Two-Steppin’ Boots

Here’s this week’s reflection. I hope it resonates with you and ask that, if you enjoyed, please comment and share on your social media. Heartfelt thanks for all your support!

Keeping the light on for you,

Carol

A long time ago in collegiate Tennessee, I donned a pair of swanky two-tone beige, heeled cowgirl boots and found myself whirling around a dance floor. Akin to a country ballad, a fake ID was my partner in crime to accompany my older roommate in gaining access to weekend fun at Desperado’s Dance Hall. While my identity at the time was artificial, the clean fun I had in that dark, smoky place was the real deal. It was a genre of entertainment I had not sampled in my previous Florida life, or as a naïve college kid eager to fit in.  

The Texas Two-Step was the rage in this eastern Tennessee town. Not only was it easy to learn, but bales of fun to execute, and far more comfortable (even going backwards) than the battered toes of elementary school square dancing in my (thankfully) remote past. It was even better sporting a splashy pair of cowpokes. And while the man may lead, the lady steps off in reverse with her right foot first, because as the saying goes, “The lady is ALWAYS right.”

There was no shortage of polite fellas waiting to offer an arm. Pardners at Desperado’s were slices of all sectors of Americana. From the clean-shaven to the burly, everyone was looking for a good time. Many likely had intentions beyond those floorboards for this squeaky-clean young lady, but I was fortunate enough to attract those simply wanting to celebrate the end of their work week with a cold beverage and a warm spin. That wooden oval supported the stomps of cloggers, heeled spins, slow shuffles and twangy crooners. It was a place for good folk at the foothills of the Smokies to let their hair down and have a little fun with their hard-workin’ country kin. 

What I loved most about the place was the convivial, unpretentious vibe. The occasional flash of an elaborate belt buckle or rhinestone shirt was tempered with the ubiquity of blue jeans and western footwear. Comfort and good southern manners were clearly in step with being out on the town here –a welcomed change from the ritzy area of the Sunshine State I hailed from at the time.

I find myself waxing nostalgic about my Tennessee dancing as a new (midwestern) friend has entered our daughter’s social circle sporting – you guessed it – shit kickers. Seeing those kicks brought warmth to my heart, a smile to my face, and a yearning to look back on this fun era.  

As I aged out of the college bar scene, my footloose heels were eventually replaced with more practical footwear. Dancing was not part of my checklist for a solid life partner, and I ended up marrying a man willing to rub belt buckles for the occasional slow tune, but little else. And while I will love my husband till the end of time, I admit to missing the unabashed fun of an occasional good twirl around the parquet. 

Twelve years working in Chicago traded down-home for uptight as I attempted to meld my affable nature from a rural Pennsylvania childhood and genteel time in the Smokies with the jazz and cynicism of a city that never slept. What seemed harmonious at the time was, in fact, out of step with a good portion of my character.   

The beautiful thing about maturity is how the pressure to conform eases. We listen to our heart’s desires more and the external world’s demands less. Along with the country roads of my childhood and those near the Smoky Mountains, seeing those recent pointed toes at our door reinforced an already ongoing metaphorical trip home. All of it points to what makes my heart sing: time spent with the pleasantly unpretentious. 

It should be no surprise, then, that country music has promenaded its way back into my playlists, especially the pure sweetness of that genre’s love songs. Thankfully, YouTube has videos to remediate my spotty two-step muscle memory. The most heartwarming videos are those of senior couples still swinging counterclockwise around that polished oval. As evidence of the bond of their years together, they rhythmically sashay in tandem with a grand time. I want my husband and me to be that couple even if he may never agree to the prescribed attire. And though my balance is not what it was 40 years prior, a lower heeled options can politely cut in as new partners.

If you’ve never given the two-step a try, I invite you to do so. Put on a catchy country tune singing the praises of hard work, true love, and the fresh air of rural livin.’ You just might have to scratch the itch for a pair of cowpunchers yourself.