Swingin' On Nothin'
And so Reverb10 continues.
Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).
Would it be the first time I tried blues dancing? I remember the toned down lights, the contrast between the music after hours of big band, and the way my partner slowly turned towards me. "You love it," he said. "And so do you," I replied. I remember focusing on the pulse-stretch, pulse-stretch, until I suddenly felt it. Deep down. The music. The pulse. The connection. I remember closing my eyes, intently listening to the voice of Buddy Guy, until the music slowly came to a stop.
Would it be my first social dance with one of our youngest members, when I realized he had made tremendous progress in the past few months? The room was almost dark at that point; the dance floor almost empty. I can't remember what the song was exactly; probably Ella Fitzgerald though. I remember the connection, the pleasant surprise brought by his unconventional but well-led moves. I remember my friend watching us and telling me afterwards "well, that looked dreamy". It was.
Would it be the time when four of us tangueros, tired to wait for some tango music to play, tried dancing to blues music and figured out we loved it? The room was small and crowded, the music too loud to talk, and the other couples excellent. We did nevertheless swirl around the dance floor; exchanging partners or switching lead as we went, in an intricate pattern that made perfect sense as it happened.
Would it be the time when dancing made me feel alive again as I was grieving my grandfather? I already wrote about it. The live band was playing Eric Clapton's Layla, and one of the guys took me to the dance floor without a word. Eventually he tried to reproduce a move he had just seen; it went smoothly and that made me smile. Encouraged, he made me spin several times; and during one of these split seconds when our hands were actually not touching, a second guy stole his lead and made me finish the song.
Would it be my last evening at my favorite dance club? I was still exhausted from the last months of my PhD; and still very high about having defended. People kept calling me Doctor and all the best dancers (some of them professional champions) were asking me to dance. There was a live band, and a Hollywood dancer celebrating his birthday by packing as many crazy moves as possible in each dance. I remember it as a whirlwind of songs and dances and hugs and congratulations; there was cake and I was probably high from the sugar as well. People I wasn't expecting surprised me by actually making it for just enough time to steal a dance or two, dip me and make me spin.
Would it be my last evening in Southern California? I had been gone for three weeks already, touring the US, before coming back for one last time. My swing dance club had a meeting, and I joined them for one last dance with every single lead. My favorite tango dancer and I even danced tango to some very bad pop song. The lights were bright, the room full of brightly dressed people, and my mum was snapping picture upon picture upon picture. I danced and chatted and laughed and did mostly the three at once; and then there were more hugs and more well wishes and more not farewells nor goodbyes but see-you-soons.
I can't really tell. But I'm sure every single time I was on a dance floor, feeling the music and its beat, the connection with my partner, and the moves building up in me, eyes half-closed in silence or chatting and laughing, smiling or with a dead serious expression of focus on my face, I felt alive.
Which is why I should really make sure I don't procrastinate too long about finding a dance club in Germany.
