Legos, Luggage, and Line Dancing

Before leaving for San Francisco I planned one last blow out weekend with my Colorado friends, living a day in each of their lives at their Colorado colleges. I was strangely excited to crash on college floors—my dad says if I want to be an adventurer I should embrace it. So I took the rather unsociable cold shoulder of the floor as a right of passage. The beginning of years of drifting. My life has been thrown up in the air and no part of it knows where to land yet. So I float to people, not so much places. To whichever friend and whichever floor will take me.

I began my college weekend at the University of Denver, meeting one of my friends to head up to the University of Colorado at Boulder. Coincidentally my friend’s name is Aleks and she ran into two DU students also named Alex riding the same bus. So began the adventures of Hannah and the Three Alexs. We arrived at the campus luggage in tow. Of course I wanted to swing my bags easily under my arms, perhaps dance and sing “I have Confidence!” like Maria from the Sound of Music. Instead I barely managed to save my luggage from a seemingly targeted bike attack. I never knew the stereotypical chilled out hipster CU student could pedal that angrily. But that frisky spurting energy was everywhere. Even the steps of my friend were different, overconfident then indecisive, bold and brave then flighty.

Building at CU Boulder

University of Denver Campus

Over the course of the weekend I toured both the CU Boulder and DU campus extensively, trying to open every locked entrance, creeping through every cracked door. We danced on amphitheater stages, gave pretend lectures in classrooms, stared in awe at the 3D printer in the school store. At CU Boulder we located a mini museum, complete with a moon rock, a room of old cheerleading uniforms, and most importantly a lego recreation of the entire school. At DU we ate at the original Chipotle and experimented with the library system of moving bookcases. They fold around you like the closing corridors of an ever-shifting maze.

But by far the best part of my trip, something I didn’t even know I’d signed up for until I was on the bus heading there, was an impromptu night of Contra Dancing. I would love to say I was a natural. But there were only 10 people in the lesson portion, meaning the instructor easily picked out my clumsy steps. I was chastised for not making enough eye contact, something my huge eyes have always been more than capable of doing. So I set myself to embodying this Jane Austen novel dance, deciding to stare down the night.

I danced every single dance for the 3 hours we were there. One of my friends got motion sickness after the first dance while others found themselves tired and wandered off. Even when cramps tickled my sides, even when my boots were scuffed and stepped on, even when I told myself for sure I would sit the next one out, I could never resist an outstretched hand. My heart whined like a dog scratching at a door, overflowing into dance after dance.

Over the course of the night I met one of the owners as well as many dedicated attendees, older dance partners that had been going every month for some 30 years. They taught me so much, each bringing with him a different energy, a different rowdy eloquence. At the end of the night a few of my partners came up to me and congratulated me on how far I had come, remarking that I had my own formidable energy.

Part of the dance was mastering the moves, but part of it was the magic of being pulled along, as though by a fast paced spurting river I knew would never hurt me. While most recommend eye contact while swinging with a partner, I embraced the dizziness, so entranced by my surroundings I wanted to affirm that I wasn’t indeed in a fairy tale. For one of the dances I partnered up with a college friend, and neither of us could master the steps. Strangely enough it was one of my favorite dances. We laughed the whole time, as each experienced dancer whispered quickly in our ear what motion to make next. At another point I completely missed my partner’s hand and went flying out of the line. His response was a comical "You’re LOST IN SPACE!!!!”


The next day I returned to dragging around luggage, nothing but a soreness in my legs and a goofy smile on my face as proof of the weekend. I’d parted with the floor, and braced myself for the parting with my friends. Drifting, following, dodging crazed bikers, dancing the night away. It is quite a life. I know that with such memories, and with such places to go, I’ll never truly be lost in space. I’ll be pulled into a spontaneous dance by the people I love, on a dance floor wherever it is we all land. Who knows if we will have mastered all the moves by then, but if it doesn’t matter in Contra dancing how can it in life? We’ll remember these years as intricately constructed lego models, every piece somehow clicking into place. And we’ll continue to dance to every song.