Salsa and ice skating!

Salsa

Last night I went to my third NYC salsa club. The first was LQ, followed by Plumm and Columbus 72 (formerly the coco cabana place). Columbus 72 was amazing! The kinda place where you get to dance to every song, because everyone knows how and no one minds asking.

I was afraid to dance "on 2" since it was mentioned in my Phoenix salsa class. "New York style" was what they called it. I never quite figured it out, but it sounded hard.

We checked our coats, I put on my shoes and we walked out to the floor, where guys asked us to dance. The floor was still somewhat open and bare and he didn't go to the back of the floor (where I prefer to hide), but instead stayed in front where people were watching.

He takes a step. I notice he's dancing "on 2."

"I don't know how to dance on two," I said.

"Forget the feet! Just follow and let me lead," he said. I could tell he wasn't going to make me feel like an idiot if I was off (unlike some dancers), so I was open to it. He said I was doing well, even though I kinda suspected I was off. Eventually it kinda clicked, which is strange because normally these things don't click with me. But somehow I knew which counts to dance on, as if by magic. I'm not normally good at such things so it was super fun.

Of course, there were a variety of guys, some great, some bad. One guy spun me too much and then leaned against a column to look cool, like a cartoon character or something. This was a bit too showy for my taste, especially since I don't like to draw that much attention to my beginning/intermediate level salsa.

A few old guys were pretty good. Then a few were bad. One shorter old guy didn't move his feet. "is that on 1 or 2?" I said. "Don't look at my feet!" He said. So, basically, he didn't know salsa. Instead of teling me that, he criticized everything I did and "instructed" me. Step back. Step forward. Step back. Step forward. Now we are going to turn. Are you ready? I cringed with his condenscening-ness. Ick. I tried to get away and he insisted we dance to another song. I cringed with every muscle that can cringe, which makes me look like an even worse dancer.

But then there were some good dancers again. A very short guy with a swing hat and jacket who was pretty darn good. I missed a couple of leads, but he didn't make me feel bad about it, which I appreciated. Many guys make you feel like crap if you miss a lead and say condescending things.

It's all about the people who make you happy. The rest, just forget them and avoid dancing with them again.

ice skating

A few days ago, I went iceskating at rockefeller center. At that moment, on the white ice, gliding along without any fear of falling, for the first time in my life I was purely, completely happy, with nothing else in mind.

I have never felt so free. Suddenly, there was nothing holding me back. Not all those expectations I had for what I was suppose to do with my life. The 9 to 5. Jobs, conference rooms, and that feeling, like I was being broken into a thousand pieces. Crying on highways and in bathroom stalls. Ethical dillemas. The clear knowledge that I wasn't happy and wouldn't be for a long, long time, or maybe never would be. And not being sure what would make me happy.

Passing tourists taking pictures and moving towards something, I wasn't sure what, but it was coming on fast and was something very good.