The Great Pretend

Or, A Tale of Auburn Knights

My friends and I went to a swing dance hosted by the Auburn Knights a few weeks ago. Now, none of us can really dance. In fact, I consider it a miracle if I can go a day without tripping over, well, molecules that make up the air, so following dance instructions is no small feat. (Ha ha?) Still, it was great fun. One of my best friends danced with her boyfriend, and I danced with one of my other good friends. One day I need to thank him for neither laughing at my incapability of feeling the beat nor giving up on me when I stumbled over his feet. We twirled, we dipped, and we slipped in some jazz hands just for kicks. We even sang along to Frank Sinatra. So far, I’d say it’s one of my favorite Auburn nights. I knew I looked ridiculous, but I imagined I was poised, like a dancer in a movie.

I try to keep a personal journal. It helps me track my baby steps. When I wrote about our swing dancing adventure, what first struck me was this: how nice it is to pretend. You know when you’re little and you dance around the room pretending to be a princess? Or when you hop around with a crooked stick you found in the backyard and pretend you’re Peter Pan with his sword, fighting pirates? It’s exhilarating. It’s a great escape. It’s pretend, but it feels remarkably real. That’s what swing dancing felt like. I wasn’t a princess, but I was a dancer in, say, the ‘40s who knew how to move with grace and style—like I both created and was a part of a work of art. There were two dances: 1.) the real—hectic with a mishmash of talent and 2.) the imaginary—graceful with a hint of magic. In both dances, my relationships with those around me transformed. We all shared in the dance.

Pretending has been on my mind. When I wrote my scholarship essay for my summer study abroad program in London, I wrote about pretending. I talked about how seeing London and its surrounding areas will help me appreciate and really understand what I’ve studied for the past few years. (I also, however, admitted that I want to pretend to be Robin Williams as grownup Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens, Billie Piper or Catherine Tate as the Doctor’s companion, and Maggie Smith from Downton Abbey having high tea.) There are numerous kinds of pretending, but I stressed that pretending is ultimately putting one’s self in someone else’s place and looking through their eyes. I should have added that the next step is to take a step back and look through your own eyes once again. It helps you learn and grow.

The dance let me look through rose-colored glasses (which I think can be both good and bad). By pretending to be a graceful dancer, I let myself be free. I became more myself. By walking the streets of London and pretending it’s 1920, I can see London as the Dowager Countess would have seen it, though perhaps with less cynicism. By pretending, I can understand how the city has grown and how it has become the city it is now. I can compare what I see through the Dowager Countess’ eyes with what I see with my own.

I feel like I’ve described two different types of pretending, but they both have to do with understanding perspective.

Here’s to imagination.

Best,

Haley