Off to a Swingin' Start...

Dear Swing Enthusiast,

My name is Sara and I am a 25 year old swing-a-holic. I started taking swing lessons last year at a friend's behest. I took to it immediately. Don't get me wrong; I am still very green, but I'm having a blast and advancing quickly. The music, the fashions, and the promise of aerial moves all keep me practicing as much as I can every week, but it's the social drama that keeps me truly enamored.

I'm single... sort of. Yes, I'm officially single, but I'm still living with my ex until the lease is up. This is the city. Real estate is, mildly put, a total bitch. While I haven't been above the friends-with-benefits habitual traps that come with cohabiting with my ex, I am committed to making this summer the first time Sara has lived completely alone in... well, ever. This means saving money for a closet on the city outskirts to hang my hat before and after a long commute to and from the boom of the metropolis. It's a daunting goal to say the least.

This brings me back to swing. You see, the clock is ticking on my lease and my relationship with my roommate/ lover/ best-friend/ loathed-ex. Swing only emphasizes this time crunch. I want to begin by stating for the record that I did not begin swing dancing to find my dream man or even a nice guy to date for a little while. I came to dance. I came to dress up like it was 1940. I came to challenge myself. I came because I was scared. I had no idea what I was getting myself in to.

The studio I swing at has a long history of romantic entanglements. Within weeks of taking up this athletic, peppy dance form, I was dancing regularly with a handful of men, ages 25 and up... way up. I was really enjoying the refreshing experience of getting to know all these different men platonically through learning how to dance together. But it wasn't until just before Christmas, after phone numbers, emails, and countless text messages were exchanged with my new swing "buddies," that I realized almost all of my regular swing practice partners were courting me! Even the 60 year old retired police chief who drove me home after the late night practice sessions made a move! Indeed, I was shocked to find out that it seemed everyone was swinging in the hopes of getting a date.

A few exciting newcomers and near dance-death experiences later, I am starting a swing diary. These are the stories of the men and women swinging in the city. Though names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent, the crux of the stories are all the very truth. In this period of transition in my young-adult life, only one thing is clear:

There's a very thin line between love and dance.

Sincerely,

Sara