Dancing through the ages
There's something magical about childhood memories, especially the ones tied to the whirlwind of adolescence. Those early years of fascination with the opposite sex were a mix of excitement, awkwardness, and mystery—an intricate web of crushes, imagined romances, and whispered conspiracies.
"He likes her. She’s crazy about him. Those two broke up—again. Did you see them holding hands?" These were the whispered secrets that colored our days at school and during summer camps.
Back then, camp life was often accompanied by rituals that felt almost sacred. Disco nights were the highlight of the week, and no camp schedule was complete without them. They were our stage, and the slow dances—those moments of shy, tentative intimacy—were our first brush with a world that felt both forbidden and exhilarating.
I still remember those evenings. The lights were dimmed, a Jason Donovan ballad or perhaps Wicked Game by Chris Isaak played in the background, and there we were—teenagers, awkwardly clutching each other's waists, swaying to the music. It was clumsy, it was innocent, and yet it felt monumental. No TikTok dances, no curated Instagram posts to perform for an audience. Just us, and the thrill of discovering one another.
Looking back, it feels like we had a deeper sense of curiosity about each other back then, a certain innocence wrapped in excitement. Sure, we weren’t as exposed to the endless stream of online “how-to” videos or advice columns that kids today scroll through. But somehow, in those fleeting moments on the dance floor, we learned something about connection—about vulnerability.
That’s why it surprises me so much when I hear that young people today rarely dance together like this. Not even at school events. Apparently, slow dancing—the iconic “couple’s dance”—is becoming a thing of the past.
Is it just a local phenomenon? Or is it global? Are teens in the United States, Scandinavia, or southern Europe still sharing these moments of close connection on the dance floor? Or is this a generational shift, a kind of litmus test for where society is heading? Is it disinterest? Discomfort? Or maybe a cultural gap waiting to be bridged?
I can't help but wonder what this says about us. Are we truly "broken" as a society, or is this just another phase, another evolution of how we connect with one another? Maybe it’s not too late to encourage the next generation to embrace the joy of those awkward, beautiful, and deeply human moments.