Kiss The Fiddler

Ramblings, moments of humor, random thoughts, experiences, insights, simple wisdom, and whatever else I feel like sharing.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

If That's What You Call It

On the drive to town this evening, I thought of all sorts of reasons why I could not go to dance class. I'm too fat. My head hurts. I'm too sweaty. I look like a pig. I have a bloody toe. My throat hurts. I can't breathe. Everybody will see me. I might die . . .

I got to town and parked my car across the street from the dance studio. Opening the car door and getting out was excruciating. I walked across the street, hoping that a car would hit me. None did. Damn! I walked to the door, opened it, and walked in. There I was. People were dancing. I just wanted to hide. I paid at the desk and walked to the back of the studio to the bathroom. I went in and locked the door. Maybe I could just stay here. No, that'd be stupid. I'd paid. I would take the class. I opened the door and sat on the bench in the back, hoping I'd disappear into the wall. Nope.

There were about 20 people in the class. I worked hard. I stayed for the entire time. I tried hard to do everything everybody else was doing. I tried harder not to look in the huge wall-length mirror. I tried to remember to breathe. I did not run. I danced. If that's what you call it. And I hated it. I will go back. I will try again.



montanasnowbaby said...

You write in a way that I can see and feel what you are talking about. I think my anxiety level went up, and then I felt proud at the end.

YOU GO!! Don't give up!

PJ said...

so proud of you and love your openness and honesty here... my kind of sharing... for sure!
You keep on keeping on!!!! pj