The Joy of Dance

I might as well have titled this The Joy of Sex

Because, you see, in my case, it’s Argentine tango I’m talking about, and it’s joyous indeed, and it’s sexy as hell. But what’s making me really happy about returning to dance is simply touch. I hate to admit it. It feels a little pathetic to share that tango is now where I’m receiving physical touch. I don’t currently have a lover, but even if I did, that’s not the touch I’m talking about. Dance, touch, intimacy… care. Tenderness. Not sex, but sexiness. Sexiness in spades.

I had the sometime lover. I had the boyfriends, and a couple of really good ones to boot. I have my ex-, my children’s father, whom I will always love. When the kids were little, they slept in my bed, wrapping themselves like vines around my body, one on each side. When he was 12, my son moved to his own room. And when my daughter was 12, she did too. Before that, she, especially, would twine herself in the most incredible way, literally weaving her legs through and around mine. It was wonderful.

Now, I’m 54, dating tentatively, quite unsure I want to be part of a couple again, at least not yet, but that’s a topic for another article. The point is, I’m not being held, hugged, loved, or touched on the physical plane, and it matters. I think it was causing me to become weirdly disconnected from myself and life. I…