In the fall of 2017, I was accepted into a graduate program to earn my doctorate in Educational Leadership. My Monday nights were soon occupied by 3-4 hours of classes, and my early mornings were consumed by studying and writing. Because of the time commitment, I began to trim down on other activities such as music, blogging, and theatre. Sad, but necessary decisions were made and many "I'm sorry, but I can't" messages were sent.
I am now in the dissertation writing phase of my program, and while it is but a pinprick, I can see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. About 6 months or so ago, I decided my schedule had room for a different kind of weekly class -- Adult Tap Dance.
Many, many years ago, I took one year of Jazz class, and if there is a God, the photo of me in the recital outfit has been destroyed. I did a brief stint in color guard in high school marching, when I came to my senses after quitting band (and the flute drill was already written for our competition show). I've learned simple musical theatre choreography for shows, and I love to dance, but I would never, ever call myself "a dancer." I'm the life of the party at a wedding reception, but only if there are no "real dancers" on the guest list. And, I have never tapped before.
What on earth possessed me to take an adult tap class? For starters, my youngest son wanted to take tap, and the studio (operated by a friend) is two blocks from our house. But beyond that, I really, really wanted to try something new without any expectation of being any good at it.
And so, I did. The class is filled with talented, welcoming women who all have some range of experience (because who just starts tap at age 41?). Terms fly around the room that at first meant absolutely nothing to me -- "Shuffle, hop, step, falap, dig, spank, ball change..." I'm slowly learning to speak tap, but I'm not worried about it. I just watch the instructor's feet and hope for the best.
The class performs at the recital, but I haven't, nor do I really plan on it. (The sign on the studio door says, "A Stress-Free Environment," which I never fail to mention when talk of the recital comes round.) Maybe I will some day (my son doesn't want to perform either, though he is MUCH better at tap than I am). Who knows? That's not the point.
My intention in taking tap was to learn something, without a grade or a degree hanging over my head. As a recovering perfectionist, I purposely chose something I had zero experience in.
And guess what? It feels pretty amazing to be terrible at something. It's weirdly liberating. I was utterly lost in class for weeks in a row, and the world did not end. In fact, it's the most fun 45 minutes of my week. I spend the class thinking about my feet and counting and celebrating the smallest of victories with my dance friends. I am not trying to brag, but last night, I was not entirely awful. For the first time ever. ha!
My humble advice to you, friends, is to try something new. Something that has intrigued you, perhaps. Something that you've thought, "It would be so cool to ________." The important part is to avoid placing expectations on yourself. Don't worry about other people knowing you are doing it, or seeing you do it. Simply experience it.
My wish is that you, too, will find the joy of being completely terrible at something.
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