[3] Ballroom Dancing

I have an on-again, off-again love for ballroom dancing.

There are some days when I can't imagine living without it: I count out the beat to every song I hear on the radio and choreograph a mini-routine. I pull out my dancing shoes, and, if nobody's home, dance around the kitchen and practice. I check the schedule for the nearby studio to see when the next cha-cha class is (my favorite <3). I count down the days until my next ballroom class. I dream about competing in front of judges and a crowd.

And then there are days where I want nothing to do with dancing. Even my boyfriend (who's also my dance partner, a combo that works surprisingly well) can't talk me into busting a move. I'll ignore that group class schedule I printed out just the day before. The radio is just music and any imagined choreography falls flat. Classes I do attend on one of these days are uninteresting. I feel like I don't belong, like I'm trespassing on sacred dancing ground with two left feet and no motivation to dance.


Sometimes I feel like I'm not in control of my feelings, like something or someone else out there is telling me to hate dancing some days when I have absolutely no reason to. It's like a cloud hanging over my head, a thick fog I can't shake off, a dark, empty whirlpool I can't escape. Everything is confusing and mixed up. I feel like a walking contradiction, like that song by P!nk called "Leave Me Alone (I'm Lonely)." (Which, if you're interested in listening to...)

Maybe I'm just a crazy person. Or maybe I'm channeling my some leftover teenage angst. Whatever it is, non mi piace [I don't like it].