Tonight I went to a birthday party for my friend Al. For the last couple months, Al and our friend Donna have been taking dance lessons and preparing a surprise routine for the party. Honestly, they’ve worked their butts off. Anyway, the party tonight was in Fort Smith at the old Shipley Baking Company. Unfortunately, it no longer smells like fresh bread, but it’s an awesome venue. I kept wishing I still hosted swing dances, as it would have been a great option for Southern Fried Swing, the mostly annual Lindy Hop convention I use to organize.

As Dad says, such is life.

Here’s a picture of the outside of the venue. The neon sign says, “Bakery,” which you can sort of make out, but sort of not because apparently my phone camera was drunk tonight. Anyway, the former bakery is open-air, which worked out super, since it’s fall. Granted, it’s Arkansas, which means it was humid. But there were fans strong enough to blow the wig off a drag queen, so the only people breaking a sweat were those of us on the dance floor. Not that I went around checking everyone’s armpits, I’m just guessing.

As if the place itself weren’t cool enough, Al served up a fantastic taco bar and free drinks. Talk about being in heaven. I was one happy camper. Funny enough, most the week I’ve been fretting, thinking that I needed to find a friend or date to go with me. I mean, I sort of tried, but finally said, “Fuck it. I’m used to doing things alone.” But trying to find a companion did make me think about my circle of friends. I’d like to tread lightly here because I think of myself as having wonderful friends, wonderful one-on-one friends. However, I don’t think of myself as having a group of friends, a “tribe” if you will. I used to have the dance studio, but it’s different leading a group and being part of one. Plus, I feel like I could do better about having friends in the gay community. I only feel mildly sorry for myself about this whole matter, but–going forward–it’s something I’d like to work on.

You know, we all have fantasies, but I imagine if I ever did find a group of homos (that’s short for homosexuals, Mom) to hang with, maybe we’ll be like the Sharks or Jets from West Side Story. We wouldn’t have to get in fights, mind you, but we could at least roll up our sleeves, do a little singing, surely a little choreographed dancing. Maybe–just maybe–we could have t-shirts that said, “We put the GAY in gang.”

Something like that–I’m still thinking it over.

Anyway, the party tonight was a smash. When Al and Donna performed their dance, it was tough for me to get outside of teacher mode. I kept running the routine in my head. Next up is one basic, then a girl’s turn, then a guy’s turn. You know how you want your friends to succeed. Well, they did–they nailed it. Later Al and I talked about all the hard work they put in–all the time and effort for two minutes on the dance floor. As I think about it now, I guess it’s like everything I’m putting into this blog. I think about it “paying off” one day, but the reward is really in the thing itself–the learning, the practicing, and how you grow in the process.

The universe is a funny place. After all my fretting about having someone to be with and talk to tonight, Al introduced me to a group of his friends from Kansas City, a literal bunch of stellar men. Al said, “You should get to know them.” Well, the next thing I knew, we were all standing around eating tacos, talking, being–you know–friendly. When the party was over, we went back to Al’s house, chilled out. Uh, a few of us may have danced to the Dream Girls soundtrack. (It all happened so fast.) Now that I think about it, I guess it was all very Sharks and Jets–minus the rolled up sleeves.

I can’t tell you the number of insecurities that come out whenever I’m in a new setting, especially if there’s dancing. Part of me is always comparing, sizing everyone up, wondering what other people are thinking. I usually think anyone who is attractive, wealthy, or talented has EVERYTHING figured out. (I realize this isn’t logical.) Anyway, maybe you’re like this in some way. If so, you know–it’s exhausting. I’m glad to say it’s a lot better for me than it used to be. Just since starting this blog, I’m more comfortable in my own skin than I ever have been. Like learning to dance, progress happens bit by bit.

At the venue tonight there was a sign, I’m assuming leftover from the days of sourdough and rye. It said, “Waste is our biggest competitor.” This could be taken a number of ways, but my mind went to all the time and effort I waste comparing myself to other people, worrying about shit that almost never happens, and generally being afraid of my own shadow. Obviously, all that takes a lot–a lot–of energy, energy I could be using to connect with others, imagine all the good things that could happen, and dance with rather than run from my shadow.

I told my mom tonight that I’m almost always happy to write this blog late at night when the rest of the world is quiet and it’s just me and the clicking of the keyboard. Sure, I’m tired plenty of nights, but I consider this a sacred, mysterious time worthy of being tired for. But tonight in the company of both new and old friends as I was invited to crash on a couch and wake up to a pancake breakfast, I almost convinced myself I could pull double blog duty tomorrow. Still, now I’m at home, it’s five-thirty in the morning, and I’m keeping the promise I made to myself–I won’t fall asleep until this is done. So rather than thinking about what I may be missing out on, I choose to be grateful for what’s happened, is happening, and could happen. Honestly, I’m coming to think of all of life as sacred and mysterious, a place where friendly faces can show up out of nowhere and make you feel welcome, a place where outdated beliefs can fall away and we can all dance together like something you might see in a movie.