This evening, I went to a chocolate shop.

This evening, I went to a chocolate shop with a Swedish guy.

This evening, I went to a chocolate shop with a Swedish guy who knows how to lindy hop.

This evening, I went to a chocolate shop with a Swedish guy who knows how to lindy hop. A waiter of the shop greeted us in song with a falsetto voice.

This evening, I went to a chocolate shop with a Swedish guy who knows how to lindy hop. A waiter of the shop greeted us in song with a falsetto voice and continued to croon as we tried to seat ourselves.

This evening, I went to a chocolate shop with a Swedish guy who knows how to lindy hop. A waiter of the shop greeted us in song with a falsetto voice and continued to croon as we tried to seat ourselves. The Swedish guy and I then started to dance in the chocolate shop.

!

The likelihood that I will lindy hop in a chocolate shop with a Swedish guy while a waiter sings to us in the future is very, very small. My discomfort with absolutes prevents me from stating that this will never happen again, though this is likely (see?) the case.

The basic movement in lindy hop is called a “swing out“. The movement takes eight counts and, when executed well, feels luscious. The standard swing out includes a clockwise rotation. It is possible, however, for leads to lead the swing out “backwards” so that the rotation occurs in a counter-clockwise fashion. This can be highly disorienting for the follow, particularly if she’s not actually following.

I only know two leads who routinely throw in the “backwards swing out” for fun—and that’s exactly what it is: fun. Serious, earnest dancers rarely lead this; it’s the quietly mischievous, playful, and ultimately dorky dancers who throw this in for everyone’s amusement. The Swedish guy falls into the latter category (… as do I).

On the way to the chocolate shop, I had jested that if we heard any swing music, we should dance. It would be, after all, our last dance: He returns to Sweden later on this week.

Like other relationships, sometimes we dance with other people and it just feels right. The connection is effortless, synchronicity magically appears and persists, and it’s positively delightful. Sometimes, these dances occur unexpectedly with Swedish statisticians. (See the “ultimately dorky” comment above—it’s like a bad joke: “So a psychiatrist and a statistician are dancing….”) We had about three months worth of great dancing and, like many wonderful things, it had to end.

So what to make of it?

The foundation of our relationship is based on lindy hop. This isn’t to say that we can’t sustain a conversation with each other—we can, but I don’t routinely meet, let alone strike up conversations, with advanced statisticians—let alone Scandinavian statisticians. We can talk a lot more about lindy hop than we can about anything else.

Will we ever dance with each other again? I hope so. When will that happen? God only knows. I don’t plan on going to Sweden any time soon (time and money prevent me from attending the Herrang Dance Camp, though that should go into my “Someday/Maybe” list—shout-out to the GTDers!—again, see the “ultimately dorky” comment) and though he has plans to return to the US for statistics conferences, that doesn’t guarantee any dancing for us.

It is, unfortunately, a conditional relationship. How do we sustain these things? Sure, we appreciate the dances while they are happening, but songs only last for about four minutes.

How attached we get to the joy of dancing with genuinely nice and playful dancers!

Perhaps he’ll lead me into a backwards swing out in the future… but, for now, at least I have the wonderful and wacky memory of lindy hopping in a chocolate shop. There are indeed some things that money can’t buy.

(Part of the ongoing Relationship Series.)