The dance floor, erected at the edge of the plaza's fountain, faces a raised temporary stage where instructors representing America's rich and ethnically diverse popular dance tradition demonstrate steps, and are then succeeded by bands that play while one attempts to execute them. Each year, I take a lesson, and remain to circle the floor in ritual combat with my husband, Andrew. Andrew says it is like dancing with Charlie McCarthy. This year, I thought I'd try to find out what I was missing-why I am comfortable at a critical distance, but paralyzed when in motion myself. He believes that dance rhythms are inherent, and that inhibitions are mostly self-induced.
People have trouble finding the phrase in the music, but in time in comes.
We've travelled all over the world. They seem to agree that dancing has as much to do with spirit as with steps, although the Lindy, as performed by them, is a dazzling virtuoso act. You can learn from the moment you're born until the moment you die if you can click your fingers, you can do the Lindy Hop. But out on the dance floor, trying to learn the mambo from Nelson Flores and his troupe, I lack the unselfconscious physical freedom I see all around me. The very sight of it freezes my mind, and my body follows.