Usually dancing, even in public, is one of the few activities where my self-consciousness doesn't get in the way. It's one of the main reasons I love dancing. It's probably the only reason I ever tolerate parties — access to dance floors.
Turns out there's a big difference between 'dancing' and 'learning to dance' and it's both incredible and frustrating.
First there's the difference between "Dance and Choreography" and "Dance." The former course I took last semester and if you haven't taken a dance class before I couldn't recommend it more, from the simple detail that I think it's the only class I've taken in college where I came out knowing everybody else's name. I learned so much in those sixteen weeks about what it takes to choreograph a routine and then teach it to others. Never having approached dance professionally before, it was eye-opening to discover the sheer number of choices that have to be made, which as a viewer of performances I had always taken for granted: whether to include an entrance or an exit or have all your dancers start off already on stage; how to space your dancers, in a clump or spread out. From expanding my vocabulary to improving my public speaking skills, "Dance and Choreography" offered an entirely new way to think creatively and improvise (my favorite exercise was when we had to respond to word prompts with movement--what does "avalanche," or "yellow," look like?). It was exhilarating.
"Dance" is a completely different animal and focuses on learning a specific technique--the modern dance style of Doris Humphrey and José Limón. This technique emphasizes breathing (synchronizing when you inhale and exhale with the contractions of your body) and balance (shifting your weight so as to always maintain a strong sense of center at your core) and, truthfully, it's everything I could have hoped for signing up... except for my apparent inability to do it.
Four classes in and already criticizing myself is probably premature. It's hard not to notice, though, when everyone is making a turn and ending up facing downstage while you're facing up. Multiple times. Again and again and again.
Each class we work on different sequences of movement, building on them as they grow more familiar. It's all very fast-paced, which is brilliant in a sense because you have to keep moving and there's no time for hesitation or psyching yourself out. It can also mean that you find yourself stumbling on the same move every time, setting off a domino effect of stumbling through the next parts of the sequence. Unable to master the earlier material you become doomed to not pick up what follows, before suddenly having to move on for the day.
With writing, too, I'm the person who can't go onto the next sentence until mastering the wording of the previous one. The difference with dance, however, is there are ten other students there who can't and shouldn't have to wait for you to catch up every time. Add to that a difficulty asking questions and you have a person who continually can't manage to comprehend the leg drop that gets you back on the ground from walking in a circle and falls behind.
My legs are the worst offenders. Because the idea is for everyone to start on the same foot and continue in-step from there it's important to keep up with when to cross your feet in front or in back, right or left, etc. I haven't stared at other people's feet more in my life yet I keep ending up in the wrong direction or with tangled body parts or off count. Start to layer in other elements, like arms and breathing, and all hell breaks loose.
Dancing also hurts a lot more this semester. I am a lazy couch potato so moving anything is out of the ordinary. It's a constant source of amusement to me that the one move I look forward to, because it's the only one I know for certain I'm doing right, causes the most discomfort, involving rotating on the floor on your back in an x-formation.
It should be stated that it is of no fault of our teacher's that I am being plagued by feelings of ineptness at not being able to master simple tasks, like leaping from foot to foot, or falling against a wall. Our teacher is phenomenal-- the rare instructor who naturally engages her students. She taught "Dance and Choreography" as well, sincerely loves the art form, is extremely skilled at both performing and passing on her knowledge to others, effectively describes and breaks down each action, and always makes time for individual feedback within lessons. She's the kind of teacher who motivates you to want to keep trying.
But it's tough. Every move I question whether I'm using the right muscles or forming the wrong shape and thus setting myself up to instinctively make the wrong motion forever. The only foolproof way to prevent this constant second-guessing would be if I were the only person in the class and could be instantly corrected every time, but that's unrealistic and I never expected that.
Still, "dance" is the worst kind of the challenge--the kind you actually want to achieve. Because there are the challenges you absolutely despise--you can drop them and never look back (softball, soccer, basically any sport). There are the challenges you stick with and can only blame yourself for after (10th grade. Honors Chemistry. Worst academic decision ever.). There are the challenges that are requirements, instigating survival mode. This is none of those.
Dance is a challenge I have to accept for me, and if I could stop feeling so horrible about my tally of accumulated errors for a second, and focus on continuing to try my best and improve, "Dance" could be just as much fun as "Dance and Choreography" was last semester. This is something I have always wanted to learn but never thought would get the chance. Even if my legs never get on board, I cannot squander this opportunity.
