The Ego & the Dance Class

I took dance classes through out most of grade school. Tap, ballet, and jazz. I liked ballet the most, but I was never that graceful (and I’m still not). And that’s fine. I can dance freestyle in a bar, so I thought I’d have l least some skills in a traditional dance class… because I was never that awful in grade school in my jazz classes. 

Last Monday, the company I work for paid for a theatre dance class for anyone who was interested in taking it. I thought it seemed fun and I signed up. I was discouraged when I’d forgotten my old ballet shoes, but I forged ahead in socks (I would’ve danced barefoot, but the floors seemed a bit splintery).

The warm up was just fine, but as soon as we started learning a quick two-minute routine to The Wiz’s “Ease on Down the Road” and everything went to shit.

Like, total, absolute shit. I had no idea that I was so uncoordinated. Yes, we were being taught the steps in a much quicker fashion than if this was a year-long class preparing for an end-of-the-year recital, but still: goddamn.

I almost walked out in the middle. I almost said screw it and went to my usual yoga class. But I didn’t. I stayed and embarrassed myself. Though I don’t know that anyone was watching because I know that I sure as hell was watching the best person in the group when we were split into two group, not the worst. 

I realized that I take myself way too seriously. I couldn’t just enjoy the (free) class and laugh at myself in this instance. This isn’t the worst thing in the world because I often make jokes at my own expense, but I just felt like a jackass because I had higher expectations, I suppose.

If I really wanted to, I could blame it on not wearing the proper shoes. That very well could’ve been it. Or it’s just the fact that I can’t dance anymore! Ten years out of the saddle might do that to someone.

That said: I’m not taking another dance class, ever. I’ll stick to yoga, thankyouverymuch.

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