Let's Dance to Joy Division

I've been dancing nearly my entire life.

I did ballet and pointe for 10 years, tap and jazz for 2 years. Before college, I danced probably somewhere around 12 hours per week. My ballet mistress was once a principal dancer for the New York City Ballet. She once told me very early on that if I kept working as hard as I did, I could possibly make at least corps de ballet.

But of course, I am now an engineering graduate student. (Read: My parents said do your homework.)


In college, I got busy, and dance fell to the wayside. I took the occasional dance class here and there: a semester of East Coast swing, a semester of Latins (salsa, cha-cha, merengue, tango), a semester of lindy hop. Went to a random Sunday social swing or salsa night now and again. But beyond the spontaneous jeté across the academic quad, I didn't really dance.


When I got to graduate school, I became friends with some very outgoing salsa and swing dancers. I kept getting invited to dance functions.

I've found I miss dancing.


When I'm dancing, it's just the music, connecting my partner and me. We can get to know each other in the span of 3 minutes. We don't even have to speak.


Even though we are moving through this time and space, it's only us two, suspended in our own world.


A million things may have gone wrong with my day, week, year, but when I'm dancing...I'm content.


This indescribable happiness bubbles through me when I'm dancing.


My camera lenses may not have been fast enough (Read: Mom, Dad, I would like this, this, this, or this for Christmas! Oooo! Or maybe this!) to catch all the amazingly creative body conformations seen at Steel City Blues.

But on closer inspection, I saw I captured reflections of my own joy.