So I was thinking the other day about relationships and life and the different directions we go. Well, then I started pondering over the ballroom dance class I had the opportunity to take this Spring and somehow the two thoughts sort of inter-twined.
I can remember going to church and school dances as an awkward teenager. I would attend with all my girl friends and we would laugh and play and on the fast songs we would all go out and have a great time dancing. Maybe the DJ would play a few fast ones in a row and we could stay out there until we started to sweat or glisten (a better word for it). However, the fast songs always came to and end and then a slow romantic love song would take its place. This were the dances for me got difficult.
We would move over to the sidelines in our little group and slowly, one by one, my friends would move back out to the dance floor having been asked by a boy to join them. I was usually the last one there. I would like to say it was because boys were so intimidated by my confidence but reality is while I am not horrible to look at, I never was the cutest one in the group. Always a little chubby, hair never perfect and just not what the boys were drawn to. So I wandered around, got a drink, went to the bathroom and when the song ended, I was always there when my friends came back.
Well things have not changed so much today. Or maybe they have. I took this dance class with a man I thought I was in love with. Looking back I was probably just addicted but at the time I couldn't see it. The amazing thing is, we had a moment during dance class. Actually we had them all the time and so I thought it was different with him. I was at a motivational conference a few weeks ago and the speaker talked about having moments where time did not exist. I had those with him, frequently. One such occasion was during class. It was the waltz.
Oh, how I love that dance. Have you ever watched the professionals do the waltz. Their bodies sway to the music in such rhythm and grace. I can't describe how magnificent it is to watch let alone be able to do it. In class we had learned about 3 moves. The basic waltz step, a turn, and a pause were the total of our repertoire. The music began and we danced. We looked at each other and with our three moves our bodies swayed to the music with such grace. Our eyes were locked and we thought we were the only two people in the room. We turned. We paused. We smiled at each other. The music stopped playing and we kept moving. Time had stopped for us. WOW! What a moment. I am lucky to have experienced that moment. I don't think I had ever shared that with anyone up until then.
So now I go back to that high school dance. Today it is like I am still there. I show up to the dance alone. I hang out with my friends, noticing the boys in groups on the other side. Well this time is different. Someone asks me to dance. He is cute so I agree. We go out and we don't stumble. The music plays and we know how to move with each other. We smile and laugh and overall enjoy each other. The music is a waltz. Then the music changes. They play a jive, and a salsa, and a swing. We can manage through most of the songs but it just is not like the waltz. We try. Oh we try. We can both see it is just not working but right about then the familiar waltz music begins again and we are reassured in out familiar dance. We are comfortable here.
Inevitably the music changes again and it is becoming more clear and more clear this is just not how it is suppose to be. We are uncomfortable, the smiling stops and it feels like work and pain to get to the end of the music. We try to talk about the waltz but talking about it won't take away the ugliness of the dance we are stumbling through now. Eventually we decide to end the pain. It is hard to part and we come back each time the waltz is played but even then the moment is gone.
I find myself at the sidelines watching the couples move back and forth together. They are so beautiful as they laugh and tease and play. For some it is hard. They have learn the knew dances but they try and they work together. I smile and try to have a good time. I am apart of the event but not the dance. When they have breaks they come to me and talk and visit. But when the music starts I find myself here. At times I wonder if it would have been better to stay on the dance floor and suffer through it. Maybe the one dance was better than nothing at all. But I don't think so. I learn to find joy in the joy of others.
Every once in a while I am asked to dance. It is OK. The music starts, we dance, it ends, I go back. I don't' have that time stopping moment with anyone. While dancing is fun, I just can't find a partner I want to stay out there with through the songs I don't like. But then. . .
This guy, he is quiet and shy. I think he is a little intimidated by me. He approaches me and instead of asking me to dance he starts a conversation. We talk and watch those in the dance. I find myself enjoying his company. I laugh. I hear a waltz come on and I don't feel pain when I hear the music. After a while he does ask if I would like to dance. This music is different, from another culture. I am not familiar with it and he says he will teach me. And he says I can teach him the dances I know.
We go out there and stumble all over. But you know, I am having such a good time. I look at see him watching me. He smiles at me and I smile back. He holds my hand so softly, like he is protecting the rarest Fabergé egg. We dance. We learn to dance to multiple kinds of music. Some fast, some slow. Some American, some not. I feel like the Belle of the Ball when I am in his arms. I don't want the music to end. The nice thing is, i am not afraid if it does. The dance will go on. I certainly can not predict the future anymore than I can change the past. But what I know is that I am enjoying the dance and I am a participant. I don't have to watch from the sidelines and that is a good feeling. He and I are working together. We have the same goals and desires. We are working and playing together. And for now, I have a partner.
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