I danced badly in the community hall and stayed until the last song

Dear Delyara, My wife loved dancing. I refused for most of our marriage because I was self-conscious and preferred sitting at the table while she danced with friends. After she died, regret attached itself to every song. A widowers’ group advertised beginner salsa classes, which sounded like the worst possible idea, so naturally my daughter signed me up. The first week, I stood near the wall. The instructor paired me with another beginner who stepped on my foot twice. I stepped on hers three times. We laughed. I returned the next week and the week after that. Tonight was the end-of-course social. I danced every song I knew badly and several I did not know at all. During one slow song, I thought about my wife and expected grief to make me leave. I stayed. I wish I had danced with her more. Nothing changes that. But regret no longer gets to use every piece of music as a courtroom. Tonight, my body learned something she tried to teach me for thirty years: nobody worthwhile is counting your mistakes while the song is playing.