Finally I am home for a bit. Brass band, soft shoes. I know even before I get there that I’m gonna do so well; I will have sweet, fun dances. I feel confident and soft. I’ve been looking forward to this for so long.

With lindy hop, I don’t have to think. I am comfortably intermediate: just good enough so I can follow without thinking and instead focus on enjoying the music and play with my partner. Comfortable enough to express myself and so much movement and musicality in me that it’s well enough for me to entertain myself with the endless possibilities. My confidence here is often mirrored back at me;

“Are you a proffessional dancer? No one dances like you!

I am flattered and amused by his comment. He has danced for a year but I had a hard time believing it until he said this. He is very good; well enough comfortable with the technique so he can connect to his partner through dynamics rather than steps. But when he says this, it tells me that he is not noticing my little tensions and corrections, all the little imbalances and insecurities I juggle in the dance. I know that more experienced dancers notice these little secret mistakes of mine, just as I can feel theirs. To him, I probably look pretty cool. And, well, that’s fine by me.

We’re dancing in a former prison. It is a beautiful and strange place. When I leave the main room to find the toilets I walk into a long corridor with small doors on each side, and it takes me a while to remember that oh yes, this is a prison. These rooms were designed and built to keep people locked up, exactly like this. This hallway was probably met by gazes of loathing and despair by people who would rather be anywhere else than here. Every day, for years. The violence, the loneliness. The quiet acceptance. I can’t imagine it. I am here to have fun. I am here to be free in the beautyful lights.

We are still a society building prisons to capture and isolate each other. We are also a society decorating old houses and filling them with music and parties and hugs. I head back into the main room. What a strange place.

…

(This story told in pictures.)