There I was, dancing in a flash mob in front of the iconic Red Stairs, next to the TKTS booth in Times Square. “Welcome to New York”—Taylor Swift’s song about inspiration and possibilities—boomed from a loudspeaker perched on a nearby bench.

It was four days after the 2024 presidential election, and I was still grief stricken about the inconceivable results.

I’d wanted to be in a flash mob since it first became a trend in the early 2000s. But the demands of raising my son and working full-time had put that aspiration on hold.

Now 65, newly retired, and living in the city with time to pursue my passions, I had discovered the event on Meetup—and with it, the chance to check off this Third Act bucket list item.

An excited dad from Ohio had hired a company to organize the surprise for his daughter’s 18th birthday. It would be her first visit to the Big Apple, something she’d always dreamed about. He planned to take her to a Broadway show and then walk her through Times Square. She’d be completely unaware of what was in store for her.

Nine strangers signed up for the performance: women from diverse backgrounds in their twenties and thirties (plus this sixties youngster). We had three nights to learn the choreography and rehearse together—co-conspirators bonding over a shared mission. It was a welcome distraction that lightened the emotional turmoil I’d been carrying around.

On the way to our first rehearsal, I walked through the winding 14th Street subway corridor and stumbled upon the Post-it Wall made famous on social media. A sea of brightly colored notes stuck to the white tiles, each one proclaiming its author’s views in the wake of Trump’s victory.

I grabbed a bright yellow Post-it from the table, wrote down how I felt, and affixed it to a tile. Stepping back to witness my contribution—now meshed in solidarity with the others—gave me a sense of kinship. 

A bad case of anxious butterflies grabbed hold of me on the morning of the event. It had been seven years since I last danced in front of people, and the panic launched its attack. But I pushed through it. You can do this. Deep breaths.

The performers met up in Grace Plaza near Bryant Park for one last run-through—that’s showbiz lingo for a final rehearsal. Seeing the familiar faces of my co-mobbers provided reassurance. We had only known each other a few days, yet we had connected through the excitement of what we were about to embark on together.

Finally at Times Square and in place, we nervously waited for our leader to give us the green light. And off we went, dazzling the onlookers with our sudden, seemingly random yet choreographed moves.

Behind us, a religious organization held banners and chanted through a loudspeaker of their own. Next to us, young K-pop dancers in trendy outfits filmed a video with a blasting beat. And between us, aggressive Elmos and King Kongs charged tourists sky-high prices for a cheesy photo keepsake.

Cheers from the surrounding spectators pierced through the music, encouraging us to give it our all. Was I doing this? I marveled at the surreal enormity of it: the bright lights and the frenzy engulfing us as we danced in unison. 

A five-minute routine that seemed to last only seconds—it was a terrifying yet exhilarating experience.

Promises were made to stay in touch and we dispersed, vanishing into the crowd as flash mobbers do. An adrenaline rush fueled my cab ride home.

Later that night, collapsed on the sofa and icing various parts of my aching body, I learned there had been a rally protesting the election result that same afternoon. An intense FOMO washed over me. Had I missed an opportunity to join indignant marchers expressing their ire?

Yes—though I reasoned there would be more opportunities to protest and to help right the ship.

In that whirlwind moment in front of the Red Stairs, I had found respite and elation through the movement of an uplifting mob acting in concert.

***

Lu Coleman is a former financial marketing writer now focused on creative nonfiction. Her work has appeared in The New York Times’ “Metropolitan Diary” and Instant Noodles. She’s currently writing a memoir-in-essays about life as a newly retired, gray divorcee in New York City. When not writing, she performs with The Pacemakers Dance Team. 

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