When the music changes, so does the dance. — African proverb
I realize I haven’t talked about dancing in a while. Things have changed, and although change is, of course, to be deplored (my favorite line ever from Thunderbirds), this one has been good.
Last year, the boss of the dances (the lovely Pauline) decided for cash-flow reasons to lay off all the Seattle go-go’s. I was disappointed: it had gone from a lark to something a little more important for me. I had (finally!) started to own the part of me that likes public attention and approval, and the feeling of power that comes from being able to draw that response from people. I went to my job every month hoping people would like me.
And then I began to watch some of the other dancers and realize that there was a lot I could learn from what they were doing. I could be an even better dancer if only I was willing to stop “hoping” for approval and actually start working for it.
I went online and watched some other women and men dance. I worked on some new moves at home. I went to Goodwill and bought some new dancing outfits probably no more than a week before Pauline sent us the Thanks for all your hard work email. And I sighed and thought, well, so it goes. Back to dancing on the floor, fighting it out for space without a legitimate reason to take the stage and put on a show. Pauline told me I was welcome to get up on stage anytime for fun, but I shook my head because it felt too much like showing off, too much like desperation or… something. It felt (brace yourselves) inappropriate.
Perhaps you can see what’s coming. I’m glad someone can, because it always seems to take me a really long time.
I started going to the dances early so I could have a lot of room (I Do Not Like to dance in one square foot of space without being able to swing my hips or raise my arms). And when the music started and no one else would get out on the floor (high school is with us forever in this way), I thought that I could either lose my dancing time or just get out there and dance. So I did.
And then I went back next month and did it again.
The month after that, a woman approached me as I was buying my pre-dance beer. She wanted to tell me how much she enjoyed watching me dance, and how much she enjoyed that I was willing to get out there on my own. We chatted; and then I went out to dance, by myself. She wouldn’t join me on the empty floor. But later I saw her out there, in the crowd but dancing by herself. And I thought, You go, girl.
And then there was the time that a woman came up to me on the floor and told me she’d always enjoyed my dancing and was sorry I wasn’t a go-go anymore, but if she gave me a dollar would I get up on stage and dance? I blinked; and at first I said no, and she went away. And I had one of those Just kick me now because I really need it moments, where I realized that something I wanted had just come knocking and I wasn’t answering the door.
I hunted the club until I found her, and I told her that if she still wanted me to dance, I would. And I did. And she gave me a dollar. The best damn tip I ever had.
More things have changed. We’re at a new club now. I show up early, and I dance. When the floor becomes crowded, I get up on stage (usually with my friend Tami, occasionally by myself) and dance my ass off. I do it for myself, and I do it for anyone who cares to watch. I put on a show. I do it on purpose, and I work for the approval I get. I dance full-out for a couple of hours, by which time I am exhausted and literally covered in sweat: my hair drips, every bit of clothing is soaked through, my legs hurt. During that time, women on the floor catch my eye and dance for me, and I dance back, and everyone smiles. Sometimes a woman will come to the foot of the stage and then gather her courage, climb up, and we’ll dance together. And it always pleases me to see how much fun they have when they realize that it isn’t inappropriate at all to let the music move you with other people, for other people, in the joy of being alive.
There’s more on this topic. It runs deep, and turns out to be connected to a lot of other things happening in my life right now. But for today, I will just say that I am having fun in ways I always dreamed of but was never willing to do. I am powerful when I dance, and sexual, and beautiful, and a lot of other things that are not “appropriate” to a woman my age in this culture of youth.
And I like it that way. I don’t want to be young anymore. Young women come into the club for these dances, and they are lovely and fearless in their own way, but their dancing does not move me because it is only Look at my body! dancing. They don’t yet understand what it means to dance themselves. Sometimes they look at me and my friends, and sometimes I can see them thinking how weird it is to see old people shaking it with so little inhibition. My hope for them is that when they’re old, they don’t let themselves believe it’s weird anymore; that they will dance themselves too, and transform themselves from pretty girls into beautiful women moving with all the joy, anger, pain, power, fire that is in them.
You know the expression “Age before beauty” that people use sometimes as a sideways put-down? Well, I’m thinking now that the only appropriate response is Yes, that’s how it works. But hang in there, someday you’ll get there too.
I was moved, stunned and blown away. Someday I’m going to fly out there and watch you dance.
Kelley – Thanks for this post.
“I am powerful when I dance, and sexual, and beautiful, and a lot of other things that are not âappropriateâ to a woman my age in this culture of youth.”
YES! YES! YES!
I feel like I’m in my element when I dance my soul out. I do it because I am one with it and it feels good and I can. And when I know I’m watched, I usually enjoy that too.
My dancing provokes a lot of reaction — everything from amusement, admiration, sexual come-ons, and occasionally projected guilt-trips. At the last dance, even the queens, who usually ignore women, approached me with fun things to say. What a gas!
Yours on the dance floor–
Sarah
Watch? I say we go dance with her. Sounds like fun to me.
But you are way braver than I am Kelley.
