Earlier tonight I was sitting in the library of the university I’m currently enrolled at, like a motherfuckin grownup reconnecting with the world outside of it because I’ve been so damn transient lately and it’s hard to keep up. There are writer friends whose prose I’ve been missing and grants to apply for and houses to see (found one! It’s pretty, odd and sweet and surrounded by buttertubs of birds! True story) and couldn’t help but overhear (because I was at the table right next to him and he was speaking rather loudly..libraries are so liberal with their loud talker policies in universities where grown ups learn things) my fellow student’s intention to go dancing that night for 2.50! WHAT! That sounds awesome!
So I very politely inquired as to where and when this aforementioned dance session was happening and he replied, later that evening, not too far away. I got a tickly feeling and thought, wouldn’t that be fun? Maybe…maybe not. Eh. Whatever. I had homework to do and…it probably wouldn’t be that fun and…
And then I thought, Why not? And suddenly I was free. I don’t know why not? It might be fun. If it isn’t, I can leave. If it’s awesome, 2.50 well spent! If it sucks, it’s only 2.50! Seriously, why not?
So I went. And it sucked. Though I didn’t even make it through the door because I saw them dancing and gaaaahhhddddddd, ballroom dancing leaves me cold. They never look directly at each other, they never look happy, they somehow manage to make dancing (DANCING!) look like work. That they kind of hate. I did stick around long enough to see what the ballroom version of a tango looks like. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Want to know what a tango looks like when I picture it? When I dance it (kinda, I have a long way to go to be like Natacha Poberaj and Jesus Velasquez). It looks like this. It’s sweet and fun and sensual and yes, I know that it’s a lot of work, but it looks like the best kind of work ever. And if your tastes are inclined to things a little fancier, check this one out. Same couple, waay slinkier dress.
But this isn’t about my desire to dance better tango, though that’s pretty much in my top five all the time, along with surfing, writing, learn to do a one legged cartwheel and have healthy teeth.
It’s about showing up. It’s about kicking this attitude of whatever to the curb and jumping out of bed with why not on my lips.
No one is going to do it for me.
Apathy is not an option. It never was, but I was hiding behind walls I had forgotten I built.
The season of meh can go fuck itself.
I’m worth it. Worth the effort, worth the work, worth the time it will take to get better at tango, at writing, at surfing, at living to 111 because I don’t have blood poisoning killing me slowly because of my unhealthy teeth, at doing a damn one legged cartwheel.
Why not? I am a motherfuckin grownup after all.