You’ll have to forgive me. I really do intend to stop writing about TWD eventually but the more I write, the more things make sense and the more things make sense, the better I feel.
TWD was a great dancer. He was the greatest dancer I ever dated and when I saw him dancing at the wedding where we first met, I just knew: I had to dance with him.
We went dancing on our first date, and when we flew to Boston for a friend’s wedding a few months later, people actually clapped for us when we boarded the shuttle back to the hotel at the end of the night. We tried to tone it down after that—we’d hide out in the back of the reception halls whenever we went to a wedding, trying not to detract from the bride and groom, but the videographers always found us and people always stopped to watch.
We were the perfect height for each other, and somehow, without even really trying, we always ended up in coordinating outfits. To be honest, if I hadn’t been us, I would have wanted to smack us.
When we almost broke up last August, he took me dancing for my birthday. We were on shaky ground and he knew it but the moment he took my hand and led me to the dance floor, everything was perfect again.
And it always worked that way. Whenever I’d feel uncertain about us, about him, I’d think to myself, “But he dances! I’ll never find another man who can dance like him!”
The thing is, in two and a half years of dating, we only went dancing five times: our first date, twice with his friends, once in New York City and once for my birthday. We danced on cruises and we danced at weddings but we only went out a handful of times.
I won’t say that it was his fault—he was always so sweet about planning nice dates for us and most of the time he’d go along with whatever I wanted to do just to make me happy— but what’s the point of having a boyfriend who can dance if you only go dancing once every five or six months?
Fast forward to the present. Last night, I decided to check out the new “Latin Fusion” class at the studio where I teach downtown. Since I’m on faculty, I get to take classes for free and taking class, I’ve discovered, is a great distraction from the home buying process.
When TWD and I first broke up, I made a long list of things that were “forever ruined” (yes, I was still feeling very dramatic back then) because they’d been “ours” together:
Game of Thrones
Salsa (the dance, not the condiment)
Latin music in its entirety
The Spanish language in its entirety
The Big Bang Theory
Colombian hot chocolate
Well, I’ve gone back to eating sushi, I’ve gone back to watching “our” favorite shows (all except for Game of Thrones, and that’s simply because I don’t have HBO) and after those first few months of initial hibernation/depression/ice cream binging, I realized that I had listened to Latin music and plenty of it before I met TWD. Not as much but I could go back to it if I wanted to. He didn’t own it.
So I took the class and re-learned how to do a cross body lead without a partner—without TWD leading me through it. And it wasn’t horrible. It wasn’t impossible. In fact, by the time I left the class, I was feeling so damn sexy that I almost went to a wine bar by myself (which is something I have never had the confidence to do) and would have if not for the book reading I was going to.
Fast forward to tonight: one of my new BFFs has been after me to go salsa dancing with her for the past few weeks. I’ve been putting her off for various reasons (too tired, my dresses are all packed, I’m no good without TWD, etc.) but enough is enough. The European is out of the country for work all week and while Old Kat would have used this as an excuse to stay home, New Kat isn’t making the same mistakes she made last time around (you know, that whole making someone else responsible for your happiness thing). So wish me luck folks, I’m going in.