My mind immediately time travels back to gym class in junior high. Two athletic, popular “captains” standing beyond the row of everyone else, girls identically clad in ugly blue gym suits, awaiting the choosing of teams. We know who will be the first ones chosen; popularity and athleticism are the determining factors. I wait, nervously hoping that I won’t be the last to be chosen. I don’t think I was ever the last girl chosen, but I was definitely down near the bottom. What a humiliating way to select team members in what was supposed to be a fun class. Do they still do that in schools? No wonder so many kids hated gym class.
During those years of insecurity, anxiety (yes, a” lifelong thorn in the flesh”), fear of standing out, and attempting to be invisible, my sister, 5 years younger, was the opposite. Ready to try anything, fearless, pushing the edge, she lived large and free. As we grew older, we grew closer. I have great respect, admiration, love (and maybe a tiny bit of jealousy) for her. She has been an inspiration, a motivation to try so many new things. So, when she told me what great exercise belly dancing was, I signed up. We were a class of middle-aged women looking for a fun way to exercise and, hopefully, lose some weight, led by an incredibly slim, trim and gracefully flexible teacher.
The first class was fun, I was able to perform the hip action and actually enjoyed the “letting go”. However, the next class on the shoulder moves, proved to be a humiliating one for me. After demonstrating the movement and giving us some time to practice, the teacher came over to me to provide some help. As I moved my shoulders for her, she asked if I worked out (ha!) because my shoulders were so tight (the place where I carry all my stress). She then, in front of the entire class made several unsuccessful attempts to get my shoulders to cooperate. Finally, she gave up by saying, out loud, “Well, just continue to practice at home”, and the class continued.
Throughout my life I have (almost) always been successful at everything I’ve done; failure was scary and was never an option. And then I had an epiphany: I had never started something that I knew I might not be able to achieve to my satisfaction… me, my worst critic. And with that realization, I made the decision to finish what I had started, to swallow my pride and attend the remainder of the belly dancing classes. Yes, I was pitifully bad, most likely the worst dancer in the class (and maybe in all the teacher’s years of experience), but I stuck it out. Surprisingly, at the end of the session, she concluded and announced that the entire class was not ready to move up to the next level; we all needed additional practice. So maybe, if the class had been a competition, maybe I wasn’t the worst, maybe I was only one of many “losers”. But, that class was pivotal, a personal success in that I had finally faced my fear of failure, I had attempted something I was not good at…nothing catastrophic happened, and I’ve lived to tell the tale.
— cmshingle
During those years of insecurity, anxiety (yes, a” lifelong thorn in the flesh”), fear of standing out, and attempting to be invisible, my sister, 5 years younger, was the opposite. Ready to try anything, fearless, pushing the edge, she lived large and free. As we grew older, we grew closer. I have great respect, admiration, love (and maybe a tiny bit of jealousy) for her. She has been an inspiration, a motivation to try so many new things. So, when she told me what great exercise belly dancing was, I signed up. We were a class of middle-aged women looking for a fun way to exercise and, hopefully, lose some weight, led by an incredibly slim, trim and gracefully flexible teacher.
The first class was fun, I was able to perform the hip action and actually enjoyed the “letting go”. However, the next class on the shoulder moves, proved to be a humiliating one for me. After demonstrating the movement and giving us some time to practice, the teacher came over to me to provide some help. As I moved my shoulders for her, she asked if I worked out (ha!) because my shoulders were so tight (the place where I carry all my stress). She then, in front of the entire class made several unsuccessful attempts to get my shoulders to cooperate. Finally, she gave up by saying, out loud, “Well, just continue to practice at home”, and the class continued.
Throughout my life I have (almost) always been successful at everything I’ve done; failure was scary and was never an option. And then I had an epiphany: I had never started something that I knew I might not be able to achieve to my satisfaction… me, my worst critic. And with that realization, I made the decision to finish what I had started, to swallow my pride and attend the remainder of the belly dancing classes. Yes, I was pitifully bad, most likely the worst dancer in the class (and maybe in all the teacher’s years of experience), but I stuck it out. Surprisingly, at the end of the session, she concluded and announced that the entire class was not ready to move up to the next level; we all needed additional practice. So maybe, if the class had been a competition, maybe I wasn’t the worst, maybe I was only one of many “losers”. But, that class was pivotal, a personal success in that I had finally faced my fear of failure, I had attempted something I was not good at…nothing catastrophic happened, and I’ve lived to tell the tale.
— cmshingle
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