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20 march 2002

more life, less stuff

Sometimes, when I get a little punch in the stomach, it takes me awhile to feel the impact. I'm a good getter-upper when I'm down, and usually see no need to indulge massive fits of worry, sadness, or general yuckiness.

Today, we have impact.

I don't know quite how to word this, but recently my life has been like a car ride through the Blue Ridge--uneven. And it's not entirely my life, but also a particular situation with one of my best friends that has me working a bit harder to stay positive. I won't lie to you. It's been tough. Nothing bothers me more than being unsure about something.

On my end, my work situation has (like about everyone else's) changed. I think in the long run, it will be a good change. But over the past couple of days, I've had a few intimidating moments. I get scared, and have faithless moments in myself. Very, very rarely will you see me do two things: cry, or lose my temper. Both seem like an extraordinary waste of my time.

As much as I hate to, and as much as I think I don't know how to, I cried a little bit today. Sometimes, as much as I would like to call a friend about what's on my mind, do you ever have those moments when you can't even begin to explain it to someone? Working out for two hours didn't fix it. Eating a good lunch didn't fix it, either. So today, I just sat in my chair, let all the unsure-ness wash over me, and emptied my eyes for a few minutes. I cried for my friend who is in the worst excuse for a relationship I've seen in years. He was practically giddy for the first time in months when a few of us went out without his partner, and it broke my heart. I guess I cried today over the things over which I have no control and cannot fix, cannot figure out, and don't have answers.

And that was that. Then, I went dancing.

Each Tuesday night, there's a contra dance at the Vintage Theatre here in Winston-Salem. You'll find me there from time to time, cutting a rug. One partner is nuttier than the rest. Eccentric people contra dance, and there's a bunch of them. There's Ed, who recently got the snot beat out of him during a toughman contest. There's George, who wears bright yellow ruler suspenders and plays hide-and-go-seek during do-se-does. There are numerous younger guys who will swear that their manhood lies in how fast they can swing their partner. There's the middle-aged couple who loses track of what's going on around them because they can't stop staring at one another.

When I was a kid and teenager, I just assumed that I could not dance. I was active and athletic enough with other things, and never pursued dancing until my senior year in high school. At that time, I started going to square and contra dances in Montreat, NC, with friends. Hooked, I studied some dance in college--a jazz class here, a movement class there. It was enough to realize that I wasn't so bad after all. I began social dancing more often, which gave me more runner's highs than actual running.

Dancing is like moving among a flock of birds. You'd be surprised at how rarely we run into one another. It flows smoothly, joyously, with the music. It makes you dizzy, and after two hours, giddy.

Contra dance was done way back in the day, in the mountains. It was used for courtship and socializing, and you can still see the reminders. There is a move called the gypsy, in which you dance around your partner without touching them. Then, at just the right moment, it melts into a full swing, and you grab your partner and go. It makes you go "whee!"

The dance ended tonight, and I felt a little more like me again. I walked into the cool night air, looked at the skyline that's just perfect from the theatre, and felt good. I felt good to be here, moving, and dancing. Reassured. This too shall pass. This too shall pass. This too shall pass.

I'm going to be fine.