My phone has figured out something about me. I love watching videos of West Coast Swing dancers. I am not sure how the algorithm works but that has no bearing on my pleasure. Seeing partners who know the steps and can turn them into a kinesthetic song is more fun than I have had all morning doing laundry and dishes. The link describes it as improv which suggests that it has not been choreographed. Instead, the dancers use their eyes and bodies to read one another. The prerequisite of course is learning, and practicing, the steps. One time the man smiled as if to say "I wasn't expecting that!" or "Nice move," but words are superfluous.  

 

John and I were in a jitterbug contest long ago with a baby in a back pack. But my days of dancing are behind me, so it is my hope that I can leap into the fun in heaven. 

 

Another frequent theme to appear on my social feed is stories about kindness. Today I read about a five year old boy who felt compassion for children in Africa who do not have fresh water. He worked to earn enough money to finance a well, which is impressive by itself. But he did not forget about the people who struggle to find clean water, and as a teenager continued to contribute to solutions for several villages. Eventually his parents took him to Africa to meet the people he had helped, and he was astonished to discover that they all knew his name. For them, he was a hero. It seems safe to say that the well of his joy ran deep. Reading about it filled my cup as well. 

 

But it occurs to me that my delight in watching dancers, and reading about altruism is only a shadow of the pure happiness that springs up for the people actually doing these things. Which is available to me every day, as long as I practice the steps.