Touch me again

Oh to know what I know now way back in 1991. I felt so old then, even though I was not yet 30. But already I was out of the dance club and into . . . what exactly? Certainly not the streets. Hibernation maybe. Escape. Transitions.

A year or so after meeting my friend S., a friend I've now had for nearly 30 years. Several months before leaving Washington and only once creeping back to live in its shadow again. Two years before graduate school. Two years before meeting G. Four years before moving to Texas, which feels like home to me and perhaps always will. Thirteen years before leaving Texas and moving back east. Twenty-two years before meeting Cairo. Twenty-four years before moving to Canada. Twenty-six years before now.

Oddly, I've written about this some before. This little fluffy pop tune that somehow captures my hope and longing, my regret and sorrow.

Some moments during the previous 26 years have been, frankly, terrible, including this last week or so. And then other moments have been spectacular, such as living with Cairo and talking to him this week, during one of my sadder, more frustrated, more anxious times.

My father's passing. But my mother still lives and is as vibrant as ever.

I still loathe my job and am wary of my colleagues. And yet I had probably the most successful week I've had since arriving in Canada two-and-a-half years ago, have a great staff and supportive bosses.

One of the biggest reveals this week was that once my anxiety and stress subsided, I realized that I had actually had a good week, at least professionally speaking. The anxiety has been too much of late, but I'm actually doing OK.

Would I go back in time? Would I do anything differently? Maybe or maybe not.

Except maybe . . . I'd dance more, even past the age of 30. To hear that piano again, those drums, that whistle, that call to "hold me baby/drive me crazy/touch me/all night long." To put aside the fears imagined and real, to trust in myself, to take a moment, to enjoy, to cavort, to laugh, to be carefree, sans souçi, to grab life and run with it. That I would do, at least for one night, return to the scene and dance, dance, dance away the heartache, dance away the tears.

But then I'd hurry right back to the present to savor what I have now, the good and the bad, and look forward to a better tomorrow, week, month, and year ahead.