For Husband's 50th birthday, I gave him four ballroom dance lessons. By that, I mean I signed us up for four lessons at the Fred Astaire Dance Studio. Neither one of us knows a thing about dancing, and he has suggested several times that he'd like to learn. We go to wedding receptions and sit quietly at the table, fiddling with our plastic wine glasses and watching other people out on the dance floor. We go on cruises and see other people cutting it up in the lounge after dinner, while we slump down into an overstuffed couch and order another gin and tonic. We'd love to dance, but it has never been part of our experience, and our inhibitions are paralyzing.
I was raised by strict Baptists who took me to an even stricter church where dancing was strongly preached against, along with just about anything else most people think is fun. That kind of beginning stunted me, I think, and made feeling free on a dance floor akin to sky diving. Yikes.
But, here we are taking lessons, just four that are designed to give us a small taste of what we'd expect if we committed to more. We've learned the basics of the rumba and a swing step, tonight we'll learn something else and tomorrow evening is our final lesson. Of course, we've forgotten most of what we learned last week, but this is a first step. After this, we'll have to decide if we want to sign up for more and really learn this thing.
Fred and Ginger we aren't, but we don't need to be in order to have the same sort of fun other people seem to have and to feel free on that dance floor that has always seemed to be barricaded with giant cement blocks. Here's to breaking down barricades!
Update: We've decided to take more lessons after this, as many as 20 just to get us out of the Absolute Beginner status.