Dancing Fool

 

One of the great things about being a truly terrible dancer is that I am perfectly capable of stepping on my own feet. No, I am not exaggerating.

Several years ago, I was challenged/cajoled into joining a dance class. My friend was taking a burlesquercise class at, well, Burlesquercise (that’s awkward). I forget exactly how it came about, but the students in her class figured that it would be fun to get their men involved in our own class. So, I girded my loins and stepped as far out of my comfort zone as I’ve ever stepped. I felt more at ease getting vasectomized than I do dancing.

My sense of rhythm starts and ends with me being able to tap my feet and wiggle my bum. This high-end skill only surfaces when the music is blues based. Maybe a waltz or two because their rhythms are similar. Beyond that I have all the grace, coordination, and rhythm of something completely devoid of grace, coordination, and rhythm.

The class was eight weeks of learning a Salsa. Done properly, Salsa is lovely to watch. Done by me, not so much. Salsa requires full-body coordination of a type that I am incapable of. A drunk octopus with its testicles, er tentacles, braided in pairs would likely be a better dancer than I am. I am the “this is your brain on drugs” of Salsa dancing.

After eight weeks of lessons, we were deemed ready, whether we really were or not, to perform in public, in front of sighted people, at a gala. I think “gala” is Latin for “humiliation”. All the classes, not just the guys, performed at the gala. It was an evening of sexy, sensuous, feathered, lacy fun. We guys did not have any feathers and lace. As for sexy and sensuous, that’s not for me to decide.

Our performance was enthusiastic and happy, and the audience really appreciated it. We weren’t great, but we showed up, did our best, and smiled the whole way through. My smile may or may not have been related to the bottle of Scotch I had waiting in the dressing room (one of the Tamdhu batch releases, if you’re wondering).

I’m glad that I went through the experience. I’m still a terrible dancer, but I learned that I am way more comfortable getting out of my comfort zone in a professional context than in a personal one. I also learned that if you try, have fun, and throw your whole self into something, it’s appreciated. And I’m comfortable with being uncomfortable.

No, I’m not doing it again.

What about you? Are you cool with getting out of your comfort zone?

Be great today, be better tomorrow!

Cheers!

Connect with me on Bluesky: @chriswalker1964.bsky.social

Apologies to Frank Zappa for the title.