Since childhood, I loved to dance. As soon as I heard music, I would start moving my body to its rhythm. In later years, I loved to dance in beautiful gowns in a ballroom with my husband. But then times changed, and I had either a partner who did not like to dance or I was single. Dancing was pushed aside, abandoned.
My passion for dancing came to life again on Maui, when a couple I met through my son invited me to a dance club. I happily accepted the invitation and wondered what it would be like. I thought I was quite a good dancer, or at least was, and was looking forward to the event.
The room where the dancing took place was rather plain and served as a multipurpose space for Yoga, Gymnastics and a variety of dance classes. On one side of the room, there were only mirrors.
Saturday nights were reserved for ballroom dancing, given by a retired couple. These evenings were open to everyone, regardless of their dancing skill. Those without partners were also welcome. This seemed a perfect match for me.
That evening, when my new friends and I arrived, the music was already playing. An older gentleman, James, was acting as DJ. He turned out to be one of the dance instructors. I learned this later that night. The music was great, not too loud, unlike some nightclubs or dance parties. Three or four couples were already on the dance floor. Soon my friends joined them.
Before I could wonder what would happen to me, I was asked to dance by a fellow. I believe this first dance was a cha cha. It was not too bad. And after that, the partner of my new friend asked me to dance with him. He was an excellent leader and made it easy for me to follow. I also danced with a couple of other men.
The instructors arranged a so-called mixer, where the men took turns dancing with all the women since they by far outnumbered the men. This gave all the ladies a chance to dance. My old joy for dancing awoke in me. Later that night I left with a thrill, sure that I would go back as often as I could.
The following Saturday it was raining hard. It would have been easy to convince myself to stay home, especially since my new friends had gone back to the mainland. But I knew that if I did not go to the dance club now, I most likely would not be brave enough to go again. So I pushed myself, put on a nice dress and a little makeup and jumped into my car in the pouring rain.
I was so happy that Kathy, the lady instructor, greeted me at the door and welcomed me back. Apparently, she remembered me from last time. I was even happier when one of the guys I danced with the Saturday before came to greet me and asked for the next dance, which was a foxtrot. It turned out to be a good start. When I had to sit out, I watched the couples and realized most of them were excellent dancers, men as well as women.
This was not a nightclub where one went to pick up a date. This was obviously a serious dance school. The longer I danced, the more I realized that I was out of practice. The guys were kind enough to correct me now and then.
One told me, “You have to put your left hand right here on my upper arm where there is this small dent below the biceps muscle.“
Another one corrected my other hand position. And, a short, blond-haired guy gave me even more instruction. He said,
“The woman should not look into the man’s eyes while dancing because then he cannot concentrate on what he has to do next; especially if she is a beautiful woman, which you are. You are supposed to look past the right ear of the man.” Then he told me that I should allow myself to be led better.
I was amused when he said, “Don’t look into the man’s eyes,” but I resonated with the part about allowing myself to be led better. I knew I had the tendency to sit in the driver’s seat and take over the steering wheel. After all, I was a single woman at that time and had to be the man in my life! I started to ponder his words.
Just then James started a short lesson and began to explain the correct posture for both the leader and the follower. I couldn’t believe my ears when he said,
“The followers should give just the right amount of pressure on the leaders upper arm and on his left hand.” Then he continued addressing us ladies. “You should not be limp like cooked spaghetti, nor should you give so much pressure or hang on the leader’s arm, that he gets tired. Remember, you should be like a steering wheel that gets driven around wherever the driver wants you to go; and in order to be able to do this, he has to feel the follower.“
Oh, I felt like I’d gotten caught. Did he overhear Darren’s and my conversation or could he read our minds? Or was it just plain synchronicity? Anyway, I listened carefully and realized that this was exactly what I was doing: either I was too limp like cooked spaghetti, or I held on to the guy like HE was the steering wheel and I was the driver.
I needed a few more extra lessons from that blond-haired, short man, who even seemed to limp a little when he walked. Another evening, when he came to ask me for a dance, he had to tell me again,
“Allow yourself to be led. Here, on the dance floor, I am the leader! No matter who you are in life, here on the dance floor I am the one who tells you where to go!“
That really got me! I heard him clearly this time. Darren said it very politely, almost like a statement. This is how it’s done. These are the rules in partner dancing. I absolutely could accept that. And indeed, I truly wanted to be led. The taking over happened almost unconsciously.
But no matter how hard I tried, I kept switching from cooked spaghetti to leading. Darren came up with a clever idea.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “Let yourself feel only my movements. You don’t need to be afraid. I will make sure that you don’t bump into anyone or trip over anything! Nothing can happen to you. I will hold you; you are safe,“ he respectfully reassured me.
I followed his instructions and all of a sudden everything flowed. We were dancing elegantly as if we had danced together forever. I opened my eyes and we both laughed at the successful trick.
Later that night, home and laying in bed, my thoughts went over what happened while dancing. I realized that tonight was more than just a dancing lesson. Because what occurred had a much deeper meaning for me, it was a life lesson! I heard Darren’s words again, “Don’t be afraid. Nothing can happen to you. I will hold you. You are safe!“
I could trustfully surrender to a higher source and know that nothing would happen to me. I am held and protected. There is no need to worry, no need to be afraid. I can truly let go and the river of life will effortlessly guide me to whatever is needed next. This was a realization almost like a flash of enlightenment. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks.
Living on my own for quite some time, I had to learn to be independent. In a world, still steered and powered mostly by men, I oftentimes had to assert myself and see that I could take control in order to be taken seriously and not be pushed around. How often would I fight until I was exhausted and almost collapsed; then I would get on my feet again, continue struggling in a world where oftentimes I felt so lonely, strange and not really belonging. Too often I felt like I had to do everything by myself, felt like I had to keep the steering wheel in my hands rather than hand it over to someone else.
How tiring, I realized! By now I was really crying hard. I felt the sobbing and the running of the tears like a great release of a long-held burden, which I now realized I no longer needed to carry.
No, I didn’t need to! I just had to find my equilibrium and be neither like cooked spaghetti nor take the steering wheel at all cost.
What a lesson – in the course of a simple dance. I was truly looking forward to the next time where I’d continue to learn to be led, on the dance floor and in life!