Just Dancing . . . the story

And so we start. Staggering into the future by writing about the past. It seems that was just yesterday I started this career, this life thing that I’ve been doing for lo these many years. Just yesterday, I was a child who spent my life in an internal dialogue. I learned early that I would have to figure things out for myself. I’ve been constantly amazed at how things turned out as a result of my decisions. Now as my life’s flight is looking to land, I realize the enormity of what is coming. The finality.

Ah well, the topic is just dancing, not me, so lets get on with it.

Tunes play. The day gray and cool. Order is my play. I think if I try and put things into some semblance of order that I’ll calm down and be in control. But actually what happens is that by getting myself to work, I actually get to work.

So here we are and where to go from here is the question?

One summer night in El Cajon dance spot called Park Place, I discovered the difference between a dancer and a person seeking social solace from dancing. It was contest night and the buzz was on. I had been walking from my place on 2nd street up to the bowling alley where Park Place was for several months, at least, once a weekend. It was great. No one at home to report to, Jace had moved to Santa Barbara and Karen was history. And finally, I could go dancing any time I wanted to.

Rock and roll. Although the bar was small, the band made up for it by playing tight and just right for free style to the max. I’d forgotten how good it felt. Rum and coke, a little smoke and wham bam thank you mam.

I can never get enough of the movement, the slip and slide of the rhythms and our bodies in superglide.

So I’m hyped, ready to go and happy to just be there. And that’s when it happens. A couple are standing out towards the center of the dance floor waiting for the band to start. They’re talking and looking around. So I saunter over. “You two going to enter the contest?” I ask.

She looks at me, her smile fading into a mild look of concern as she realizes that I’m actually talking to them. “No, . . . I don’t know.” she says as she looks at her companion. He turns his back towards me and says, “Hey, there’s Sid.”

And they both walk away.

Meanwhile, and earlier at a different bar, a lady named Susan had pointed out to me that she appreciated my willingness to dance but she really liked the way that guy over there was moving to the music. Broke my dancer’s heart. Same as when I got embarrassed by two of my students seeming to make fun of the way I used my hands as part of the dance. My way of using a frame, hippy that I was.

And then there was that chat in class with Teresa where she pointed out that if I didn’t move my shoulders when I danced the cha cha, I wasn’t really dancing cha cha.

So, on the outside looking in has always been the way it’s been.

5/15
In the other room, I can hear the tv. Terri watching last night’s tape of the Dallas game. And I am here trying to find the direction I need to go to get something done that is worthwhile. It is hard to pinpoint what that might be. And then I have to develop a belief that once I've gotten somewhere I’ll actually have gotten somewhere.