There are times in my life that make me feel as though I am watching myself live my life from the outside. Usually these are moments when I do very stupid and embarrassing things, but, occasionally, this experience occurs while doing something very ordinary and yet a wee bit unexpected. Like last night, for example.
To celebrate my friend's upcoming wedding, we had a girls' night out, and the first (and well, only) stop was a lovely establishment in my very own hometown that advertises itself as a country bar, dance hall, and saloon. The objective was line dancing, but when we arrived the lesson in progress was a partner dance that is perhaps called the cha-cha, or maybe the traveling cha-cha. Six of the seven of us threw ourselves into the lesson with gusto, and I can now say that I'm an almost-accomplished male lead. Anyways, after the lesson, they turned on the music, and the evening was off. In between brief moments when we were brave enough to go dance, we stood huddled at one end of the hall, chatting and drinking. Mostly, though, I was watching. Here we were, just three minutes from my parents' house in the heart of suburbia, and in any given direction all I could see was cowboy hats and boots. Where were all of these people during the day? I lived here for 18 years, and I don't ever remember us having a large cowboy sub-population. Maybe it's an underground community.
Anyways. I was also watching the dancing. There were couples around our age, and there were couples headed for 60 or 70, and everything in between. Some couples were comprised of two equally beautiful people, who were dancing for the joy of creating art, and maybe a little bit for the joy of showing off. Some couples were sweetly enjoying time spent close to one another, well-practiced steps leading them in a dance that had long served them. Still others were bravely trying out their "sea" legs, watching their feet while other couples flew past them. I loved watching them all. Dance is an art form that has long held my interest, and one of the things I regret in life is not having spent more time taking dance classes and making room in my life for this particular outlet for self-expression.
One couple in particular caught my eye. The man who had been the dance instructor's partner during the lesson was leading a petite blond wearing an adorable little black dress and heels in a passionate and artful journey that captured the attention of our little corner of the room. The interesting thing to me about partner dancing is that even if you're performing, you don't really notice the audience. To create great art, your sole focus must be the person in front of you. Their partnership captured my imagination, and sparked the question of what was possible when you knew how to lead and follow and collaborate that well with someone, on the dance floor or off.
The other two individuals that left an impact on me did so because of their joy and independence. One woman in her late 20's or early 30's participated in each line dance with so much enthusiasm that it was impossible to watch her without smiling. She knew exactly what she was doing, and led by example. The other individual was a gentleman probably in his 40's, rocking his blue jeans, a striped shirt, and a modestly-sized cowboy hat. He looked to be of Hispanic descent, and with the upmost courtesy he traveled the room searching for partner after partner. One of the girls in our group who dance a lot and knows much more than the rest of us danced with him on several occasions, and it looked like they were having fun. He was there to dance, and invited others to join him in that experience in such a way that they too were able to experience the joy of movement.
Ok, sorry. I know you're waiting for me to connect this to the out-of-body experience bit I wrote about at the beginning. Here it is: I know that my dad grew up in Eastern Washington, and that he was quite a good dancer back in the day. What if I grown up with this sub-culture? What if I was that 20-something over by the bar, being asked to dance by the blond cowboy in the light brown boots? What if I knew what the heck it meant when someone said, "Oh yeah, this song goes is a Horseshoe," not to mention could actually dance a Horseshoe? The beauty of this season of my life is that I get to try a million and two different things, all the time. It's like trying on different lives, different futures. Last night, I saw a glimpse of my life as a country-music-loving-PBR-drinking-cowgirl. Two weeks ago I saw a glimpse of myself as a community-theatre-supporting-artsy-to-a-t-stage manager. Last summer I tried on European traveler, and in other glimpses I've seen diva, homemaker, professional assistant, and a whole host of other things. This season of life isn't about sitting in my room, thinking until my brain bursts, and then magically arriving at the conclusion of who and what I want to be when I grow up. This season is about, as Ms. Frizzle of Magic School Bus fame would say, taking chances, making mistakes, and getting messy. I'm being smart, and I'm avoiding any longterm damage to both my body and my heart, but on days when I'm feeling particularly brave, I'm loving that right now I'm learning by experience. These glimpses are gifts in a season of ambiguity and fuzzy vision, and while I doubt I'll ever line dance regularly, I'll probably always want to splurge on a pair of cowboy boots. Oh the possibilities.
No comments:
Post a Comment