I’m thinking someone needs to document this on film…
I have been thinking about this some more. Writing your deepest feelings and hidden wishes is done a little at a distance. Dancing them in front of other people shaves down the distance. “Pauline told me I was welcome to get up on stage anytime for fun, but I shook my head because it felt too much like showing off, too much like desperation or…something. It felt…inappropriate.”
Even as you say desperation you are so brave and so self-analytical! Well, I want you to love me and find me attractive so much that it feels like desperation, you say to yourself. And that’s a good thing. That’s what makes you end up back on stage. That’s what makes others want to dance with you.
Jennifer – just say when! 🙂
Ha. Well, Sarah, you’ve seen me dance, so you know how hopeless I am in that regard. But I still have fun with it. Hmm, this reminds me of what that woman we were talking to/dancing with that night you were in LA said to me about you… Let me just say that she really liked your dancing. 🙂
You are NOT hopeless. You were groovin’ that night! How did you FEEL when you were dancing???
Well, like I said, I have fun!
I can fix sad roses . . ., she says
And her smile confirms
Like rain on the earth
That indeed sad roses
Are familiar turf.
But itâs not so easy
This task in my mind
The world with its roses
Is definitely blind.
Theyâre scentless you see
And sad for a reason
These roses I give
No matter the season.
So it isnât the wilt from
Stem to the hilt
Nor the mad range of
Colors that drives me so sad.
But the lack of a scent
And the image it recalls
That hammers at my heart and
Raises all my walls.
I can fix sad roses her smile supposes . . .
As she arrays them in a vase
Then turns and pauses
At the frown she can see
Is still on my face.
So she takes my hand and
Pulls me in a way
That suggests dancing
As we begin to sway.
And itâs then that my senses
Pick up the scent
Of timeless embraces
And memories well spent.
I can fix sad roses.
I can her voice murmur . . .
And her smile is my smile as we waltz down the aisle
And the laughter we hear
Is from children at play or a family gathered
âRound the tree on Christmas day.
And the roses are real
Red, white, and yellow
And the music is moving
And her touch smooth and mellow.
And its night on our porch swing
In a light breeze
And the roses are shadows . . .
With a backdrop of trees.
rhbee
rhbee, thanks for the poem.
“…and a lot of other things that are not ‘appropriate’ to a woman my age in this youth culture…”
This is the year I turn fifty.
Rather than shrink at the thought of my youth sailing away behind me, I sing and (dance!) and shout, oh baby, I’m finally here. Wherein the inappropriate is now boldness and joy. . .
There is one thing you know, Kelley, while out on the dance floor, that the younger dancers don’t. Well…not yet, anyway.
Thank you all very much for the comments.
Barbara, you are wise.
Jennifer, bravery is relative. You put yourself out every day with your work. The intersection of power and vulnerability is different for everyone, but almost always an important place to be, I think.
Sarah, it’s fun to imagine you dancing! I’ll be thinking of you next time I’m on the floor.
rhbee, thank you for the poem. Memories well spent, indeed.
Jan, you go! Boldness and joy, for as long as we have breath.
And any of you, please come dancing with me anytime you like.
Thanks K and Barbara, isn’t great to dance on the web.
it
Yes, Kelley, I agree with what you have said.
But part of me being brave (or in denial?) when I dance is not giving a f— about what is appropriate. I have been told more than once or twice – by my partner – that I don’t dance well. I used to think, how can I improve before I dance, but now all I can think is – – so what?!??
And I guess, for a long time I have not cared too much about what is appropriate in a lot of areas. That doesn’t seem like bravery – maybe something more akin to bravado in my case. That is not to say that I’m not willing to acknowledge my own fears in many instances.
Ultimately, (after a bit of struggle) I don’t really care. I’m going to do what I want as much as possible. : )
But it’s also true that I limit my vulnerability in public situations.
Nancy tells me I dance like this bird – like a little kid. I don’t move my hips. But doesn’t that bird look like he’s having fun? Oh, and just hope you don’t ever have to hear me sing too.
I just going to keep remembering this:
“… it isnât inappropriate at all to let the music move you with other people, for other people, in the joy of being alive.”
Interesting to hear you making connections on this topic (which runs deep).
This is exactly what dancing is to me. There is no other joy quite like it.
Old, overweight, maybe a little clumsy, but alive and ecstatic with movement: that’s me on the dance floor.
If I ever have a chance to be in your club, I hope to see you dance. I might even join you up there.
Marlene, you would be most welcome and I’ll bet you’d like it up there.
I danced last night on the platform by myself for at least two hours before anyone was willing to come up — but when one woman did, then suddenly boom, there were seven other people up there, all grinning and exchanging smiles. Amd I thought well, my work here is done for the night, and went happily home.
Because even though I’m not a paid go-go anymore, I still believe it’s my “job” when I dance to help other people want to dance too, especially the women who want to dance alone but don’t know how to get started. And when they come up onto the stage… wow, it’s great. It makes me feel like I’ve put some joy back into the world by doing something from which I myself get so much joy.
Jennifer, one of the things that is happening with me in a lot of ways right now is moving along the “appropriateness” spectrum from bravado to wow, I actually really don’t care. Not in all situations… but every one feels like a victory.