I’m going to go a bit old school on this post. A rambling, Stream of consciousness on a key phrasecand key lyric. Let’s Have fun and be nuanced.

There’s a scene at the end of the latest Penguin episode that stuck with me in a way that’s hard to shake off.  Oz oddly, but not overtly  cornered, doesn’t draw a weapon, doesn’t shout threats. Instead, he looks his apparent frenemy (and eventually nemesis to come) square in the eye and simply says, “Let’s dance.”

In that moment, the world around them collapses, all the intricacies of plot, revenge, and power struggles melting into one sharp, electric call to action. A dare. A promise. A thousand unspoken meanings bundled into two little words.

“Let’s dance.”

Of course, David Bowie fans will recognize the phrase as something more than just a challenge to fisticuffs or a metaphorical tangle. It’s also an invitation to lose yourself, to embrace whatever’s coming next. It’s throwing caution to the wind and—whether you’re wearing red shoes or flip-flops—stepping out onto the floor and saying, “Alright, universe, I’m here. What’ve you got?”

It’s no wonder the phrase has made its way into so many songs and scenes over the years. For some, “Let’s dance” is a throwaway line, the sort of thing you say when the party’s starting and you want to get everyone moving. For others, it’s an acceptance of fate, a wry smile before the plunge. Sinatra crooned about dancing cheek to cheek, where love and mischief mingled in a swirl of tuxedos and twinkling lights. Bruce Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark” was a grittier acknowledgment that dancing might be the only escape from boredom and angst.

But the real magic of saying “Let’s dance” is that it’s so much more than an invitation to waltz around a ballroom or shuffle awkwardly at a wedding. It’s a mantra, a life philosophy. Because here’s the thing: dancing can mean so many different things depending on the rhythm of the moment. Sometimes, it’s a joyful celebration, your feet moving as if gravity doesn’t exist, your heart soaring to the beat of some invisible drum. Other times, it’s the slowest sway, a dragging of the feet in a dark room, your body barely held together by the ache of whatever it is you’re fighting through. And then there’s that dance—the one that’s both a taunt and a challenge—where you lock eyes with whatever or whomever you’re up against, and you say, “Alright, bring it on. I’m ready.”

We see it over and over in pop culture because it’s such a primal, deeply human response. When Dirty Dancing’s Johnny Castle burst into the room to announce, “Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” it wasn’t just about rescuing a girl from a table in the corner. It was a call to dance, to reclaim space and take a stand. The Rocky Horror Picture Show invites us to do the Time Warp, a chaotic, bizarre dance that essentially says, “Who cares if we don’t belong? We’re here to make our mark.” And Bowie’s own lyrics? “Put on your red shoes and dance the blues.” There’s an undercurrent there, a paradox: to dance away the blues is to acknowledge them, to say you’re hurting, but to move anyway. To feign happiness, to step lightly while sadness tugs at your soul.

So, what is it about those two words—“Let’s dance”—that carry such weight? It’s the duality. It’s an invitation that acknowledges pain and promises escape. It’s a challenge that might be answered with a grin or a grimace. It’s knowing the floor might be shaky and the music a little off-beat but deciding to move anyway. Because dancing, like living, is messy and imperfect and full of surprises.

Sometimes, when life throws you a curveball, you have to do more than say “Bring it on” or “Let’s go.” Sometimes, you need to shift your stance, feel the rhythm (even if it’s only the erratic beat of your own racing heart), and say, “Let’s dance.” It’s defiance, hope, and surrender rolled into one. It’s a small rebellion against stagnation. A lighthearted nod to the absurdity of it all.

You may not have control over the song that’s playing, but you can choose how you move to it. And that’s where the power lies. You could be pretending to be happy, going through the motions of a cha-cha while sadness simmers just below the surface. Or you could be genuinely laughing, a salsa of pure joy. Whatever it is, whatever tempo you find yourself keeping, you’re there. Present. Dancing.

So, let’s take a cue from the Penguin’s nemesis, Bowie, and all the other characters who’ve taught us that sometimes, when all else fails, the answer isn’t to fight or flee—it’s to dance. Because when you dance, you take something unknown and uncertain and give it your own spin. You give it meaning.

Now, put on your red shoes, your blue shoes, or no shoes at all. Stand on that metaphorical dance floor. And when the world seems to be watching and waiting for your next move, look it square in the eye and say, “Let’s dance.”

Who knows what’ll happen next? But I promise you, it’ll be one heck of a dance.