Musings on Dancing and Life

 I went dancing this weekend, as I have several weekends for the past ten years. Admittedly, my weekend dancing forays have become less frequent than in the past and I'm just as likely to be found chatting with my friends as busting out some sick lindy moves. But I've noticed something about my recent dance adventures. They've become deeper, more meaningful, and much more centered.

I really hate it when people start to wax deep about their chosen hobbies. I usually cringe when I hear climbers talk about how climbing is some sort of metaphor for life..."like, its just you and the rock. You either climb or you fall and its so pure." Or cyclists and runners that go on about how the uphills are the best because of the challenge, man, the challenge. I tend to just roll my eyes and move on. 

This distaste usually even extends to lindy hop, my own personal addiction. The swing out has never been some deep metaphor for the vicissitudes of life to me, nor has the ephemeral nature of dancing been some commentary on the brevity of existence. Lindy hop is fun. It always has been for me. And while I like talking about why its so fun, I haven't ever thought about its fun because it's taught me deep valuable life lessons. Its fun and that's it. Usually.

But lately, I've become much more aware of how my approach to dancing is reflecting a general shift in my approach to life. Here is my moment. The moment I've been avoiding. The moment when I join the ranks of those whom I've derided and lose any claim to superiority (if I ever even had one). OMG. DANCING IS LIFE.

When I first started dancing lindy hop in 2003, I fell head over heels in love.  I remember the first time very clearly. I was spending my first summer in Flagstaff, working at a downtown futon/gift shop called Zani and living with my friend Gen in a tiny studio apartment. I heard there was a free swing lesson on Heritage Square. I found out both my neighbor and my co-worker both knew how to dance and were willing to go with me. The universe was practically shouting at me, "GO!" I got dolled up, just like beginners now still do, and took my first lesson.

I was entranced. The music was so happy. The movement felt right. So right. It was as though I had been a swing dancer in a past life, it was so natural. Sure, the dance phrases were in six counts and the music in eights, but that was the only hiccup, and easily forgotten about in my joy. My first social dance was with Bill, who lead a move that hadn't been taught in the class, and as I followed it without even thinking, he laughed happily and said "We've got a natural!" I was confident and happy and never ever going to stop.

For the next few years, I was obsessed. I started dancing whenever I could. I started a venue with Bill of the First Dance. I even practiced in the shower (please don't, its dangerous). Every dance was an opportunity to dance with as many people as possible. Everyone was a friend. I traveled to Phoenix, to Utah, to Tucson, just to dance. And to dance with everyone. I spent the next two years immersing myself in lindy culture and honing my dancing skills.

Things eventually cooled a bit when I moved to Tucson. There were other hobbies, other families here that I built. Graduate school, the Summit Hut, choir...they all had their distinct people, and the lindy community here was a bit more fragmented than in Flagstaff. I made dance friends here too, but they were just one community of several.

Over the last few years, though, as many of my communities have shrunk, and as I realize I've met and lost more people than I can remember, I've started to value the ones who really matter more. Each individual community of several has shrunk to an important few. And I've prioritized keeping them, rather than meeting new people.

And as I was dancing last night, I realized that's how I've begun to approach dancing too. I'd much rather have good dances than lots. So much of that means shedding unnecessary movement and simplifying in order to listen better. The metaphor is so apt that I'm not even sure if I'm talking about dance or life. Because DANCING IS LIFE.

Dancing is like life too, I realized, in that I needed to find my center. Of course, physically, that just means knowing where your center of gravity is and keeping your weight over it. Metaphorically speaking, though (I cringed as I typed that), in life, it means knowing where you are in relation to nature, to society, to your loved ones, to yourself. It sounds simple in concept, but it can be difficult to do. In dancing, leads are constantly telling you where to put your body and the trick is to know where you are so you can know where you're going...just like life is constantly offering circumstances that threaten to pull you off balance.

So dancing, at least for me, really has become a reflection of how I want to live life: centered, meaningful, and connected.