The power of dance

Lindy hop, according to my instructor, is hard to do while looking refined. Sounds all right by me. My class is a good mix of familiar and new faces, so it should be good fun—I don’t really know yet, since we’ve just learned the “Charleston kick.” (I also demonstrated that I have no balance and no ear for breaks in the music—but I’ll cleverly ignore that.)

West Coast is almost entirely made of up of new faces, with two notable exceptions: Sara (Suzanne’s friend from BITD), and Kristina. Yes, “Brent totally wants me” Kristina. Funny stuff. I’m gonna have a blast there—and hopefully I’ll get beyond my current curse of blowing the first WCS I dance each evening.

More on those as events develop. Ha.

Tonight was the first Wednesday night practice of the term, however, which was where the real fun was. I saw a ton of friends and danced a little, and came away totally rejuvenated by the experience. Like “ran across an oasis while crawling through the Sahara” rejuvenated. Like “walked in cold and frozen and beat down, walked out radiating heat and vitality” rejuvenated. (One might go so far as to say I found—temporary—salvation.) It seems I really missed my friends from dance over winter break.

You can thank that salvation for the multiple posts this evening, FWIW.

I also saw Connor, for the first time in ages. (That also lifted my spirits; Connor’s darn hard not to like.) Met his new girlfriend, too, and promptly forgot her name. Dang.


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