Dance Floors and the In-Between

craving anonymity, seeking distraction

Lately I’m re-obsessed with dance mixes. Looping sounds that sustain, and build, and build, and make me move the energy around within my body. I long for the feeling of being lost in fog on a pulsing dance floor, sweating near people. Where can I go to get lost? Escape?

Last time I returned from New York was via my friend driving us, and dropping me off at the train station. I had an hour wait until my homeward bound bus. Sitting on a bench near the bus’ arrival door with my bags on the seat beside me and the ground next to me, I sighed, somewhat relieved to be there. This feels about right, I thought. The one difference was I didn’t have any headphones on me. Carrying them is no longer a necessity to my existence.

I timed my next trip to the bathroom so it would be my last one before departing. Twenty minutes later, I was in a stainless steel stall unhooking, from the stall door, my overnight bag, a plastic bag holding my boots along with two Chinese bakery breakfast treats, and the strap of my small purse. I washed and dried my hands and left, passing a steady crowd of other travelers as I walked back to where I’d been sitting.

These transitory experiences are when I feel most at home. I’m no strings attached. Just me. Out there and also nowhere. In-between and comfortably anonymous in a sea of people. Time warps.

The dance floor can feel like that too. When I say dance floor I’m referring to experiences in foggy as hell, small spaces with great lighting effects, and varying degrees of seriousness about cell phone usage on the floor. Time warps.

I am invisibly there. I’m having my own experience amplified by the energy of people around me. When the fog temporarily settles I can see my friends’ shadows moving. I’m dancing too. Nothing is being asked of me. Loose, untethered, and so free.

brooklyn or queens nightlife. i love the smell of fog machine.

Nightlife doesn’t exist here and bars are the only option, but unfortunately, standing around in the same place to talk to the same people drinking the same drinks does not provide a collective release the way dancing does. Dance music is my preferred unplug from reality. Even when I listen at home I can still lose myself (yet not nearly enough). If it’s really good my body is up and moving before I tell it to. Meanwhile, bars are too much time with people all in my face.

Dancing is like a smoke break on conversation. It provides us necessary breathing room from verbal interactions. We come back into convo refreshed after a few quick, sweaty movements in the middle of it all. Bonding through collectively felt experience and physical interaction seem especially crucial now anyway.

When I started digging into my Soundcloud and Mixmag-recommended mixes, I thought, Great, another niche interest I won’t have in common with anyone here. A big assumption but probably true. Literal licenses are required for spaces to host dance events in MA. The dang pilgrims, bruh! The whole area is still on some Footloose type beat ’round these parts.

I need an escape from the monotony of every day. The city gave me that, much too easily to be honest. I wonder as I get age if I’ll ever be happy to accept the monotony, or if there will always be this vague, dance floor itch I need to scratch. Nothing can compare to a full, happy dance floor feeling, but if I’m lucky perhaps I’ll find a different variation of escape that is just as soulfully uplifting.