ding-a-thing-thig-tig-tig-thin-thin-thin-d-thin-d-thin-d-thin-d-thin-k-dink-a-ting-thin-k-k-a-ting-thin-k-k-k-k-ing kid starts dancing, like really dancing. And all the women are freaking out, because look at this tiny thing,

breaking it down. I was a teenager then, but I was legitimately taken aback. Like, how does this

brand new, soft little person know how to do that already. She doesn't know any words yet.

She can't walk. She's like a cheese curd with arms and legs. So where did she learn how to dance?

And why does she do it when we sing the think-a-d-think song? Why, indeed, does music animate you or me?

Why do we toe tap or chair dance or just not along while typing?

I'm Dessa. You're listening to deeply human. And in less than half an hour, you are going to have a basic understanding of why people dance. So get ready to impress everyone at the next rave with your shouted explanation.

Oh, God.

When you hear music that you like, there's a chill that starts from your head.

It goes all the way down to your feet.

Then it comes back up the other side.

And so that chill, that feeling, you just take it and ride that right into the movement.

Okay.

But then, if you are fortunate, you will experience that point where you just completely leave

your body.

Everything gets blurry.

I'll see like an orange light. Sometimes it's silver.

And then it's like I'm at another location in the room and then I'm watching myself dance.

And that's the feeling that every dancer wants, you know, like you want that feeling. It doesn't

happen all the time,

but when it does, it's the best thing that's happened all year.

Darian Parker is a dancer and instructor with Kumbay Center for African Diaspora Dance in New York.

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