Dancing is a microcosm of skilled courtship

A friend invites me to go Salsa Dancing. And I fake my response. And she buys it. She thinks:

1. I'm excited about going.

2. I'm glad to be there.

3. I can't wait to learn.

4. This is really my thing.

5. I'm relaxed and confident.

And what I am is painfully self-conscious. The vital blood in my veins seems replaced with some sluggish, plastic emulsion. I walk in like a competent bi-pedal primate; now I'm moving more like a G.I. Joe action figure. I feel my face grin and blush like it's someone else's face. Against my will, I begin to channel a familiar foe. An ancient enemy. A demon, whose name is Geek.

I lose count of the number of times my dance partner says, "Loosen up." Each time I say, "Okay." But nothing changes. I should say, "Okay, then bring me a large bottle of tequila and two Xanax. And a baseball bat."

So, why did I go? Two reasons. The first is a no-brainer: to impress the girl! Guys will do lots of things once to impress a girl.

But, swear to god, there is a deeper reason: I'd like to learn to dance.

Why do I struggle so to slay this dragon? Or why is it even listed amongst my dragons in need of slaying? In most areas of my life, I wield a reasonable confidence. Or even sometimes an unreasonable confidence. I was once a ferocious basketball player. Competent in my own body. I possessed speed, balance, even grace. And single-minded fury.

I'm a musician and a songwriter. Meaning, I can count and keep time.

None of this translates to the dance floor.

I want to learn to dance because I think it's beautiful. And not just the dancing, but this beaUtiful thing I see and desire within the dancing. Ballroom dancing, tango, swing, country two-step, salsa -- all these dance forms are more than mere dance. They are a snapshot of creative relationship between male and female. They are a microcosm of courtship. And, when well done, it's just flat sexy.

The man is in charge. He drives the bus. He is the leader. The power begins with him. His shoulders are square. His movements are economic. Nothing jerky or exaggerated. He is just a tad stoic, aloof. Her dance partner, yes, but also a member of the captive audience watching her dance. Watching with quiet joy, wonder, and admiration. Maybe even desire. Oh my.

Yet, the power of his leadership is subtle. With his masculine power he leads, directs, but never moves to possess or dominate. He holds his hands open. He never grasps. It's as if to say to the woman, "I'm the leader; but, should you ever change your mind about being led, you have simply to let go and walk away."

Into this circle of masculine power and leadership the woman surrenders herself in trust. And in that same circle, she blooms! More, erupts. It's the woman who moves. She does most of the work. But it's not work. It is joy and self-expression. It's the power of the feminine. It is turns and lines and heels and twirling skirt and air-born hair. It's beautiful, graceful, and, in a sense, dangerous. But this
"danger" is a good thing.

Mesmerized, I watch a skilled couple and I smile thinking of a joke I first heard in seminary: Do you know why Baptists don't make love standing up? ... It looks too much like dancing.

I think it would be fun to learn to dance well. And how cool to add one more alternative to shouting at my date over the muddy, teeth-rattling blur of "house music" at any of several Las Vegas night clubs.

But dancing, I suspect, would pay off on many levels of my being. I think it would change me, and for the better. I think it would make me a deeper man. A man more comfortable with his power as a man. A man who could relax in his body, and therefore more often relax in his mind, heart, and soul.

I think I'm anxious about shamelessly encroaching the "personal space" of a beautiful woman and assuming a position of strength and leadership. Laying my hands on her and guiding her left, right, forward, backward, at my beck and call. I keep wanting to apologize for something. To "make sure she's okay." I treat her like she's breakable.

I'm going to slay this dragon. After all, ya'll are just women.

Anxiety isn't very sexy.