for achievement and success.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alis Cerrahyan
• Release date: Sep 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781540106490

Book preview

Introduction.  WE ARE BROKEN

Life begins when a new person enters into the light. Just as a baby needs all the love and nurturing they can possibly get to become an adult, life goes through stages of maturity and knowledge. Whether we are born with a silver spoon in our mouth or in extreme poverty, we are all broken in some way—shape or form—until we mature enough to recognize, address, and step away from our brokenness. Often, we spend much time and effort trying to appear perfect even when we know that it’s a misguided effort to blend in, and become part of a society that will, sooner or later, incriminate us at any opportunity. Our goal always is perfection, but we fail to recognize that we are already a product of perfection. Britt Reints, author and speaker on happiness, helps people reach their maximum potential. She puts it in this way: I can be a work in progress and a perfect work of art all at the same time.

Our brokenness becomes real to us as we walk away from a debilitating situation. It strikes us in many ways at once. We are fortunate if we recognize it right away. But most of the time, it lies undetected, because it was woven into our psyche while we were being shaped and molded into conscious beings. What is more debilitating about it is that the longer it takes for us to understand and admit our own weakness, the greater the possibility that we will attract similar situations because they feel familiar. I can easily identify situations that disgrace and defame me by the feeling of wading through wet mud. Once I step in, I never emerge without getting mucked up. Unless we’re gods or super-humans, most of us step into muddy circumstances in life at least once. What seems horrendous may be a blessing in disguise, an opportunity for us to recognize the bleeding ulcer we carry within. Unless we make a conscious effort to treat it, it forces us into the make the same mistakes over and over.

We count ourselves extremely lucky if we can step away from it, and keep walking until the mud dries, and we can dust ourselves off. In fact, the stains left behind become a reminder of what that mud looked and smelled like, so that we’ll know to avoid it next time around—if there is a next time, that is.

What happens when we don’t admit our weaknesses when faced with the challenges of life? The answer is simple: we remain in the mud, not knowing that we are free to walk away. In some cases, we’re afraid to step out because we’re afraid of the unknown. We recognize the mud because it’s a part of who we are as we grew up. It may be our humiliation by a parent or a relative, a teacher, or a status symbol, like our possessions... You name it. We plant ourselves deeply in the mud, smearing it all over ourselves, and do not even try to keep a spot clear. We spend time blaming others for our misfortunes simply because we’re not willing to confess our inadequacy and thus blame our own flawed nature. Therefore, we stay put in one spot, as aggressive as can be, missing out on the rest of life’s experiences.

It is impossible these days to avoid noticing the homeless in our country. We know that they are growing in number. We see them on street corners during the rush hour. Some of them may have gotten a bad start from extreme childhood circumstances, or they may have simply wasted their lives by making poor choices. But that isn’t the case for every one of them. Most of these people, at some moment in time, stepped into the mud and got rooted to their circumstances. They lost sight of their dreams and hopes. I personally choose to help them out by giving them something, even though I know that what I give will not help them come out of their situation. It is a simple token of gratitude, proclaiming that I too could have been in their shoes had it not been for the grace and mercy of God, which continues to shower down upon me and give me the determination to overcome my circumstances.

I know that I cannot generate a super-human version of who I am. I need plenty of help, and I choose to call my help God. Others may call it the Universe or the inner self. Just as there are many levels of growth in a baby’s journey to adulthood, so there are many destinies, depending on which we will reach our eternal home. I feel sad for those who have had the wind knocked out of their sails and choose to place themselves at others’ mercy for help and provisions, not realizing that they can start by taking baby steps and walk away from their unfortunate condition.

And I also feel sorry for those who believe that they are strong enough to overcome all difficulties on their own, as if they are mini-gods, while they crumble on the inside. They address their torments by trying to prove themselves in ways that matter to none but themselves. In fact, the harder they try, the less they are satisfied with themselves. Even though they appear strong enough to battle face their miseries, they are spiritual and psychological misfits.

You see, it takes growth for someone to admit that he ought to look back, observe his progress, and identify his mistakes, rather than attacking the distance he has yet to go without wiping off some mud occasionally. It truly takes more courage to walk the distance within the boundaries of his inner self. And that’s more important than the distance he aims to go on the outside. I wouldn’t write this if I didn’t have a story to tell. It may come as a shock to some, but my story is about a certain muddy patch or two that I found myself wading through on more than one occasion.

Let me take some time to describe myself. I’m a peace-lover and a peace-seeker. I am no athlete. In fact, I’ve spent more time sitting on the bleachers as a kid, overcoming injuries, than playing the game on the field. Most people who know me today might think I am a competitive athlete wannabe, looking to crush obstacles in a mud run event. I have lived through situations that have given me a certain level of experience, but, unfortunately, every event is different.

For some, there is never enough preparation or study time, regardless of how full their mental library might be. That’s why, I am resigned to the fact that I am in need of an external source to give me enough determination to make it through life. Otherwise, I might hold on to the end of the rope, not knowing when I should unclench my fist and let go of all my expectations for good. I have survived being let down by many, but I don’t know if I can survive the pain of letting myself down. For me, that is a greater loss than what I am willing to allow myself. Such a loss would affect my judgment and reduce my confidence as a decision-maker. I have seen many forms of physical handicap in this life, but there is nothing like a spiritual handicap that keeps people paralyzed after one unfortunate experience.

I am fifty-eight years old, a single mother of two, a business owner for twenty-five years, and a huge believer in Divine provision. Not a day goes by that I am not reminded of how delicate life is. I’m one breath away, like everybody else out there, from a life-changing event. The familiar could fade into a distant memory instantly, giving place to an unfamiliar new stage upon which I may play the lead role. Often, I ask myself, How did I get here? What was I thinking? or Can I have a do-over? The questions are endless, but there is only one answer, and it lies within: You’re going to dig yourself out of this spot, somehow, and you better make it quick. Otherwise it’s huge enough to become your new residence!

