In October last year, three days before I began writing this piece, I had my first proper dance in twenty months. I live in London where, after lockdown, clubs reopened in July 2021. I was fortyseven at the time, now forty-eight, and don’t go out so much anymore. I also happen to co-run a queer rave with two friends, a party we’ve been organizing since 2013 called Chapter 10. In prepandemic times, we did seven or eight a year. A benefit of running a party: I can dance without the hang-ups that can come from entering someone else’s space. I can think.
At Chapter 10, on Saturday night into Sunday morning, my thinking was all about openness and possibilities and creative energy. If I look back over the past thirty years, my adult life, clubs
