The Friday night KGB event has reached its end, in a random, generic party after this rush of mini events. I had to take my computer out into the hallway, for a few moments away from people - not from being around them, but interacting with them. It's so strangely bittersweet...
Somehow, over the past few weeks, I seem to somehow involved myself with the organization to the extent where people do know my name, recognize me as more than just Register Monkey....
I'm sitting here, watching a circles-dancing-to-music projected in a classroom, and a cluster of people, hanging out, sprawled on the floor, and this one guy, dancing. It's beautiful. Graceful moments that somehow follow, or find, or enhance the beat and music, two pink glowsticks tracing the music into the air of the darkened room.
I'm not familiar with people dancing like this. Others were doing similar earlier; a girl who clearly had background in the Irish step dancing, a guy who incorporated his kung fu into slow, deliberate movements, a girl who has obvious moments of ballet, and this guy... flying lights and flowing limbs, music somehow personified.
And even as I was watching in awe, staring in wonder at him, or the guy behind him who was juggling in time with the beat, a small, bitter part of me was thinking wistfully of Wesleyan, the "concerts" there, and I want to cry. Small, sad bitter tears, thinking of LeAnne, the roommate who dragged me out onto the dance floor and basically did the Snoopy Dance with me for most of - I don't even remember who. Tonic SolFa, I think. I felt strange and embarrassed at the time, but now......
Now I have such a strange mood stirring in my gut. I'm grateful to know that I am learning. I acknowledge that I probably couldn't have handled anything bigger than WVWC when I first left high school.
But, oh, gods, I'm still here wondering.....
Yes, what ifs. What if I had gone to a bigger school? What if, for example, I had ended up in Pittsburgh back then? Would it really have overwhelmed me, or would I have grown, that much faster?
He talked to me earlier, when I cautiously told him that his dancing was incredible. He claimed it wasn't much, that he learned by being dragged out, handed glowsticks, and being told to dance. He offered to do the same to me, and while it made for some good banter, there is also part of me that wants to take him up on it.
More people are dancing. I'm going to go back in, and watch. It's a sweet bitterness, this belonging but comfortable outside the group, savoring the joy of now and regretting the emptiness of then.
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