Yesterday, I started dance lessons.
Silas has been taking lessons for two years. Brooke has been taking them for six months.
A couple weeks ago, Brooke decided she’s too busy for the next few months to keep up with her lessons.
“You go instead,” she said. So yesterday, I went.
I have no prospects for becoming the next Baryshnikov. Zero. There’s no use pretending.
The instructor said I did very well for my first time out. She said this in spite of my being able to do nothing but sit there and laugh at myself when she was showing us how to do splits. She almost laughed, too. I saw her. It’s ok that she did. It was funny.
If I do well, by the end of the month I’ll be able to touch my toes without bending my knees. That’s all I’m asking. That, and that I might work out the chronic stiffness in my shoulders and neck.
Some things, you do because you intend to practice and practice and become really great at them. Others, you do because you want to stretch a little and maybe work out some kinks.
It’s important to know the difference.
And to laugh at yourself when you’re funny.