Wednesday, March 6, 2013

The Secret of Dancing

Over the last four weeks I’ve been spending quite a bit of time with a particular girlfriend of mine. She’s fantastic – energetic, positive, artsy, funny and thoughtful – and we’ve done many random things together: spent a day at a Korean spa in Virginia; brunched together more than once; gone fabric hunting for a sewing project of hers; watched the Socky Horror Puppet Show at a neighborhood bar; and danced the night away. She’s such an individual and I admire her very much.

Most of all, I was with her when I had a bit of an epiphany: there is no right way to dance. Why did it take me so long to figure this out? Why didn’t I believe people who told me that anyone could dance? Seriously! How the heck did this elude me?!

Don’t get me wrong – there are specific ways to dance that are right and wrong. I make no claim to know how to salsa, rhumba, or tango. And there are ways of dancing that probably look dumber than others. But really, just going to a club and dancing to its music boils down to one cliché method: dance like no one is watching. [I’m imagining a groan emanating from anyone reading this, but hear me out.]

Watching this friend of mine dance her heart out to some kind of odd but invigorating “psychotropical punk rock” music in a club underneath a Subway on U Street. It was like she was in her own little world; in fact, a space cleared around her (not that it was too crowded, but still) as she moved, bounced, shook and danced. Now, she can move – she’s a dancer, has done it a lot and has smooth moves; but still, there was no prescription of how to do it right. While most people were shuffling from one foot to another, the occasional arm shooting upwards to point at the band or at the ceiling in rhythmic music, my friend – and a one or two others – were just going nuts with the dancing, following the beat as they heard it, moving to the music as they felt it.

How cool is that?

The secret of dancing is that there is no right way to move to the music. YOUR way is the right way, possibly only for you but still, the right way. MY way, as fumbling and erratic and awkward as I feel I must look in a crowd of regulars, is the right way.

Who knew? Am I the only one who didn’t know?

In other news, that night of dancing wrecked my feet. I’ll be checking in with the podiatrist next week to see what can be done. Tonight some German couchsurfers arrive; on Friday, a couple from Spain. This weekend I look forward to visiting with my friends Jeff and Eric, here in DC for an OutServe function on Saturday. In the coming weeks I hope to hear that Congress has decided to stop punishing the country for having elected them (in other words, I hope not to be furloughed from work).

The past month, aside from hanging out with my cool, quirky and dancing-fool friend, has been tiring (shaking off that head cold) but speckled with jeweled good times: a Richmond rendezvous with my parents was lots of fun; random bicycling around town keeps me at least a little active; and finding out that I got into a CSA starting in May was great!

I’m ready for spring; and I’m ready for my feet to heal so that I can dance, dance, dance to the music.

--Z