Once, I danced. Mondays and Wednesday mornings. Thursdays at the Naval Science building. Saturdays at the Murray Arts Center. Beginning ballroom. Latin. Swing. My favorite was the Tango, the sultry dance where the movements came from the hips, the directions from the heart. I never was very good, my moves were too clunky and I never had enough trust in my partners to ever let go of control completely, but during the tango, I could close my eyes and pretend, for just a few minutes that I was a sexy, graceful dancer in the smoky streets of Argentina.

Yesterday, listening to the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra perform the Bandoneón Concerto, I felt transported back to those days. The hum of the bandoneon (a modified accordion) blended with the violin and cello and occasional oboe and infused in my veins. My heart beat the time.

Today, I drove my friend to our bishop’s house for conference. He lamented that medical school had drained him from being an interesting person, that once he could socialize, converse on a variety of topics, entertain those around him, and now, he was an introvert, a shell of his former self. It’s true, I sympathized, running through the conversations that I had had with the various other medical students and residents that day. “Hi, how are you, what rotation are you on? Who are you working with? Getting any sleep? Had the day off today?” We ran through the conversations like robots, only venturing out on occasions to talk about something else. We had become absorbed into the culture of medicine that we have lost our personalities. I’ve managed to retain a little of my previous life, a play, a concert, a party here and there and thought until last night that I hadn’t done so poorly.

But, once, I danced.