Over the previous year of 2014, I have taken a great liking to what I know as the swing dance culture. It is with great fondness that I speak of the nights where my friends and I leave after dark for classy soirees in quaint little swing dances clubs in the heart of the city. While most of the world sleeps are the hours which these places come alive. At these ballrooms, there are no dance snobs or segregated lines between the beginners stumbling over their own feet and the people you could watch waltz effortlessly around the room for hours. It is with bright eyes and nervous anticipation that I stepped into one of these rooms for the first time. These evenings do not resemble dreaded high school dances in the slightest. With live jazz bands performing and a dance floor for the taking, strangers, familiar faces, and friends alike ask with utmost sincerity for the honor of a dance. So all night, you float around the space on the arms of different boys with music filling the atmosphere. The more skillful souls patiently smooth through the cluttered steps of newcomers such as me; not one person rolling their eyes or belittling another human for tripping over unlearned footwork or failed attempts.
And it is altogether lovely. Nobody leaves dejected, lonely, or discouraged from a place where people nurture passion in others by graciously stepping into the journey with them. I have a hunch that many skilled dancers go so far as to enjoy taking a novice by the arm and ironing through the wrinkled steps, for one of life’s greatest pleasures is helping another fellow human being through bumps in the road and watching them thrive.
Come time for the ballrooms to close maybe 1am, old friends and new ones alike pile into cars and never mind that it’s the middle of the night, if you go to Denny’s breakfast is a must. We share stories of the night and music tastes and trivial stories that make others laugh and at least for the night, strangers are no longer strangers but friends. Nobody remembers to take pictures through the late hours because film could never capture the sweet sounds of jazz wafting through the air or the dizzying ecstasy of twirling in and out of other couples. And in a crammed little corner booth taking in pancakes, eggs, and laughter in the shadowy lighting of the night, it’s a moment of human connection.
It is my firm belief that life should be wholly lived swing dance style.
Where some nights, sleep is not so important as the creation of memories. Life should sometimes be a whirlwind of crazy, for laughing and spinning at breakneck speeds on those dimly lit, wooden ballrooms may just be the closest we ever come to flying.
Swing dance style where strangers love strangers. Building each other up simply with the goal of sharing passion and passing down wisdom. See, strangers are not strangers under a common interest in defying the rules of a society that seems to believe that class is dead.
But it’s not. Class is not dead. And neither is memory making, or being a loving, encouraging, decent human being simply for the sake of being loving, encouraging, and a decent human being.
Which is why my resolutions are not in fact New Years resolutions but things I am resolved to do with life. I want to live in greater connectedness to the people around me. To be attuned to the nuances of life’s music, whether the notes play a sound of bluesy jazz, feel-good pop. or melancholy violins. I hope that I never disregard a chance at human interaction by sweeping it under the mat. My personal goal is to live life swing dance style, full of adventure, class, and the utter passion to love.
grace upon grace 