I hate when people are dance snobs. A dance snob who is someone who has advanced in their dance skills and they are very selective (to the point of exclusive) with whom they will dance. Oh, be careful not to let them mistakenly think you can dance at their level and offer you an invitation. Eye-rolling, huffs, and puffs abound! It is as if they have forgotten their awkward beginnings and trepidations on the dance floor.
Don't get me wrong. I also do not advocate for the dance martyr either! Dance is about having fun and communicating in a way that doesn't involve words (usually). You should dance with people of equal or superior levels to hone and advance your skills. Likewise, you should dance with those starting out to boost their confidence and (dare I say) humble yourself!
Anyhow, I digressed. What a long intro into the real nature of this post!
Last night, I decided that I wanted to go to dance class. This one studio has two classes back-to-back: a beginner and an intermediate class. I thought going to both would be helpful, as I needed to work on some fundamental issues in the beginner class and need the challenge of the intermediate class.
In the beginner's class I was having to remind myself to not get frustrated with the new guys. They were still finding their voice as leaders and I was (working hard) to remember that.
One guy was clearly struggling to get the moves and lead down. He didn't even have to verbalize it. I could see it in his face. During one particular rotation in the dance his frustration must have reached its pinnacle, because he turned to me with such a look of resignation in his face and asked, "Am I the Worst One?"
Compassion flooded my heart as I looked back at him. I count myself to be an honest person and I even try to avoid little white lies when I can. Truth be told, compared to the other leaders, he was performing the worst. I couldn't find it in myself to confirm his (at that moment) worst fear. So, I just shook my head and we were interrupted by the beginning of the dance. After its completion (thru which he had stumbled) I looked at him and with all the sincerity I could muster, I said, "Don't fret. You really are doing well." I meant it. For where the class was, he was not performing badly at all. His problem (as far as I could discern) was that he was over thinking it and losing confidence with every misstep. I found myself wondering if he chose to direct his question at me because he perceived me to be a dance snob or sympathizing confidant. I hope the latter.
None of the other guys in the class were performing perfectly. They were messing up and misleading too. The difference was that they would just keep moving and pick up where they could jump back in OR they would just shrug it off and try again. They didn't let their dance insecurity plague them.
As I was driving tonight, those words came back to haunt me.
"Am I the Worst One?" Man, how I sympathized with that guy! He had verbalized (and non-verbalized for that matter) a perfect summary of my past semester.
Out of my cohort, I was the person with the least experience, had never been to a (respected among that group) national conference, and had (comparatively) lacking social and verbal skills. I was in a constant state of insecurity and conscious of everything I said and did. As a result, I had so many missteps! I usually perform fairly well in presentations and intellectual verbal exchanges. Over the course of the semester I had many opportunities to exercise these skills. However, like a snake that had been lying in wait to catch its prey, fear would strike my tongue resulting in a performance that was mediocre at best.
Some of my missteps and insecurities were fueled by my
perception of what would be the equivalence of dance snobs around me. But mostly, it was because I was not giving myself the latitude to acquire a new way of being. I spent the semester plagued with the question, "Am I the Worst One?" Maybe I was, but that doesn't always have to be the case and I can give myself the freedom to stumble through this time. One day, I will have the confidence to not care about the the little stumbles that happen in the midst of great work.
