Bei Mir Bistu Swing

He Goes:

I think of myself as having started dancing late. Now, late is relative, obviously: I read not too long ago that the poet Hadi Khorsandi had begun tap dancing lessons this year, at the age of 68. I've a little way to go before that, but it seems to me that I spent a long time working up to being a dancer without actually realising or admitting that that was what I was doing, and that if I had my time over again I might try not to waste so much of it.

Of course, what's past is prologue. If I'd started dancing when I was 15 rather than 35 I would not have been the same dancer that I am now. I might have been better, or I might have been so bad at it that I'd have been put off for life.

As it was, I lucked into an opportunity that sold dance to me. I shared an office with a ballroom dancer who was so into it that he set up free classes in the reception area at our workplace to teach his colleagues.

"Keith will come," he told one of our colleagues. He turned to face me. "You'll come, right?"

I shrugged.

"Can't hurt, I suppose."

I'd recently been learning martial arts, taught by my father-in-law, and I thought of ballroom dancing as an extension of this along the James Bond axis. I could beat up a spy one day, then seduce an ambassador's wife with a sensual tango the next.

The important thing to know about where I used to work is that it was staffed predominantly by physicists. I don't want to get too much into the hoary old routine of claiming that physicists lack social graces (let me just say that I hate the Big Bang Theory with the fury of a thousand suns), but I do have to admit - my male colleagues were not great dancers. Whether it was awkwardness with women, unfamiliarity with the location of their own hips, poor idea of rhythm or whatever else, I was one of the small handful of passable dancers. At some dances I was even the best. A brief dabbling with yoga had given me a better posture which in turn gained me some praise for my waltz.

...and I was sold. Once you're told you're good at something, it takes on a desirable sheen. It didn't hurt, either, I suppose, that I was popular with women for the duration of the class in a way that I'd never been outside of dance.

If this all sounds pretty shallow, I suppose it is. But it is nice to be praised, and it is nice to be popular with the sex you're attracted to, and it would be mad to say otherwise. But over the years, particularly since I've taken up swing dancing, the other, deeper benefits of dance have shown themselves, and it's clear that they were there all along.

Back in my teen years, when I was listening to music while reading in bed, I was a toe-tapper. That's the least a person can dance, but it's a connection to the music. I think of true dancers as people who are compulsive toe-tappers. My first Lindy evangelist, Lydia, I never once saw standing still. Even waiting in line she was tapping her toes, shuffling her feet, doing a little Charleston. At first I thought of it as just a charming idiosyncrasy, but as I danced more and more I came to realise that you can hold music in your head easily enough, and once you have an internal beat it's the most natural thing to do to let it escape to your feet.

There are the health benefits. I don't dance for my health, but it's no coincidence that in the first six months of swing dancing I lost fifteen kilos. I do other exercises - I cycle a lot, I run sometimes - but running is boring (I can only do it with a friend to talk to), and cycling is just the way I get around rather than something I particularly enjoy (I do quite enjoy it, but I choose to cycle to places I want to go, I don't usually just go out for a cycle for no purpose). Dance is an exercise that's intrinsically enjoyable. I don't have to focus on the end product to make it seem worthwhile, because the moment is what's important.

Well, I'm mainly a lead, so the next few moments are what's important, but.. eh.

I started dancing pretty much by accident, but I keep dancing for all of these reasons. As I've come out into the wider world of dance, I'm now no longer the most rhythmic fish in a small pool, instead I'm just one average fish in a big sea. But I still feel competent, I still like being able to impress women, I enjoy letting my feet - my body - go with the music, and I still have a form of exercise that I can enjoy rather than dread. On any given day - at any given dance - one or more of these motivations might be closer to the front of my mind than the others. But they're all there.

She Goes

Consider this your epic post warning.

Around the age of 13 I did Saturday morning dance club. Basic steps. Warm ups. Nothing special. I do remember this one warm for arms that was always done to a particular song- and whenever I hear it now I get overcome with a sort of misty eyed amusing nostalgia.

