"How was it?"
"Terrible. Tragic really."
"Was it like puppies dying?"
"Ok, I guess it could have been worse."
I used to date a girl that had been dancing her entire life. The girl could move on the dance floor. She would often undertake the Herculean task of trying to educate me as to where my feet were supposed to go next, and I just could not come to terms with the knowledge she was attempting to impart.
Our lessons were usually entirely unproductive, as I would leave them feeling just about as terrible as when I had begun them. However, if we started dancing and just fooling around, I could suddenly move, as though I was channeling ... well not Fred Astaire but still someone much better than the me that took lessons. My partner would accuse me of practicing since the last lesson, but I hadn't. I hadn't done a darn thing except unsuccessfully try and forget the event had ever happened.
"This reminds me of when you would try to conduct in front of the class and suddenly every single skill that you had, instantly left you."
I instantly flashed back to those terrible classes. My friend and I had identical conducting techniques. The difference, however, was that he had more practice conducting in front of people, and I had more practice conducting to my imaginary orchestra. One of the best conductors in the country saw him conducting one day, and offered to tutor him privately. People saw me conduct and asked me if they should maybe call a doctor.
One day, my then conducting instructor saw me just practicing - believing that I was unobserved. He immediately chastised me for not conducting like that in class and I instantly felt terrible.
Something happened during the course of my life. Perhaps it relates to the fact that I was constantly told by my ever so loving father, in a myriad of forms, that I was a terrible uncoordinated klutz. It certainly helped to always make me question whether I was ever doing anything right and made me extremely self-conscious. There is also the possibility that never actually having many people in my age group to socialize with - given that the population of children my own age in my home town was approximately four, and I was rarely allowed to really spend time with any of them - affected my development, as I didn't get to practice a lot of these very theoretical and expressive things on actual people.
Whatever the reasons for it, I used to get extremely nervous when expressing my artistic side to the masses. Over time, this condition has lessened quite a bit, but as my first salsa lesson clearly illustrated to me last night, it has not completely left me.
"Terrible. Tragic really."
"Was it like puppies dying?"
"Ok, I guess it could have been worse."
I used to date a girl that had been dancing her entire life. The girl could move on the dance floor. She would often undertake the Herculean task of trying to educate me as to where my feet were supposed to go next, and I just could not come to terms with the knowledge she was attempting to impart.
Our lessons were usually entirely unproductive, as I would leave them feeling just about as terrible as when I had begun them. However, if we started dancing and just fooling around, I could suddenly move, as though I was channeling ... well not Fred Astaire but still someone much better than the me that took lessons. My partner would accuse me of practicing since the last lesson, but I hadn't. I hadn't done a darn thing except unsuccessfully try and forget the event had ever happened.
"This reminds me of when you would try to conduct in front of the class and suddenly every single skill that you had, instantly left you."
I instantly flashed back to those terrible classes. My friend and I had identical conducting techniques. The difference, however, was that he had more practice conducting in front of people, and I had more practice conducting to my imaginary orchestra. One of the best conductors in the country saw him conducting one day, and offered to tutor him privately. People saw me conduct and asked me if they should maybe call a doctor.
One day, my then conducting instructor saw me just practicing - believing that I was unobserved. He immediately chastised me for not conducting like that in class and I instantly felt terrible.
Something happened during the course of my life. Perhaps it relates to the fact that I was constantly told by my ever so loving father, in a myriad of forms, that I was a terrible uncoordinated klutz. It certainly helped to always make me question whether I was ever doing anything right and made me extremely self-conscious. There is also the possibility that never actually having many people in my age group to socialize with - given that the population of children my own age in my home town was approximately four, and I was rarely allowed to really spend time with any of them - affected my development, as I didn't get to practice a lot of these very theoretical and expressive things on actual people.
Whatever the reasons for it, I used to get extremely nervous when expressing my artistic side to the masses. Over time, this condition has lessened quite a bit, but as my first salsa lesson clearly illustrated to me last night, it has not completely left me.
I want to learn how to salsa dance! That looks like so much fun!
ReplyDeleteI can totally relate with public performing. I LOVE to sing and I think I could be really good at it, but I clam up in public. There's only a few people I will actually sing in front of. I don't know why I'm so shy now. My mom says I used to walk around the house singing Loretta Lynn songs and the soundtrack to Annie when I was little.