Creativity, Purpose and Passion

 

Have you ever seen it? The fleeting moment when a woman’s daring dreams surface for an instant — just before she gets her enthusiasm under control again. A brief flash of ambition as her hopes struggle to break free of her routine, her reality and her fears.

In the many years since I started teaching dance, I’ve seen it, again and again. It happens for a split second after I say, “I’m a dance teacher.” “Really?” she says, “I’ve always wanted to take [blank] dance!”

Sometimes that revelation is followed by a few questions: What kind of dance? Where do you teach? Can I bring a friend with me? … it doesn’t matter what questions she asks, because the chances are high this woman will never make it to a class.

I see her desperately trying to shove those rebellious thoughts back into line. Then, I watch the excitement drain from her face as she starts with the deluge of handy excuses she holds in reserve for just these occasions.

X My husband won’t let me.
X My boyfriend won’t like it if I dance with other men and there’s no way he’ll come with me.
X I can’t leave the kids for 2 hours a week! That would make me a bad mother.
X It’s too cold outside.
X It’s too hot outside.
X I’m too fat to dance.
X I won’t be able to keep up.
X I haven’t exercised in 5 years; I have to get in shape first.
X I can’t spend money on myself; that’s selfish.
X Did I mention I’m too fat to dance?
X Ok, I’m too skinny to dance.
X I’m too tall to dance; I’ll tower over all the others.
X I’m too short; I won’t be able to see over the others.
X I don’t have time.
X I don’t have rhythm.
X I broke my ankle 6 years ago and it hasn’t healed yet.
X I broke a fingernail last week and it hasn’t grown back yet.
X But, but, but… Desperate Housewives is on TV that night.

I won’t try to argue with all those authentic and valid reasons. They are too many and the responses are too obvious. But I will mention the last one. What’s the difference between you and those ladies down the lane? No! It’s not that they are all perfect images of what we should be before we can allow ourselves to live. That’s not the answer.

The answer is that they don’t wait in front of a TV for life to come into their living rooms. (Well, that and you wouldn’t sleep with your gardener, his best friend and his cousin. And if you did, that’s entirely your business!)

Not that I’m saying this is about you, the fearless, confident woman who might be reading this. It’s not about you; my observations are about the woman next door, the one across the street, the one in the grocery line behind you, but definitely not you!

Um … It’s about me … I’ll admit it; I’m that woman sometimes too. It is so much easier to say, “My car is in the garage.” than to say, “I’m afraid to try something new because I might not be good at it.”

Or I prefer to tell myself, “I’ll never find a parking spot in that neighbourhood” rather than “I’m scared out of my wits!” Always tell my self whatever my self is more likely to believe. Right?

Right! Because I really don’t mind spending all my days waiting for… waiting for… for… I have no bloody idea what I’m waiting for but whatever it is, I don’t mind sitting here and waiting for it. Really, I don’t!

Then I go to the mall for toilet paper and I get sad — sad for the woman behind the cashier’s dull eyes that became animated for a moment, sad for that little flame of hope that flickered and then died just as quickly. And sad because a long time ago I almost let my own fears keep me from experiencing the truest passion of my life.

But I don’t stay sad for long. Because I remember that day when, despite my friends bailing out last minute, I still put on my favourite pair of shoes and marched my scared little behind off, down the street, to follow a dream.

So, what’s holding you back?