As a child I began studying dance while in grade school. My mom enrolled me in a square dancing class in fifth grade and soon after I learned how to do the foxtrot, the waltz and other ballroom steps. My involvement in children's theater led to studies in tap and jazz dancing. Later, as an adult, I would undertake several classes in modern dance when I arrived in Seattle, first with Daniel Chick at the Russian Cultural Center on 19th Avenue East, and, 10 years ago, with Wade Madsen at Velocity Dance Center.
I'm nearly 6-feet tall and tend toward large steps and movement, so I learned the importance of becoming more conscious of the space I occupy. But my classes with Chick and Madsen liberated me on several fronts. I studied with them as an "out" man, no longer feeling like I had to contain my expressiveness. I developed further confidence in the way I carried myself. And I began to appreciate the beauty and discipline of the art form in a way I hadn't before.
New awareness arrived when my partner and I decided to make Outdancing a part of our shared interests. We would dress up on the last Friday of the month and head toward the Century Ballroom to trip the light fantastic, only to discover that one of us had to follow if the other wanted to lead. For two headstrong men this became a negotiation in diplomacy. He would advise me, even when following and I was leading, and I'd become frustrated. One afternoon we took a lesson with friends of his who taught couples dancing on their houseboat in Lake Union. This interlude taught us more patience about the difficulty of each role, and we approached our odyssey with lightness and humor.
For me, now single, dancing at the Century provides an opportunity to touch and hold men in a social environment that feels safe and affirmative. There's no pressure to rush into anything, unless it's a matter of who will lead and who will follow. And in some ways dancing is a metaphor for negotiating relationships in life, straight or gay. We can't always have our way. In order to sustain the breath in any twosome, leading and following must originate from both people.
On a recent trip to Hawaii, I visited a close friend. She and her husband are newly married and in their early 40s. They are expecting twins next month and are thrilled about this development. My friend, who loves to travel and has appreciated her independence, had expressed deep ambivalence about having children.
She and her husband spent significant time exploring how to move forward with this dilemma. Newly retired from the military, he agreed to actively share parenting duties and respect her desire to practice her profession in occupational therapy. In return, she loved him enough to explore and eventually agree to having a family.
As I continue to dance at the Century I find myself relaxing more into this construct that I can either lead or follow after an open conversation with my dance partner. One evening last month, a close friend and I arrived early for a dance lesson at the Century. As we took to the floor we learned the ins and outs of that Argentine marvel, tango. Arm on my back he initiated the lead, and the unassuming, shy, even, shall we say, reticent man I'd met this summer transformed. In that moment of engagement between us we experienced something entirely new: Pure magic.
Jack Hilovsky's column appears in the second issue of each month. Reach him at editor@capitolhilltimes.com.[[In-content Ad]]