There are two reasons I am not a dancer: 1. Lack of free time. 2.There’s this whole thing where I suck at it (linked with my total lack of grace). You know the shtick in 90 percent of rom com’s where the girl is an epic variety of klutz? That’s actually a fair description of me. Drinking out of a glass without spilling stumps me. Walking is a skill I hope to someday acquire. Until then, I’m pretty accomplished at falling/tripping/you get it.
So when I went to a movement-focused theater workshop at Pepperdine, I felt more than a little out of place. We were instructed to come up with gestures based on words the instructor gave us and put them together into a routine. Later, we were told to come up with a literal song and dance. Try as I did to shake it, I felt self-conscious most of the time. Awkward. Stiff. Embarrassed. It took more than 10 seconds of courage to keep moving, and it’s not like the workshop cured me. But it did get me thinking.
I tried on my introspective glasses and examined why I felt so uncomfortable. I have trouble doing things that I’m not good at. I’m a bit competitive. Let me illustrate this point with the following story:
My family is in the process of adopting a little girl. Over winter break last year, I was able to spend more time with her and observe her charming quirks and idiosyncrasies. Turns out she’s competitive, too. Every time we went downstairs, she turned it into a race. So I’d do the mature adult thing: overact running really slowly and let the tiny child feel good. Each time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she would spin around and exclaim, “I win!” The 10th time she took off and pushed me back, rushing ahead.
“NOT THIS TIME, DANGIT!” I thought and tore off after her. And oh, did I win. Of course she burst out crying like the poor loser she was, and my dad asked drily, “Really, Diana? Was it worth it?” Yes, yes it was because victory is sweet, and that was the moment I realized we were sisters, adoption finalized or not.
Sweet sentiment aside though, I clearly have a problem. I have this driving need to be really good at everything I do. I never thought of myself as perfection-obsessed, but there is no noble reason for not doing something others do better than you. That’s called vanity. It’s also limiting.
I care how I look and what people think about me, and to an extent that’s just human and okay. But if freedom is the goal, then it’s worth continuing to put myself into situations where I’m uncomfortable in order to chip away at the shackles of insecurity, 10 seconds at a time. Care to join? (I promise we’ll come up with a better metaphor.)
Competitiveness is a strength only as long as it doesn’t become another kind of fear. So, go out there and do something where your talents range from mediocre to awful. Flounder a little and let it be liberating.
