Slow, quick, quick. Slow, quick quick. I hear the counts again and again in my head as I
lead my partner across the dance floor. We stare into each other's eyes as our hips sway to the
stuttering beat. Foreign, this place is not. Like mother's arms, it soothes me, as the fingertips of
perspiration roll down my chest. A smile tickles it's way across my face as I realize there is
nothing in the world I'd rather be doing. I love to dance.
Ever since I was a child, I've greatly enjoyed music. I can recall with equal ease and
enthusiasm days where I, a six year old boy, would return from school to the livingroom
whereupon I would spend entire afternoons listening to music. I would sit in my father's chair,
King of My Universe, tapping along (and yes, singing) to the baseline of the song that
reverberated off the cold, hardwood floors. Oldies, bluegrass, pop, rock, it didn't matter to me. I
didn't have a favorite, I liked it all! This love for music at such a young age helped shape my
passion for dancing.
Paying for all my own lessons, I began to study ballroom dancing at the age of 15. I
quickly realized that I had found my niche. I had a natural ability on the dance floor. Leading
was second nature for me, the beat of the music became a part of me, and as I learned more about
each dance, I too learned more about myself.
As any ballroom dancer will tell you, every dance has a personality, style and character all
it's own. As I found this out, I began to develop favorites. I started to, and still do, go out every
weekend and dance. And depending on what kind of day I have, or what my particular mood is,
the dances are chosen accordingly.
I often compare dancing to poetry, me going on the floor is no different than putting pen to paper. I'm telling a story. If I, the poet, am depressed, I'm not going to dance a Cha-Cha. If I'm feeling flirtatious, I guarantee the Fox Trot is not my dance of choice.
If you ever want to know how I'm feeling, come watch me dance. Or, better yet, dance
with me. I can express more about myself in half of a song than I could in an entire hour of
discussion. This is by no means a reflection on my poor diction, believe me, I'm a talker. I just
feel that sometimes words get in the way.
Let's say I'm in a great mood. Just got an A on my introspective paper, or something. I'm not going to the coffee shop, sit and drink a chai. No, I'm going to dance. What will I
dance? Probably a salsa, or better yet, a swing. The fast paced, giddy nature of the bouncy dance
that's equally flirtatious and fun. Triple-step, triple-step, rock step. It's non stop. No time to
think, just do. It's an exciting dance, perfect for my mood.
But let's face it, I'm not always in that good of a mood. Have you even been depressed,
I mean really depressed? To the point where you're...