A new season of ‘So You Think You Can Dance?’ rolls around, and this year, instead of just gazing dreamily at the contestants from the comfort of my couch, I went out and joined some dance classes at one of those fashionable gyms nearby. Hip Hop/Music Video and Street Jazz, two hours a week – just another part of my ‘Abby as a functional adult’ plans for the summer.
Now, something that you need to know about me is that I’m a fast learner. My whole life, I’ve been able to pick things up pretty quick – from games and sports, to school subjects, to new concepts and ideas, I study hard and I get them right. I may not have grace or natural flair, or ever be the best, but I’m competent, always.
And now I suck.
I was a pre-teen ballerina, and leapt and twirled all over the place. There are photos of me with my hair caught back in tight little plaits, winning trophies and all that, but I’m telling you, whatever natural ability I had has completely vanished in the, umm, 15 years since then. Because I really do suck. I stumble over every step; my feet go right when I need them to go left; my arms flail randomly when they need to hit precise angles. Every other girl in the class bends and snaps and picks it up in three seconds flat, and meanwhile it takes me 3/4 of the class just to shuffle along in vaguely the right routine. I wish I was exaggerating, but I’m not.
At first, I felt lost and bewildered, and then kind of angry at my own body, but then I realised (as I messed up the step-step-lunge-turn for a fifth time) that It’s OK. I may not be used to it, but it’s OK for me to suck at something I’ve never done before. It’s OK for me to be worse than everyone else – no matter how much I wish I could just be perfect. I mean, this is probably the first time in 5 years I’ve instructed my body to move – and I mean really move, not just from the couch to my desk. I don’t know how to adjust to dance timing, I don’t know how to pick up routines, and I sure as hell don’t know how to do that awesome leaning-back-head-snap-bounce thing.
And it’s OK. I’m having fun, my heartrate is rising above, umm, sleeping level for a change, and those 8 beats I manage to get by the end of class? They feel pretty damn awesome. Now, I could use some big extended metaphor here, and talk about how I’ve forced myself to forget how much I sucked at writing when I started out, and the 5 years it’s taken me to get where I am – on way more than 2 hrs a week – and how diligence and perseverance are the whole battle when taking on something new…
…But I have to go take a shower and collapse now. Next week, the awesome leaning-back-head-snap-bounce thing will be mine!




