During my recent excursion at Mensa happy hour, the conversation turned to the subject of dance. Swing dancing, contra dancing -- it seemed like everyone sitting near me did some form of dancing. Not me. I am very...uncoordinated? Klutzy? Arhythmic? My last attempt to go out and dance was a very traumatic experience -- for both my dance partner and myself. I just couldn't seem to learn the steps.
So part of what I need to learn to do is accept that I can't dance; there are many other wonderful aspects to my personality. And hopefully the subject of dancing won't come up every time I hang out with Mensans.
And yet, and yet...do I need to accept myself as who I am, or do I need to improve myself? Or both? Always forward I say, so I have strapped on my in-line skates (RollerbladesTM, for those less trademark-averse) and vowed to do battle against my inherent tendency to fall down.
Skating is easy. It must be. I went to a free skating clinic recently and after minimal instruction, everybody was skating smoothly around the parking lot. Except me (OK, and somebody else, but we'll ignore her since she complicates my point). I sucked. I don't like sucking; I like being really good at things.
So here's my plan: stop sucking. Then transfer my newly found coordination skills to other things that I've hitherto avoided due to my klutziness. Skiing? Roller disco? The possibilities are endless.
Can I pull this off? I don't know. It's been a while since I tried to add a new skill like this. But I remember in 10th grade when I took typing class. I sucked. Partway through the first quarter of it, I was failing the class. So I bought a typing book (the typing teacher was useless), and practiced, practiced, practiced. I brought my grade up to a C for the quarter, a B for the next quarter, and I got an A on the final exam, for a semester grade of "B". Only non-A I got during my Senior High years. But boy was I proud of it. And I spend all day using the typing skills on the computer keyboard (except for the ones involving "correction tape").
So I can type. But I can't dance. Yet. Give me a year. Or two.