I could go broke dancing

Money – check
Dancing shoes – check
Camera – check
Eagerness to finally take dancing lessons – check

My Fourth of July Friday night started off with all my ducks in a row and although I was late arriving for my very first Salsa dance lesson, the night ended with me running home to blog about the happiness-high dancing gave me.

It all started at, well, the beginning …

I didn’t even ask HeeJoo what she was wearing prior to setting off (we arrived separately), or ponder what others might be wearing because it didn’t even matter like it usually does. I have an image in my mind of what I want to look like when I take dance lessons and so I dressed to that image.

I showed up like I belonged there.
I quickly got over being shy about being so physically close to strangers.
I forgave myself right away for missing steps, knowing with the kind of confidence I cannot find when I’m in Korean class, that I’d eventually understand and perfect the patterns.

I didn’t doubt my abilities.
I didn’t question my choice.

I never once worried about my Korean language abilities, or stressed out about how much money I’m spending and not earning, or wondered what I should do with my life, or dwelled on The Guy from my past.

I just danced. With my shoes. With my dress.
And I had the best time possible.

It was exciting to be twirling around and stepping and swinging and swaying and smiling and being sexy. There, I said it, I feel sexy when I dance salsa! I loved it. Mom, that dress you got me when I was back home, you know the one, I call it my ChaChaCha dress, well I wore that dress tonight and it was better than perfect. I’ve come a long way since my favorite “Hawanee” dress that I wore to my first day of Kindergarten. (Side note: I couldn’t pronounce Hawaiian at the time, but this dress was Hawaiian themed and I loved it for some reason.) It could very well be that I haven’t loved another dress since then, until I met the ChaChaCha dress.

None of the guys in the class could believe that it was my very first dance class ~ that I had never before taken dance ~ because they thought I danced so well. But if they could see into my head they’d know I’ve been dreaming about dancing since I was a little girl.

After class we went to a local Latin club to put into real-world practice what we learned. There, one of the other students taught me some Meringue and some fancier moves for when we dance salsa together next time. We were the first ones out on the dance floor and everyone was looking at us like we were the main entertainment (they had nothing else better to do or weren’t drunk enough yet, I guess, to get up and dance), and I didn’t care. I practiced what I had learned. Quite different from my usual attempts not to be noticed, uncomfortable of unwelcomed stares from unfamiliar faces, but tonight I didn’t care care because I wanted to dance.

I have recognized that there are some things I cannot do well naturally; learning Korean is at the very top of that list right now. But dancing, dancing feels great. Sure, I’m not perfect, I have rigid arms, I keep looking down, I turn left when the signal is for the right, I step on toes, and I lower my hands below my waist, I take too large of steps, I do not straighten my left arm, back of palm facing outward, on the fifth count of peek-a-boo or sexify it as we are encouraged to do.

But those kinks will all work themselves out later.

So here I am with not a single picture from the night and sore feet, but a pocket full of new dance moves: basic step, cross body lead, captain hook, peek-a-boo, left turn and double turn … and a membership card to the dance studio for 8 more salsa dance lessons.

I could go broke dancing.

Next time: breath mints, contacts.