"How many times have you looked at someone and thought, 'I'm not as good as them?'"
My week-long challenge to myself to live life a little fuller was, sadly, mostly uneventful... until today. I spent most of the week in a sleep-deprived haze trying to change my status as a student from "awful" to "decent" again, studying and working like a madwoman. I was disappointed to find I didn't have too many reasons to go on a wild rampage or throw a tantrum and for the most part, I was still middle-aged me. The Old Soul.
Enter Salsa Dancing.
Admittedly I would never volunteer to go salsa dancing by myself. For all my years in ballet I came away with surprisingly little in terms of coordination, and the idea of going out anywhere to try to Latin dance was terrifying, particularly after being laughed off the floor at a Zumba class last year (the white, nerdly duckling in a room of beautiful Hispanic swans.) But a friend of mine in choir (who shall go unnamed but THANK YOU!!!) made a convincing case for salsa--if this was really to be my week of living on the edge I had to do something way out of my comfort zone. As in, galaxies out of the comfort zone. Expressive dancing with a total stranger an hour away (in the shortest dress I've ever worn!) was exactly the ticket. It was too perfect to pass up.
When we arrived at the Boise Cafe I was full of the regular anxieties. How awful was this going to be? How many feet would I step on? And more importantly--HOW exactly was I supposed to dance in heels and a little black dress? I longed for my jeans. I longed for my boyfriend to be there to make the whole thing less painful. And before it had even started, I was longing for a nap. The Salsa lessons were already underway when we got there, and with limited numbers of partners I had to play the part of a guy for a while until more men showed up. I had told myself repeatedly that I was not going to be shy or reserved while I was there, so the awkwardness of playing the leading dude for girls I had never met wasn't allowed to phase me. I made myself laugh instead, and to my surprise, the other girls laughed with me. I started to relax.
About ten minutes into the lesson (a slow cha-cha) I got paired with a man who looked just as nervously determined about salsa as I was. This was a good sign. If I got paired with someone who had crazy skills I would be too intimidated to do much, and if I got paired with someone who didn't want to be there at all it would be hard to enjoy myself. As it was I was blessed with a guy with a great attitude that didn't care when I messed up. It was his first lesson too, and through a lot of trial and error we discovered that we could be just as good and even better than some of the other beginners in the room. With a strange sort of thrill I realized that I was doing it. I was dancing and I was having fun and I wasn't feeling bottled up. The Old Soul Robyn had gone somewhere else and left me with a different side of her; a ghost I had not seen in years whom I'd almost forgotten how to be.
When the lessons wrapped up I continued to dance, making myself go out onto the floor and wondering exactly where the usual voice of reasonable doubt was. And then my partner asked me what I was studying in school and why I wanted to be a counselor, and the Old Soul came back to talk about the state of education in Idaho. Politics. Convictions. I'm not sure exactly what two people talk about during their average salsa session (most people were saying more with their hands on each other's butts) but I'm guessing convictions are usually not on the list.
Yet I didn't stress about slipping back into Me again because I was now Two Things. I was still the Old Soul who found more in common with parents than people my own age, but I was also Brave. And Brave made me something different. I was a hybrid of self-confidence and crazy cat lady. Harold and Maude. Curry and prunes. (Ok, that last one is pretty gross.) The point is that for the first time in my college memory I was doing something new and mysterious with someone new and mysterious and I hadn't closed off or tried to hide. This was new. This was awesome. And hopefully, something I could learn to do more.
I told my partner how exciting it was to be out dancing on a Friday night instead of home mellowed out, and he pointed out something interesting to me. "How many times recently have you looked at someone and thought, 'I'm better than them?'" he asked me. I replied that of course I never thought I was better than someone or that I did something better than someone else because that's not nice.
"But then," he followed up, "how many times have you looked at someone and thought, 'I'm not as good as them?'"
This is a good point. Why exactly do we tend to compare our potential strengths to the strengths of others and end up weighing ourselves less? Why is it that we refuse to look a mirror straight on and say to ourselves you are good exactly the way you are? It makes me sad to think how many opportunities have been lost by the lack of confidence caused by this kind of thinking, and sadder still to think that I've lived most of my life that way.
After my partner left I remained at the Cafe until 1:30 in the morning with my housemate and our friends. Gradually I sank back into the old Me as I danced with people who were far better than I was, comparing myself to them in the exact way that I knew I shouldn't. Old habits die hard. But I didn't let myself despair or shrink, and the last hour at the Cafe was still as fun as the first. As much as I hope that the Brave part of me sticks around, I hope more for the perspective that started to change tonight to keep changing. To stop being so self-critical all the time. To be happy with who I am.
I dare you all to try an experiment this week. Do something you have always wanted to do but been too afraid to try, and when you feel doubts coming on, look at yourself and believe. You are good exactly the way you are.