I sacked off the dance classes after a bit though, what teenaged girl wants to get up that early on a Saturday morning? Plus I knew I would always be stuck with the other kids shoved out of the house weekend mornings- and not like the graceful ones that came in gliding through their private lessons when our time was up. I really wanted to be them though. Poise, grace, and better songs!

Fast forwards a good few years and I decided that I would take up salsa with a friend. Having been single for a while, as had he, it seemed like a good idea to combine fitness, fun and hopefully meeting hotties. When both of us found someone outside of class, however, we didn't go back.

The choice of salsa never actually felt like a choice. It seemed like the obvious option- you want to do dance lessons? Clearly salsa is the way. London was gripped in salsa fever at the time...

I enjoyed it, learning to finally connect my brain to my feet in a more structured way. I learnt to follow, actually follow, and that was worth the salsa shoes that are bundled away somewhere, bleating mournfully. However it didn't capture my heart, salsa. Some of the music I listened to had Latin elements to it but I didn't feel the urge to immerse myself. I enjoyed the social aspect more. If it meant dealing with a strangers thigh between mine and occasionally dreadful music, so be it.

Around the time of salsa I had rediscovered a friend in London. He and his friend ran a northern soul night that coincided with salsa night every fortnight.

I have always loved soul, having grown up with my mother living Diana Ross and the like. I'd dipped back into it at uni with a well informed housemate and hadn't looked back.

So what was a girl to do?! I went to both nights. Salsa then soul. I loved the dancing at one and the music at another. I got into the northern soul style of dancing- shuffling about, all elbows and ankles. But it didn't capture my heart.

Musically I was inspired though. I devoured anything the boys put my way and went off on my own little tangents too. I remember one of them being surprised that I had already heard a song that he'd just played and I said, "I do listen to music when I'm not with you, you know!".... Spoony smackdown!

So where are we in this tale so far... Ah yes. A spoon with plenty of moves but none that feel right, and a music obsession keeping her toes tapping and her heart lifted.

In January this year I moved to New York. It's a long story, I have my own blog if you want more details, but I was essentially a single young lady with time on my hands.

I googled 'swing dance manhattan', clicked in the first link, and booked a spot on a 4hour Sunday taster. Why swing dance? That I honestly can't tell you. It just occurred to me. I looked at doing language courses fr a bit but nothing jumped out, and before I knew it I'd seen the links on the Dance Manhattan studio website and I was convinced it was what I wanted.

I emerged out of that taster high as a kite and with the receipt for a four week course clutched in my still-slightly-sweaty hand.

The rest is academic, really, I spent the rest of my time in NYC dancing as much as I could, making a social circle and learning at every opportunity. I was immersed. I had a dance partner and dance buddies.

And then I had to move back to London and make some difficult choices that meant I wasn't moving back any time soon. Heartbroken is the word. Gutted and miserable are others.

But once I'd stopped being angry and depressed about my geographical chaffage I set about finding dancing here.

Now, I'm a creature of habit in an extreme way, but I can lose habits as quickly as I can form them, if not more so. The fact that the urge to continue dancing was strong enough for me to act on it speaks volumes for how much it resonates with me. I came to it in NYC to lift my spirits and give me something to focus on- and I came back to it in London for the same reasons.

I've now been dancing in total for 9 months. Long enough to grow another human from scratch. That's also the time it takes a friend of mine to get through 72 boxes of crunchy nut cornflakes.

What keeps me coming back to dancing is still essentially the same as what got me started; to feel good and have something to bang on about. But it's also become more than that. Yes it's my main form of exercise, it's my main hobby, and on some weeks I spend more on dancing than I do on food.

The social element is the biggest factor for me though. I'm a social creature at heart, and it's always self affirming to find other people who share a passion for something. I've always tended to form friendship groups based around where I work, and when those circumstance change, inevitably, one must start from scratch. Again. And again. This time, however, I think I've found something to last.

This is the spoon, keeping the love. Over and out x