I don’t like changes, especially those that inflict pain and humiliation on me. Part of the reason I decided to write this book is to give these experiences a noble cause, hoping that a reader or two will find that my struggles resemble their circumstances.

The greatest victory of my life happened the day I finally recognized my limitations and stopped pretending to be someone who walked through life straight as an arrow while trying to sweep her flaws into a dark corner, where they remained out of sight. Earlier, I always knew they were there. I just didn’t want others to see them, because their opinion of me was important in those days. It shaped me into someone politically correct and socially acceptable, so I wouldn’t feel like an outsider.

At the time, I wanted to be like everybody else. I didn’t realize that being different and unique was a gift from above. I was playing a part, rather than being myself. Therefore, all my God-given resources went unnoticed, untouched, and unused. It was an existence of pretense, and there was no life in it. With all the resources I possess today, and knowing that God is life and God is love, how did I ever believe that a pretend-life could lead to true love? With every choice I made, I remained a disaster ready to happen, simply because I was afraid to recognize and admit my own flaws. By putting this in writing, I’m bringing them out of that dark corner and scattering them so that everyone can get a good look at who I truly am. To a certain extent, I’m embarrassed to have so many flaws. But I’m equally proud of exposing them to light, where healing can begin.

I don’t want anyone to think that I’m dark and depressed. Though I have experienced moments of occasional depression, I’m far from that. I’ve always been able to see the lighter side of things. Both my brother and I have inherited that quality from our dad, who was a gentle soul. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. He worked hard all his life to provide for his family. He stood up for what was right, refusing to take shortcuts. He was determined to smile through it all, a smile that was so contagious that it brought a smile on others’ faces as well. He found a refuge in his writings, in which he had created the persona of a radio host. We found these pages only after his passing. In them, we discovered that he was a true comedian. He had a pretend audience, and there were pages and pages of humorous dialogue that he never performed. What we actually discovered was like the feathery and white froth of a boiling soup that we skim, thinking that it will affect the taste of the soup. But we overlook the fact that it contains protein necessary for our health.

Dad was full of fun and laughter, which are all necessary ingredients for healing the soul and are an antidote to decay and other debilitating circumstances. Laughter was dad’s weapon of choice to tear down the walls of irritants that made life less enjoyable than it was meant to be.

Dad loved our mother very much, perhaps with the kind of love she didn’t think was possible. Tall, dark, and handsome, he had a meek and quiet personality. He worked hard and supported our family of four beautifully, leaving us with delightful memories that my brother and I will never bury, even years after his passing. He led an honorable life. He was a worthy man, a haven of patience, peace and happiness, a common denominator mediating chaos of all kinds. He had plenty of it for everyone and he definitely overindulged us.

What have I learned from Dad? I’ve learned that the best legacy I can leave behind is a collection of un-preached sermons in my practical deeds, restraint from unnecessary negativity, and meaningful ways of making a difference in others’ lives. I’d like to live so that when my two children think of words like contentment, integrity, kindness, and fairness, they’ll think of me. I’d like them to follow my example because it would mean a lot to them. Not that I want them to forget how many times I’ve hit the ground. But I certainly want them to always remember how well I rose after each fall.

There were times when I didn’t think I would be able to raise two kids by myself—not because they were being difficult—but because I didn’t have enough confidence to do the job right. Growing up as a straight-A student and an overachiever gave me a false confidence, until I found myself divorced with two kids. I didn’t know what to do with that new situation. I didn’t like the cloud of shame it spread over my life, and the darkness of it was hard to take at times. The only way I knew to hide my pain was by working harder and by becoming a better provider. My ego continued to crumble under pressure, as grief was engraved on my heart.

For the first time, I was disappointed with myself, because things turned out differently than I had anticipated. I could learn to be a better provider for my children, but could I prepare them for life’s unexpected twists and turns when I found myself lost in them? Then I realized that no one could’ve prepared me for this journey. I had to learn something new as I went through each day, gently and obediently, trying to make it count the best way I knew how. There were no shortcuts on this path, since, for our family, it was the road less traveled by. Quite honestly, I was not expecting great words of comfort from anyone. But what I ended up with was a whole lot better: we simply didn’t talk about it!

The newness of the situation was overwhelming, so everyone decided to avoid the subject altogether. After all, there was a possibility that the estranged husband would come home, and there would be a reconciliation with the broken wife, none of which happened. I was determined to forge my own path as a single mother and be the best that I could be.

A broken family is never something desirable. It causes heartbreak and wounds that bleed internally, from the youngest to the oldest, until they are cauterized by the fiery darts of the unknown and the unexpected. It is a curse in most cases. Yet when the union becomes too toxic, one of the parties involved has to pull the plug in order to save the good that remains. If the integrity of the relationship is too far gone, there could be more unbearable damage done while trying to glue it together. A greater tragedy than separating is when opposites stay in an unhappy marriage and teach their children the wrong things about love.

I don’t remember how long it took us to start to feel safe and stable in the family of three, which was our new ‘normal’. Luckily, the transition took place without destroying our ability to move forward. As parents, my former husband and I didn’t wish each other ill. At least I know that I didn’t. The focus was always on the kids and their wellbeing. The other pieces of the puzzle went in their proper places in due time. Since this new journey was slow, we couldn’t rush.

Brokenness entered my life through my mother, whose idea of discipline consisted of humiliation and shame. She never valued the priceless innocence of a baby. Her determination to dominate my existence destroyed my self-image, as my future kept diminishing in size and magnitude until one day, the person I could have become disappeared completely. By then, all of my aspirations had vanished as well, leaving behind