Feels like home

[emsk]

Dance is all sorts of things for me. Exercise, people contact, fun. I lost three kilos in the two weeks running up to Nationals.

A lot of it is escapism. It’s my third circle of acquaintance, the one that doesn’t interconnect with work or with home/friends/family (although I’d actually like it to). If I’m having a bad day at work I can go home. If I’m having a bad day at home, I can go dancing. If I’m having a bad day dancing, well, I can go home!

I get on reasonably well with my dance acquaintances. I’ve never made friends easily, but they’re a friendly bunch; I can chitchat and gossip happily, I can turn up to social events and not feel alone. We’re all united by enjoyment of the hobby, and that matters more than the differences in the rest of our lives.

Swimming’s the only thing that’s ever come close. The careful balance between me and my breath and the water. The crisp shock as I dive into the pool for the first time, the slice of my shoulders through the surface. The absolute aloneness of me and the water, even in a crowded pool. The challenge of working harder, swimming further, pushing harder, the burn of muscles and lungs, water breaking around me and the rush of air as I breathe.

Dancing’s like that. The stretch and ache of a warmup, the heartbeat snapping up and muscles burning, the tension of balance, connection, movement. For those three, four, five minutes that I’m dancing, nothing exists except the floor and our bodies, nothing matters but holding to the beat and the music.

Dancing feels like coming home.