Today’s January: One-two, one-two.

            I tried dancing once or twice – maybe a few times more if I was honest with myself and I really spent time thinking about it.

            The first time of major indulgence would be during the early years of my first profession. My choice of subject as student? Swing Dancing. Did I come prepared with a dance partner? No. Did I know the music frequently used for the style of dance? Yes. Was I even coordinated to combine the steps with the songs?

            I remember gymnastics. Not because I wanted to go (or if I did, I’ve successfully told myself that wasn’t the case) – but because of the chaos in the middle-school gym to find the group, to learn the steps, to wonder why parents permitted such punishment.

            I remember school dances. Not because I wanted to go (really – I would have been more content sitting in the library) – but because of the boredom of standing by the wall trying to make sense of the songs screeching overhead.

            Back to swing dance lessons that spring – I surprised myself in discovering that I could learn the moves and not step on anyone’s toes. I was surprised (and greatly relieved) to learn that I was one of many who came to class solo – which made for a new dance partner each class.

            Have I boldly gone out onto the dance floor since those lessons of long ago? Of course not. Have I considered challenging myself with a new rhythmic endeavor? Maybe – I could take a turn at tango – although it’s been said that it takes two to do it.