Out of Time

I look young for my age. This is interesting, because what used to be an insult is now a compliment. It is also context specific, because looking young is a huge hassle just when you don't hassles. For example, college. Go home, little girl, go back to high school, and on and on. I used to hold a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other (I drank the beverage, let the cig burn) just to make me look older. It didn't, I'm sure.

Now, of course, I find it handy, especially since my husband and I enjoy many dancing venues that draw a young crowd, like swing dancing. Even so, I know that we do stand out. I may look young, but I don't look like a teenager.

So that was what made this Sunday's dance so interesting. Gary and I attended a concert given by the Indianapolis Jazz Club. The music was 1920's. There were some young people there, but most were probably 70 or 80. I loved watching grey heads bobbing up and down with the music, and singing along. It made me wonder what future young kids will think of me mouthing the words to Nine Inch Nails. Anyway. We danced a lot. We garnered quite a few compliments, all related mostly around "you young people sure look good", or, "we think it's nice that young people enjoy our music." I also got a "young lady" now and then. Funny.

I also got to dance with my dad. We did the foxtrot. And there's nothing that makes one feel like a little girl again than dancing with your dad.

All of this got me thinking about who you are in relation to other people. And not just age. What you have on may look weird in one crowd, but blends in another. A dance that you do may not be the dance others are doing, but the steps fit just fine. For me, it's important to know who I am no matter what is going on around me.

And okay, so most of the time I choose to be an odd, against the grain, teenybopper. I saw a white headed woman last night jitterbugging and giggling as her man whirled her around. I hope I am her when I get to be that age.

Swing baby, swing.