In high school, I used to dance. I used to dance a lot. I was the guy that would be the first to start dancing with a girl and then be last couple off the floor when the music stopped (or when the cops came to break it up). Dancing in high school was rough, especially because there would be a room full of people who didn't dance watching you and scrutinizing your every step in their heads. At numerous cotillions, I cha-cha'd, tango'd and waltz'd my heart away, knowing that I was a good, if not very good, dancer.
Now, almost 6 years, hundreds of beers, hours spent not working out, and 50 lbs removed from that time, I can't help but wonder how I hold up to those standards. I'm almost scared to think that I'd be a dork on the dance floor. That's just not me. I can't be the dork. But when I look at myself in the mirror every morning, I know something is different. My face is a little more filled out. My hair is begining to show flashes of wisdom and stress. The carefree, reprecussionless look in my eyes has been replaced with worry and concern. I'm a totally different guy. I'm getting fuckin' old. And that bugs me. Am I that "old guy" at the bar? You know, that old guy....
Okay, well I'm not that old, but I'm still a little apprehensive to get back on the floor to dance. Gone are the days of dancing in garages, that later turned into nights going "clubbing". Dancing now is reserved for formal parties and weddings. At least at those things, everybody looks like a dork trying to get jiggy in a tux or a suit. I'm no longer "hip" or "cool" so the confidence that I used to have has dwindled. Oh well.
Growing up is hard to do.