What ifs
When I opened that box of possibilities, that I could simply take a dance class, I found many questions inside -- some practical, some unwarranted -- and some fearful.
First, who were those guys teaching the teenagers' class? Do they even teach adults? Because as much as I longed to get into class, I really wanted to be in their class. What if they didn't teach adults? Where would I turn?
So I found their names on the schedule. Okay, so I can take their class. Next question.
But, but, but -- what would I wear? Do I have to wear a leotard? (Ugh.) Do my old dance shoes fit after two pregnancies? Will I be the oldest one there? Will I look lumpy and uncoordinated?
How will it feel?
And for the next 3 weeks (we're up to week 6, now), I imagined myself walking into that studio. My "self talk" was along the lines of "What was the worst thing that could happen? Just do it. What's the big deal?"
Well, I had identified a visceral fear: that I would cry. That standing in front of a wall of mirrors and remembering childhood longings would crush me. I feared tears because my body yearned for dance so badly, and I had denied it to myself for such a very, very, long time.
I imagined myself flat on the floor in a puddle, as if the sky had opened and rained down on me.
What if THAT happened?
First, who were those guys teaching the teenagers' class? Do they even teach adults? Because as much as I longed to get into class, I really wanted to be in their class. What if they didn't teach adults? Where would I turn?
So I found their names on the schedule. Okay, so I can take their class. Next question.
But, but, but -- what would I wear? Do I have to wear a leotard? (Ugh.) Do my old dance shoes fit after two pregnancies? Will I be the oldest one there? Will I look lumpy and uncoordinated?
How will it feel?
And for the next 3 weeks (we're up to week 6, now), I imagined myself walking into that studio. My "self talk" was along the lines of "What was the worst thing that could happen? Just do it. What's the big deal?"
Well, I had identified a visceral fear: that I would cry. That standing in front of a wall of mirrors and remembering childhood longings would crush me. I feared tears because my body yearned for dance so badly, and I had denied it to myself for such a very, very, long time.
I imagined myself flat on the floor in a puddle, as if the sky had opened and rained down on me.
What if THAT happened?
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