Solstice

Los Angeles, California

It was not triumphant, but it was a return to salsa dancing. We had been talking about it. California fully opened up, eliminating the restrictions in response to the Covid19 pandemic, on June 15th. Daylight was increasingly stretching into the evening. The solstice was on its way. And we had been talking about our return to share a dance floor with others, and not just at my house.

We chose a Sunday night at a club in Tarzana where we had danced in the past on Sunday nights. I cannot exactly remember when we were last there. I know we were there on New Year's Eve 2019. Joel was sick. He had been feeling better, but then his cough got worse again. Covid? We now know that it arrived sooner than we had thought. So, maybe it was. I left for Phoenix about eight weeks later, so I am assuming that we danced during that time between December 31st and the beginning of March. But memory does not serve. Regardless, our return to salsa occurred on a Sunday night, just a few hours short of the solstice. I reminded Joel: The last time we were here, Trump was still president.

Walking in was particularly odd. There are now metal detectors at the door. Joel said: Good. Imelda was not there, and will not be there taking money and fastening wrist bands. Bad. We walked in wearing masks, greeting the only two people we knew: the promotor, Jose, and the bartender who amazingly remembered our standing order even after more than fifteen months. Music was playing, and the dance floor was empty, until...

We were the first and only people on the dance floor. Later that evening there were more people, but it never became crowded. A few people we knew, including Joy and Alex, arrived and joined us on the floor. I worried about my stamina, but it was not a problem. What was a problem was the ridiculously sticky floor; the even more ridiculous volume of the music, and a later-evening crappy DJ playing an abundance of bachata, which we can dance to but it's not the first thing on our menu, and other music which was not salsa. A lot to complain about, but it ultimately didn't matter. We were back.

We didn't stay late. At a certain point when we were dancing cumbia, the DJ (crappy DJ) cut into the song with a different cumbia. At that, Joel was done. I came home, my dress sticking to me from sweat, but feeling the familiar peace of mind that comes with doing something physical that you love doing, and which especially comes in the resumption of doing that thing that you love after a protracted and crazy hiatus. I showered, climbed into bed, and slept well.

The following day was the solstice. There was still light in the sky close to 9:00 PM. Joel and I talked about salsa. How can we carve the time out of his schedule to do more salsa? There was a time when we danced three or four times a week. A consistent time when we danced twice a week. And that would be the goal, now that we are post-pandemic and just a week post-solstice. Life is busy, but carving out the time for something that feeds your soul seems essential. The truth of this is that the pandemic has taught us something. It taught us YOLO. You truly do only live once, and we learned that we can lose a full year out of that life. So it is now all the more important to realize that making time for the things and the people we love is NOW. Otherwise the equinox will be upon us and we will be still making plans for the future. Now is the time to realize plans. And for Joel and I, now is the time to dance. Thank you for reading my blog. And for you new agers and druids out there: Happy Solstice!