dancing in the living room

Last night I got together with some friends for an evening of Irish set dancing. I've dabbled in dance for years, but my familiarity with Irish dancing begins and ends with those Riverdance commercials you used to see on TV.

The dance was at Wendy's house. She lives just a couple of miles from me in a beautiful bungalow adorned with prayer flags and candles and Buddha statues and more gorgeous cookbooks than I've ever seen gathered in one place.

As my boyfriend and I arrived, Emily was starting to make eggnog in the kitchen. She made a glass for Stephanie with a bit of brandy, and Stephanie tasted it and laughed and said, Oh, Emily, could I have a little eggnog with my brandy? Then the music started.

There was a beautiful Irish harp, and two people who knew how to play it well – this felt like some kind of miraculous coincidence. And a fiddle, a guitar, a flute, a bodhran. While the musicians warmed up, Scott gave us the basics on the steps, which, of course, were nothing at all like Riverdance. And then we started dancing.

Yesterday was the one year anniversary of my divorce. It seems weird to use the words "anniversary" and "divorce" in the same sentence. I've been wondering what this anniversary might feel like, because my memory of the event last year is still so fresh – the trip to the courthouse, shaking the judge's hand in his chambers, inviting two of my best friends over for a ritual after the divorce, where I sobbed and sobbed.

The steps were easy to pick up on. When you dance in an Irish set, you dance in a tight group of four couples, everyone standing practically shoulder to shoulder. If you lose your balance, you just kind of bump into somebody else and move right along. The dance figures were not delicate, uplifted gestures with a lot of finesse. They called for twirling and jostling around. The flames on the candles trembled as we thundered by. Scott's shoes sounded like handclaps when they hit the floor. It started raining outside and another set of eight dancers squeezed into the crowded living room. Every time we came to the "round the house" figure, Rob would say, "Ready?" and I would pull him a little closer and say, "yes."

About halfway through the evening Stephanie took off her shoes. She approached Wendy, and said, "I think I'm going to just leave these off, because I'm worried about your floor," and Wendy said, "Oh, honey, you couldn't hurt this floor if you tried."

The past couple of years were so hard, with so much change crammed into such a small space of time. Last year alone, I quit my job, moved twice, started freelancing, and got a divorce. This year it feels like I finally slowed down, landed in a soft place. And when I stood up and got my bearings, I realized that I was exactly where I wanted and needed to be.

The musicians were still going at it when we finally left. The drizzle outside made halos around the street lights, and the music followed us as we went.