I have recently started learning to dance.
When I say recently, I took my first salsa class two weeks ago. In an endeavour to fill my time while the man is away, I have been taking classes and chasing goals left, right and centre. I have always wanted to master a few things in life, but never found myself in one place, with enough time or accessible training for long enough to get it done.
I am currently out of excuses.
So before my pre-life change savings ran out, I signed up for a 6 week cuban salsa class and a 9 week beginners acting class. My first salsa lesson was a disaster. Never before have I felt so off base in my estimation of my skills and natural ability. I have done a little salsa before in mixed style classes and fancied myself a quick learner. Wrong. I felt clumsy, awkward and completely uncomfortable in my skin. I was trying so hard to get it right that I got it so, so wrong. Even the instructor noticed, failing to highlight to everyone my flawless moves and effortless sexy latin hip shaking thing. I received barely a snort in my direction before it was “high five, change partners”. I was so conscious of trying not to mess up for my partner that I must have resembled a plank of wood. The notion of little old me popping a hip or throwing in some sass before I actually knew what I was meant to be doing seemed ridiculous. I walked away from the class feeling really down…so I went to see Magic Mike 2. 🙂
The second class, I was exhausted. I had just spent 5 1/2 hours front line at a protest and although physically I was shattered, my mental exhaustion resulted in a complete lack of concern for how silly I looked. I let go. I decided to have fun and do my best and that was all I could do. Apparently that’s the trick. It was such a better class and I think it was at that moment I became a little obsessed. The instructor invited the whole class to a salsa party that night, and when a gorgeous Brazilian with sweet moves invites you to party, you go.
Maybe don’t go half an hour early and by yourself though. I walked into the club after dinner with a friend, alone, and was suddenly hit with the realisation that I was actually inviting people to ask me to dance. In a club. Doing a dance I’d had two lessons in. Did I mention I was alone?
In the end I survived the evening, even if I did run away like a chicken a few hours later instead of departing like a civilised human and, you know, actually saying good bye to people. I went to another party two days later, with a sensational woman I met that evening in acting class. I mean, she’d NEVER partner danced and still walked into the lion pit. Bad. Ass.
If there is one thing I have learnt from the whole horrifying, soul crushing, heart lifting experience, it’s that sometimes, you have to let go and let someone else lead. I am not a good follower. I am also a feminist, so the whole concept is wrong to me. But it was definitely more fun when I quit fighting it. Giving up control is not always giving up power, and two people working together is infinitely better than two people trying to be the boss.
The wonderful men I danced with were so kind and patient and not at all the creepy salsa stereo type I was looking out for. I had a lot, A LOT, of embarrassing moments, and I have learnt that there are a few dance styles I don’t like and a few I love. I know that this is only the beginning of a journey that I have been wanting to take for years and I hope that my sort of grumpy, sort of lovely teacher doesn’t quit encouraging me to push myself.
Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.
rock'n'roll mermaid 