This weekend I went to my college's ballroom club Homecoming social. Getting back on the floor, I was reminded of what I loved about it. At one point, I danced with a guy a few years my junior who is an excellent lead. I'm not even sure what we were dancing to Michael Buble - Silver Smooth Foxtrot? - but it worked. His effortlessly light but firm directions kept me in line and from stepping on his toes. Drawing on my own dormant skills, I could spin, rise, and fall elegantly. I know we looked good, and it felt like flying.
And then the dance was over, and I remembered everything I disliked about that club.
I am grateful for what it gave me as a freshman - comfort with my own body; awareness of muscles and movement I didn't know I had; confident self-expression; and even *gasp* physical contact with boys; albeit highly structured. Sadly, it failed to give me the close friendships I saw among other members. The dance world can be full of cattiness, judgment, vain preening, and obnoxious cutesiness.
There were three true friends there this weekend who were genuinely interested in hearing about my post-grad life. Otherwise, I looked around the room and realized I am only interested in what these people can give me physically - a fun dance experience. We have no deep personal connections, or really even superficial ones for that matter. And that's no basis for a healthy relationship. This Sunday, I told them goodbye for the last time. I don't think anyone even noticed I was gone.
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