His name was Jason. I didn’t know his last name and frankly he was cool enough to not even need one. Jason exuded an enviable confidence as he walked into the room, which reassured me that he could work miracles. He wore a tight-fitting black shirt with a low “v,” far lower in fact than one ordinarily would be comfortable with on a cold December afternoon. Jason, however, didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.
His pants were also black. The tapered ends undulated as he glided across the room, and I worried that a strong gust of wind would just sweep him away, pants first. His shoes, unsurprisingly, were also black—they were velvet with a splash of silver on the buckle (his only pop of color). It took but a moment for him to don his velvety shoes, but the change in his demeanor went from friendly to business once you heard the buckles snap.
And that’s when it suddenly became real. Jason was going to teach me...the art of DANCE.
With only three and a half months to go before our big day, my wife and I embarked on an ambitious adventure to choreograph our first dance at our wedding reception. Suffice it to say, she still has the scars to prove it. But let me start at the beginning.
Growing up in suburban New Jersey only a stone’s throw away from New York City, I wasn’t quite lacking in rhythm per se; rather, like any skill, practice makes perfect. And unfortunately, I’d absentmindedly left my well-practiced dance skills in my mid-20s (the early 2010s to date myself). They’re probably still sitting there, still jamming out to LMFAO’s “Sexy and I Know It,” hopped up on the liquid courage of one too many whiskey gingers.
Since then, however, I’d changed. I didn’t “go dancing”—at least not willingly—and my soon-to-be-wife and I were too busy to do so anyway what with being constantly knee deep in Pinterest boards and Excel spreadsheets. Our Friday nights, like most couples in the throes of wedding planning, often ended up in lengthy discussions (or negotiations) about wedding plans.
In a singularly pointed wedding-related dinner conversation one Friday night, my fiancé asked if I could wish for anything at the wedding to really make it special what that one thing would be. After she quickly dispensed with my fireworks and Jay-Z ideas, she offered up a more realistic suggestion. Earlier that day, while googling “wedding reception ideas,” she stumbled upon “the cutest, sweetest” first dance.
After a short discussion and only a little coercion, I agreed to put on the old dancing shoes and “cut a rug” with the love of my life. After agreeing never to say “cut a rug” again, my fiancé and I made plans to attend dance lessons with a local dance company. We opted for a less shame-inducing private package which, much to our surprise, was pretty reasonably priced. In fact, I discovered that a “First Dance wedding package” was something dance studios did all the time. Eureka!
My only reservations for the first dance were: 1) my rhythm needy a hefty polish and 2) I didn’t want the “performance” to come across as kitschy and stiff. And that’s where Jason came in. As our first lesson drew closer, I quickly set expectations for what I wanted out of the experience. This would be a fun hobby, an opportunity for a little bonding, a few belly laughs, and the endearing awkwardness of two partners who are diving headfirst outside their comfort zones.
I knew that at the end of 10 weeks we likely wouldn’t end up on Dancing with the Stars. But, you bet your sweet ass that we were going to learn how to crush it on the dance floor at my nephew’s upcoming bar mitzvah. And learn we did. Jason—the venerated Mr. Miyagi of the Denver ballroom dance circuit—taught us a fun routine to wow and dazzle for our first dance.
Photo by Gavin Penor on Unsplash
And in the end, I walked out onto the dance floor, sweating profusely, steeling my nerves for the dance of my life, and praying for some of Mr. Miyagi’s “beginner’s luck.” Our song, James Arthur’s “Say You Won’t Let Go” came on, I found my rhythm, and the world just melted away. Of course, the cat calls and applause of our guests didn’t hurt either.
For me, it truly was a reminder about what marriage is all about—occasional discomfort, persistence, trust, and having fun (the nerves and profuse sweating notwithstanding). I also accidentally slipped in a surprise dip my wife wasn’t expecting during our “choreographed” dance. Marriage, remember, requires a healthy dose of improvisation too so as not to sweat the small stuff. After all the hard work, preparation, and living room dace-a-thons, I ended up getting perfectly caught up in the fun, the adrenaline, and the sheer romance of the moment. And isn’t that what weddings are all about?
Writer Eric is a U.S. Air Force veteran and lover of all things history. He enjoys sushi, superhero movies, and the thrill of a good taco truck. When he’s not writing, he’s gallivanting around the world hoping to discover something profound and new amongst all the clutter.
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Cover photo by Ramiz Dedakovic on Unsplash