Most people wait for life to tap them on the shoulder before they take a step. They sit on the sidelines, hoping opportunity will notice them, call their name, and pull them into the spotlight. But that’s not usually how it works. Opportunity tends to wander toward the noise, the motion, the energy. It gravitates to the ones already moving, already trying, already doing something—anything—with what they have.
It’s a bit like walking into a party and seeing a few people dancing before the DJ has even warmed up. They’re not waiting for the perfect beat. They don’t care if the lights aren’t dazzling yet or if the crowd hasn’t filled the room. They’re already on the floor. They’re already in the moment. And strangely, that’s exactly when things begin to happen.
So many of us freeze because we think we’re not ready. We think we need more time, more skill, more confidence, more clarity. But readiness is a moving target. You don’t get ready and then begin; you begin and then become ready. The courage to start while your legs are shaking is often the very thing that steadies them.
There’s a funny thing about movement: it attracts momentum. The small step you take today becomes the reason a bigger step appears tomorrow. The call you dared to make opens a door you didn’t even know existed. The project you started without knowing the ending becomes the bridge to the one that changes everything. People who are in motion pick up things others miss simply because they’re on the floor when opportunity decides to show up.
And the dancefloor doesn’t always look glamorous. Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it’s awkward. Sometimes it feels like you’re the only one out there, moving to music only you can hear. But that’s exactly when opportunity notices you—when you’re willing to move even without applause.
You don’t have to know the choreography. You don’t need the perfect rhythm. You don’t have to impress anyone. Just show up. Try things. Build things. Learn things. Put your ideas out there, even if they wobble at the start.
Opportunity rarely visits the couch. It likes to dance. And it tends to pick partners who are already in motion.
So step onto the floor. Let your feet stumble if they must. Let your heart race. Let the music be imperfect. What matters is that you’re out there—visible, present, alive, moving. Because once you’re on the floor, the universe knows exactly where to find you.
Kenrick Vaz 