Dancing our way through life
I thought, Maybe there’s a story about life, and how to live it—in that sequence.
A dream gave me the title of this piece, which is so appropriate for harvest season when communities celebrate. I woke up laughing, realizing I had no idea what “Barn dance before you die” meant or what sort of dream could have led up to that strange concluding statement. But then, my memory started to churn out the barn dance calls I used to say when I taught folk dance to elementary students through the Artist in the School program. I thought, Maybe there’s a story about life, and how to live it—in that sequence.
“Three steps in, and curtsy or bow. We’re ready to start the barn dance now.”
Sure, I figured, there’s the beginning of socialization for all of us. There’s a bunch of other kids to check out and wonder about, but you know there are going to be rules of engagement … not literal curtsies and bows, but pleases and thank-yous, and no hitting or kicking or mean words.
“Right hand out and around you go. Swing your partner head to toe.”
Okay, kids, the word swing doesn’t mean to yank your partner’s hand, sending them off balance. When we’re young, we learn about give and take, being gentle and careful, speaking and listening respectfully, being invited to birthday parties and issuing invitations in return, shaking right hands without squeezing hard.
“Left hand out and do it again. Swing around with your friend.”
Throughout our lives, we practise those basic social skills over and over and over again, with slight variations. The trick is to swing your partner without getting into a been-there, done-that frame of mind, but keeping interactions fresh and personalized and friendly (keeping the dance lively).
“Both hands out and give it a whirl, if you’re a boy or if you’re a girl.”
Yeah … if you’re a boy or if you’re a girl. You’re figuring this stuff out and noticing how fluid humans are, how we change over time. We look so solid, but our imaginations and ideas and self-concepts are so very mobile and ever-changing. We meet our new selves every morning.
“Arms up for a do-si-do, back to back and around you go.”
So we get older, and relationships deepen and become more intimate. We learn to trust so that we don’t worry that our barn dance partner is going to crash into us when they’re out of sight behind our backs. Trust is tricky. We have to learn to talk about the hard stuff. We have to make sure we are reliable, too.
“First two people sashay down, hee-haw!”
At this point in the dance, you and your partner are sideways-galloping down the space between the two rows. Everyone else is clapping and stamping and hee-hawing, but you and your partner are moving as a pair—two distinct individuals in a community. It’s freeing. It’s empowering. It’s nerve wracking. You hope you won’t trip and fall. But if you do, you know there will be plenty of helping hands to get you back on your feet.
When every pair has sashayed down, “Grand March!” is called, and the whole group skips around “the barn.”
Whew, you’ve done it. You’ve gone through all the stages of socializing. You’ve grown up in this community of dancers. Now you’re circling the barn, surveying the physical and social and psychological space where you’ve become you, feeling a sense of accomplishment and completion. You’re very warm and a little out of breath, and you’re smiling so much your cheeks hurt. As the music draws to an end, it’s time to physically or mentally curtsy and bow to all your partners again.
And everyone will be sure to say, “Thanks for the dance, partner.”
