I’ve been dancing again. It’s weird. I never danced in Boston. OK That’s not true.
I USED to dance in Boston. A lot. Twice a week, sometimes three. Ceremony on Monday nights, ManRay whenever I could get in. And then later, Axis. Goth, Fetish/Industrial, Gay Disco. Assorted other clubs and basically any excuse to get out of Allston and away from the pressure of Berklee. And to be myself – whatever “myself” was 9, 10 years ago. It was mostly dancing alone, wearing black in corners. Hoping to hear Depeche Mode and Kate Bush and trying to look as morose as possible. I loved being goth because it meant there was no social pressure to touch another human being, and that meant little to no risk of rejection. I was such a regular at ManRay at one point that the go-go dancers would let me stash my stuff in the dressing room and then give me rides after the club closed.
It was nice. It made me forget the trauma of junior high school dances which always made me feel like an even bigger outcast than I generally was in class. In high school all of my female friends took dance classes. I did too for a while, but I could never keep up. I was always far too self aware in the sort of way that prevents grace and being light on one’s feet. Not being a dancer was such a huge part of my identity. To be a Dancer meant being desired by boys and… well. I guess that’s when I became “one of the guys”. Not in the sense that I played sports or DRESSED like a boy… but in the sense that I became extremely uncomfortable around girls and started to favor the company of boys. They were easier to talk to. Were awkward in the same ways I was. Wanted desperately to start bands. To this day I have one close female friend who lives far away, and spend my social time exclusively with men. Which SOUNDS sexy, but mostly involves a lot of debate over what makes something punk, and which girls are the cutest.
Which brings me to my current dance-related situation. Portland, as you are likely aware, is pretty small. There are however a surprising number of dancing establishments and for some reason my male friends are pretty gung-ho about GOING dancing. A lot of it has to do with the fact that the Asylum has $2.50 well drinks on Thursday nights and the DJ is guaranteed to play the following. “Running Up That Hill”, “Let’s Dance”, “Personal Jesus”, “Love Is a Battlefield”, “Take On Me” and “Kiss”. And there are girls. A lot of girls who dance pretty much like they assume that there will in fact be no tomorrow and, in that case, why not keep drinking PBRs, because since the world is ending, there probably won’t be class tomorrow morning, right?
There is something infectious about drunk college girls dancing their hearts out to songs they are not even remotely old enough to have heard when they were new. So I got sucked in. I started dancing and remembering what it was like when I was 18 to feel FREE of all of the pressure in the world. Except… now there’s this new and frightening element in the mix. It’s the clock. I kind of picture it hanging like some kind of garish Flava Flav-inspired albatross around my neck. It is a weird position to be in given that I have yet to find a job, that the number of Doctor Who-themed t-shirts I own far outweighs the number of digits in my bank account, and the fact that I still consider Spaghetti-O’s to be a nutritional lunch. No one on that dance floor would ever peg me for someone who is pushing 30. OK, maybe not “pushing” so much as kind of awkwardly nudging… but still. When I was a kid dancing was a release… and now I kind of see it for what it actually is: A means to an end.
Which… OF COURSE. DUH. NO ONE DANCES TO DANCE. It’s a fucking mating ritual. But traditional dating has always been so far off my radar that I never saw dancing as a tool. Actually, I’ve never HAD tools. I just kind of… found myself in relationships. But, now I’m in a new city that socializes differently, and I find it fascinating. The ritual of buying drinks for people and then kind of dancing near them to prove… what? I’m young and free and… I guess also… marriageable? I’ve never thought of marriage in a serious way, not even when I was in long term relationships. Not even when my friends started marrying off and having kids and mortgages. But there’s something about being in Maine… or maybe Portland that brings it up. I’ve started looking at my future and settling down as a realistic thing. I’ve been restless my whole life and I still definitely am. The concept of tradition is suddenly appealing and I HATE it.
I never wanted to be THAT girl. Or I guess I never thought I would be. I never wanted to be the kind of girl who dances and maybe goes on dates and thinks about getting married and… Jesus. Kids. I don’t want kids! Or, I do. Shit. Stupid dance clubs.
Stupid Maine! What is it? The smaller population? The cold, hard winters? It’s far lonelier up here. I’m spending a disgusting amount of time alone with my thoughts and really having to face parts of me that I never wanted to. I’ve had to start accepting that I’m a female and I have female feelings. Gross. Then there’s the allusive “Adult” thing. We’ve been over that a million times.
So I guess that brings me to… Do I keep dancing? Do I continue to acknowledge the clock/albatross? OR do I find a way to go back to how I was before I noticed my condition? Can I go back? How much does the desire to settle down change me fundamentally as a person? As an artist?
Ack!




