Crazy little thing called swing

Charles Dickens had no idea he was summing up my 30s when he said, “It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.” I was newly divorced, which was a good and bad thing at the same time. I was finding my own feet again. My kids were young, and their father and I had arranged for shared physical custody. So they spent half their time with me and half with him—kind of like the arrangement Demeter had with Hades over Persephone. Except my kids aren’t Greek gods, but it still sort of felt like the summer bloomed when they arrived, and winter’s frost settled in when they left.

While they were away, I had plenty of time to get into trouble. But mostly, I worked. I worked at work, then I worked out at the gym. I came home and ate lentil soup, and then I worked at my freelance job until I fell asleep on my sofa, usually on top of the laptop.

It sounds like I had no social life, but that's not true. I dated a series of high-quality individuals. I can’t say what happened to any of them, but I would guess that they are still stoutly holding down barstools around town.

After spinning my wheels in this manner for a couple of years, I eventually developed a new axiom about my life. If I didn’t really love it, I was not going to waste my time on it. This applied to food, clothes, and relationships. I stopped eating at Chick Fil-A, figuring I would not really starve before I could get home and cook an egg. I stopped spending money on mediocre clothes, knowing that I had enough in the closet to avoid an arrest for indecent exposure, and I didn’t have money to waste on items that would sit in the back of the closet unworn. Lastly, I stopped hanging around with people who really didn’t have time for me, because they needed to spend quality time with their beverage of choice. 

I realized that spending time with unsuitable people did not, in fact, make me a better person by comparison.

Changing my standards created a lot more free time in my life, and I decided to fill that with something I had always wanted to do: learning to dance. I had grown up dancing. I took ballet classes whenever I could, and when I couldn’t, I danced around the living room. The only thing I did more than dance as a kid was write. As a young adult, I took ballet and jazz. But I had never learned how to dance as a couple. My first husband and the people I dated were anti-dance, so I would have had to choose between my guy and my hobby. In retrospect, that may not have been a bad thing.

Joel and I after we'd been dancing together for a few years.

With ample free time and no one to stop me, I started taking ballroom dance classes at The Ballroom in Centreville, VA. I went to their Friday night dances. Everyone made me feel welcome. The experienced people asked me to dance. I socialized. I stayed until the dances ended, and I went out for late dinner with the dancers afterward.

Although I enjoyed all the dance styles, I loved swing music the best. It's such a happy beat. I don't understand how anyone can be depressed or bored when listening to "In the Mood." I knew I wanted to learn more swing dance, so I signed up for the Ballroom's classes. 

Then there was Christmas 2008. My kids were at their dad's house. I had spent my Christmas day watching a "Rocky" marathon, and then I traveled about an hour to a ballroom dance in Chevy Chase. I waited 30 minutes on a dark, 30-degree street corner before someone (not the host) opened the door. They had to call the host at home, and it took him another half-hour to arrive. This spectacular event was attended by approximately six other people. It was a Merry Christmas party indeed.

The day after Christmas was a Friday. The Ballroom's regular Friday night dance was canceled. 

I went online and found swing dance in Herndon--another hour drive. I didn't really want to venture out that December 26. It was raining. I didn't know exactly where I was going. I was tired, and I could feel the stringy black fingers of depression trying to drag me down into the sofa. But faced with a choice between 1) sheets of rain and 2) another movie marathon followed by falling asleep on the sofa, I suited up and went out. 

The rain fell so hard it was disorienting. My Mapquest directions led me to an exit that didn't exist. I drove up and down the same five miles of Rt. 28 in Herndon for half an hour before I decided to give up and go home. And then I heard a Voice in my head. You know that Voice. It's the quiet one, the one that's not your own. The one you have to listen to. "You are not going home," it said. "You are going to find this dance."

So I kept looking. I found the dance, and I fell in love. The love grew over several years of Gottaswing classes and weekend workshops around the country. It was the music, it was the joy of being surrounded by 20 or 40 or 400 swing dancers who didn't really care about anyone else's clothing labels, car, or conversational skills. Dancing and the music occupy so much of your mind, there is no space left over to think about whatever thing was bothering you during the day. Even though I didn't really know what I was doing at that first dance, I was a witness to joy. And a great love was born. Between me and the music and the dancers, and everyone who helps keep this thing alive. (That was also where I met my husband. But that's another story)

That is how I got into swing dance. I'd love to hear your story.