Choices

When we went ice skating there were not that many people there. A teacher getting in a little extra time with a student. A handful of kids who knew what they were doing on the ice. Our family. And the guy.

The guy was probably in his fourties, just like us. But unlike us, he was there alone. He skated around the whole evening, every now and then skating into the middle of the ice and performing a few steps in a program, the same few steps every time.

When I was at BYU I took ballroom dance classes. I was never much good at the Latin dances (I lacked the necessary moves) but I was quite good at the modern dances and I loved it. Each semester I took more classes. I bought dance shoes and I changed into dance clothes for every class so that I tell how I was doing.

There were always stories about the teachers. They were political science/engineering/pre-law majors who loved ballroom. They were on the ballroom team and were teaching ballroom classes too and it was going to take them years to graduate.

The semester I met Russ I danced in a competition. He came to watch me dance; I won my dance, and he won me.

I continued dancing when we were engaged, but after we were married I decided that I needed to graduate as soon as possible and I didn’t take any more dance classes.

That night, as I watched the guy skate those steps over and over, I could feel it in my body. I could feel the memory of practicing a dance routine. Each time trying to do it a little better; shoulders back and down, head up, chin high. I remembered practicing that routine everywhere—laundry room, gas station, dance lab. It was the first time in my life that I felt graceful, and I loved it. I was so sure I would never stop dancing.

But Russ didn’t particularly enjoy dancing, and if he didn’t enjoy it it wasn’t that much fun for me either. And so I set it aside, keeping only the memories of how it felt to turn and move and step with such precision and grace.

I watched the guy skating. He seemed kind of sad as he skated there alone. I was there with my beautiful family, we laughed and played and were joyful. But I realized he might think my choice sad—the choice to step away from the passion of dance and choose something else instead.

I thought about this when we left the rink that night. And as I walked out with my family, red-cheeked children chattering about how much fun they’d had and wondering when we could come again, I realized something.

There were no regrets.

I wouldn’t have traded even a moment of this experience for just one more dance.