Yesterday I went to New York City to club with a friend at Knockdown Center in Brooklyn. It was Valentine’s Day. We started the night by going to a local gay bar to enjoy some espresso martinis and take in the bar’s atmosphere. We met a young professional who had recently moved to New York from Washington D.C. and was exploring the nightclub scene in Hell’s Kitchen. As the night progressed, my friend and I headed into Brooklyn. Once at the club, we met new people in the dance floor, including a marine officer and a Yalie —the dance floor attracts the highly accomplished. I was energized from the few espresso martinis we had in Hell’s Kitchen and the Red Bull I was holding with my hand. I wondered if having too much caffeine was a wise decision.
As the night progressed, the venue got crowded. Very crowded. It was almost impossible to move around in the dance floor. The main room felt like a giant container of sardines. At some point my friend left, and I was still in. I was dancing near the D.J. booth and was eyeing someone I had a crush on, someone I had expressed interest for quite some time now. He was with his friend group. I thought it would be difficult to break in a clique —a feature of the New York City gay club culture. Then I remembered the lesson that I have learned from a friend I met at the dance floor in D.C. a few weeks ago. He taught me in the way he expressed his energy and how he interacted with people the following: as long as you feed into your own corporeal energy and are enjoying yourself, the attractive people are going to come after you. You don’t have to chase them. So I danced for myself, forgetting that judgmental self-consciousness that sabotages everything. I remembered the lesson that one of the lead dancers of Bob’s Dance Shop taught in a Flash Bob in Central Park the summer before: you need to believe your own delusion. The confident and ridiculous are sources of strength. At some point we made eye contact and read each other’s energy. We hit it off. It was pure bliss.
