I saw my daughter-in-law’s vehicle pull into the parking lot as the high school choir began singing the National Anthem. Due to heavy traffic, they were running a bit late for the concert.
Luckily, the concert was a casual and family-friendly affair because the playlist featured songs from classic Disney movies. When I saw my 3-year-old granddaughter come around the corner of the car, a smile broke out on my face.

She was dressed in a classic Disney Snow White costume with a bright red ribbon in her hair and black tap shoes on her feet. The blue sequins on her dress sparkled as mother and daughter dashed into the auditorium, and we hurried to our seats on the front row.

As soon as the choir started with their next song, my granddaughter began rocking in her seat in rhythm to the music, a smile illuminating her face. When the song ended, she was clapping louder than anyone else in the auditorium.

The next song was a lively number, and Kylie was soon on her feet, her arms out by her side, swaying to the music. We tried to get her to sit down, but she didn’t want to sit — she wanted to dance.

She twirled in time to the music, loving the way her yellow skirt billowed out around her. When the choir sang the toe-tapping “Hakuna Matata” from “The Lion King,” the teens were moving with the music.

And down front, my granddaughter was dancing and clapping right along with them.

Kylie danced the entire performance, skipping and swaying in tune with the piano and those beautiful young voices. She was uninhibited and spellbound in the magic of the music.

The ability to lose one’s self in the moment is sometimes forgotten by adults. We’re concerned with following the rules, coloring inside the lines so to speak, so we keep our emotions in check. We don’t want others to think we’ve lost our senses.

But sometimes throwing caution to an arbitrary, strong wind is just what we need. How often have we sat in traffic with a great song on the radio and only hummed instead of belting that song out like Aretha Franklin or Elvis Presley?

Perhaps we believe we’re not as talented as other or we don’t want to look like we’ve lost our marbles, so we deny ourselves the opportunity to cut loose and lose ourselves in the joy of the moment.

The singers on stage, however, hadn’t forgotten what it was like to belt out a tune and love every minute of the experience. One of the choir members, Ernestine, is in a wheelchair, and I know choir is her favorite class of the day.

Her radiant smile reflected the joy in her heart, just as my granddaughter’s dancing reflected the happiness in her soul.

These two were not afraid for others to know they’d embraced the joy of the moment and were not going to let anything — not social mores, an audience or the thought of being judged by others — stop them from immersing themselves in feeling fabulous.

Toward the end of the show, my granddaughter began trying to sing with the choir. She didn’t know any of the words, but that didn’t stop her.

When I asked her keep her voice down a bit and let the choir sing, she gave me a questioning look.

“But I need to sing,” she said. “I just need to.”

And with that, I sat back, smiled and told her to go ahead and sing.

And dance.

And let the joy in her heart blossom.

Oh how I envy her.

This article was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.