I did it. I stepped outside the situation and had a very stern conversation with myself. I said, look here, Georgie, if you shy away from everything you're afraid of, what kind of life is that? So I went to dance lessons. I did. I really did. I nervously called the studio and talked to Jade, who was very nice and told her I wanted to conquer my fear and learn to dance. She chuckled over the phone and said that was great and gave me the schedule.
The night of terror arrived and I painstakingly picked out my outfit, my own interpretation of Jade's advice : something comfortable that you can move in. What kind of clothes are those!? I wore a charcoal v-neck tee and some black stretchy/yoga-y pants. I marched myself out to my car and went. I was hating myself all the way there, thinking of all the things I could be doing instead of facing this tiny little fear.
I pulled up to the studio and made it up the front steps and through the front door before my palms started to sweat and my heart started to race. This was no unreasonable reaction. It is socially customary to scope out the situation one has recently arrived in. Upon my doing so, I found myself in a room full of skirts, slacks, and people who seemed completely at ease and capable of turning pirouettes and jigging to the Emerald Isle herself. This was not good.
Jade must have noticed my look of sheer terror and grabbed my hand before I could bolt. She was short and brunette, and you could tell she was a dancer by the way she dressed. It has been my experience that a dancer's method of getting dressed in the morning involves putting on an abundance of clothing on involving lots of layers and textures. Jade was no exception. She introduced herself as Jade and said the class was about to get under way. I felt a little better after her welcome, but that didn't fix the sweaty palms.
Following Jade's directions, we - the well dressed patrons of the art of dance and me, strung ourselves into several lines to do some warming up and stretching. Jade introduced herself and her partner John. We did some moves I can't remember because the next part was too painful. We made two concentric circles, boys on the outside, girls on the inside. My first partner's name was Jake. His girlfriend had dragged him to dance class with her, so his efforts were a bit begrudging. I won't blame my early failure on Jake, as the clumsiness is my own fault. Between his reluctance and my uncoordination, we were a pitiful couple. My second partner was George, who was 55 and creepy. My third partner was Jerry, who was very nice and tried to be helpful, but I was having footwork troubles that were beyond his scope of experience. I don't remember partners 4-6. Toes were stepped on, small talk was made, and darting glances were shot across the room to couples who were actually doing the steps Jade was describing. Partner seven's name escapes me. All I remember is his cologne was heavenly. The rest of the night was a blur until I was making my way out the door after class, amazed at my own survival skills.
Trying new things is exhausting. You have to throw yourself out there, vulnerable to the world, and act like it's no big deal, like your heart isn't pumping twice its normal rate, and you're enjoying making a fool of yourself in the process.
Love you but not dancing,
George
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