Originally drafted March 6 and March 30, 2026.
Revised April 3, 2026.

Something that has been an undeniably fun part about this current phase of my hot divorcée life is that I’m frequently up for adventures and trying out new things. When you’re married, unless you take very active and concerted steps otherwise, it’s very easy for your social life to slide into a kind of stasis. Many of your friends are likely to be other married/life partnered people, you might live in a bigger and cushier house conducive to staying in than a single person’s tiny apartment, and being married and sharing a household with another adult often means you have less calendar availability and emotional space in your life to nurture new connections.

I’ve always been very comfortable with my own company, but since I’m a relatively extroverted person and many of my long-time friends aren’t as available to hang out as often as I’d like, I’ve prioritized socializing as one of the most important things in my post-divorce rebuilding phase. After rent and groceries, socializing out in the world is one of my biggest monthly expenses and this is something I’m mostly pretty comfortable with (fortunately I have dive bar tastes). Meeting new people, having novel experiences, and feeling like I’m renewing my sense of community has been integral to my healing process. Of all the new things I’ve tried in recent months, by far one of my favorites has been the honky tonk dance night.

During winter, a local bluegrass group named Joe’s Truck Stop held a monthly honky tonk dance night around town. I didn’t make it to one until the January night at Northside Tavern. I haven’t had a communal dance experience outside of a wedding quite like it since my days of living in New Orleans. I attended with friends who are a couple, but it wasn’t until we got there early for the dance lesson that it really sunk in that honky tonk dancing is partnered dancing. Uhhhhhh.

I had a brief flash of panic as I relived my awkward New Years Eve experience of being in a sweaty crowd of people at another dive bar’s basement when it felt like everyone except me was dancing with a partner and therefore had a cutie to kiss at midnight. As much as flying solo is a comfortable operating mode for me when I’m out on the town, there’s something about dancing solo when everyone else has someone to dance with that is a real spike to the nervous system.

But my fear of feeling like a lonely loser quickly dissipated because as it turns out the honky tonk, or at least the way Joe of Joe’s Truck Stop runs the show, is designed to get people to dance with each other and convert strangers to new friends as quickly as possible. The show opened with a lesson where we learned to Cajun two step, Texas two step, and waltz. While I can’t say I ever totally mastered the latter two, the Cajun two step came quite naturally (maybe thanks to my five years of living in Louisiana?).

In all of these dances, you dance quite closely with a partner and hold one set of hands. If you lead (which it turns out that I quite like to do) then you have your hand across your partner’s shoulders/back (this helps you steer your partner as you lead them around the floor). If you follow, then you have one arm resting on top of the lead’s upper arm. You aren’t expected to dance cheek to cheek, but if you and your partner wanted to, you easily could.

Before the band started up, Joe reiterated to us two very important lessons that are just as applicable in the real world as the honky tonk dance night: to forget about gender roles (that anyone, not just men, can lead a dance, that even if people typically think of themselves as a “leader” or a “follower” they should try the other role sometimes to get a better sense of what it involves, and that the leader/follower are both essential roles that must work together) and that just as in every other part of life, consent is key (ask respectfully if someone wants to dance, if they prefer to lead or follow, respect a no, etc).

Northside is Cincinnati’s historic gayborhood and I’m old enough to remember back when Cincinnati Pride used to go through the neighborhood before Pride got Fortune 100 corporate sponsorship money and relocated to downtown Cincinnati. So Joe’s admonitions to not get bogged down by gender roles was right at home in this setting. I danced with the friends I came with, but just as importantly I danced with probably about a dozen or more other people that night, of all genders, body shapes, and skill levels. We were all packed in so closely like little bouncy sardine bumper cars that at some point a woman’s long thick braid spun out as she twirled near me and smacked me right across the face, but I was in such a, dare I say it, ecstatic dance mode that I didn’t mind a bit.

At a certain point in the night I stepped off to the sidelines to catch my breath and rehydrate and texted some friends that it was the most fun thing I had done in months. It felt like a couple hours of dancing had done more to heal me than months of therapy (with all respect and love to my wonderful therapist). I couldn’t quite put my finger on why it felt so transformative until later that night after the dance was over: I realized I had been so touch starved for months in the wake of my divorce that to dance with over a dozen different people in such a respectful and fun manner really did heal a sad and vulnerable part of me.

I went to the last honky tonk night of the season the next month over in Northern Kentucky (at Southgate House Revival), that happened to be on Valentine’s Day. The crowd was a little less willing to mix it up with partners (maybe people really took dancing with the one that brought them very literally on Valentine’s Day), and we weren’t quite packed in like sardines as in the previous month, but it was still a great time.

When you dance with someone, it is customary to thank them for the dance, which is a lovely gesture. Dancing with a stranger is such an intimately ephemeral experience. Of all the dances I had across the two honky tonks, I can only think of two that were truly awkward (mainly because it became clear by the end of the number that either they, or I, should have declined the dance). Often whoever I was dancing with would needlessly apologize for being clumsy or awkward and I never thought this was the case. We all have to start somewhere and being enthusiastic and willing to learn more than makes up for any potential awkwardness – which is a lesson I’m trying to internalize in other parts of my life!

The honky tonk doesn’t start up again for another few months, but when it does, I’ll be back and I hope if you’re local to Cincinnati and reading this, I’ll see you on the dance floor.

PS - This is a free post, but many of my posts are paywalled. If you’d like to go ahead and buy a subscription now, you can click the button above. $25 a year helps pay for my cat’s portion of the monthly rent. Hugs and kisses to the 23 folks who have already upgraded their subscriptions. I truly appreciate your support :)