I went dancing with some friends last night. Mostly it was just us ladies getting up and dancing. I should back up a second, because I’ve failed to frame this story properly, from the very start.
We were actually at a birthday party, a friend’s 45th, themed appropriately with the inclusion of spinning old 45s. Given that these were my music nerd friends, they spun some really sweet tunes. For those of us who enjoy dancing, there was plenty of floor space for that, and so we danced.
Dancing has been one of my favorite activities for a long time, since I first really remember enjoying it with some friends (from the same group of friends as last night, actually), probably back in 2003. There was an 80’s dance night once a month at a neat little bar in Dayton, Ohio way back when I lived there, and it was a rocking good time. That bar has long since been closed down. I wonder if it’s still an empty space, or if anything new is there now. Oh well.
More recently, I have been taking a burlesque class and have been learning a few actual dance steps. Since taking this class, I have realized that I have gained far more confidence when I go out to dance on my own. And it has led me to want to find even more dance parties in the future. For awhile, there was a good one at Northside Tavern, but I am not sure they do them anymore. I should look into that. Some friends of mine go to a more gothy/industrial kind of thing, which is probably okay to dance to, but I really like spinning around and shaking it to tunes from the 80s and 90s.
On my first day of Thanksgiving break, I spent some time listening to the radio (The Current, because mostly anything else is pretty fucking terrible) and dancing around the apartment in between getting some chores done. It was a lovely way to unwind, but also seemed to give me more energy throughout the day, enthusiasm begetting more of the same.
Dancing fills me with a positive energy, a way of recharging when I feel like the edges of life are a bit on the dull side. I always want to go out and do more dancing, even all by myself. I mean, if you’re going to dance like no one else is in the room anyway, who gives a fuck who else is actually in the room?
After a night of dancing, I just want to sleep, and I do, dreamlessly, peaceful sleep. I wish that I would wake up feeling recharged, but I end up feeling like a music box put back on its shelf. I am out of the way until next time I dance, and sleep, and get shelved. Maybe I should learn better ways to interact when I go out. I dunno.
A friend of mine who I hadn’t seen in months said to me that I seemed like I was “enjoying life at the moment,” and I wondered how hard I was faking it. That was my immediate reactionary thought. But in the moment of dancing, I was laughing, fun and free, and I was truly enjoying it. Back on the shelf, alone and without dance, I gather dust. And I’ll be fucked if I know what I’m going to do to it once I’ve gathered enough.