Considering that I seem to be colorblind when it comes to blue ribbons…..or any color ribbon at all. Competition holds no meaning to me, so why would I decide to dip my high-heeled dance shoes into a Ballroom Dance competition at all?
I spent some quality time in front of my potbellied stove to craft an answer over the weekend. The birds and I came up with a response as I witnessed the sunrise bringing light to the day….and my thinking.
I’m all about learning, which is no surprise to anyone who knows me. The process of the dance lesson alone intrigues me. How does my teacher move from Point A–a simple box step–to Point B–a cross-over with hip motion, and then beyond, resulting in a beautifully crafted rumba? Especially from me, someone who had never danced a step until about 3 years ago, a woman who resisted dancing to the point where I spent more time hiding in a lounge’s restroom than sitting anywhere near the dance floor? As a teacher myself, albeit in a vastly different arena, I appreciate and embrace the challenge from my perspective: the student.
I may not be competitive with others on the dance floor–or just about anywhere else (well, maybe on a racquetball court, so come back later for that story)–but my internal dialogue challenges me. How was my crossover yesterday? Today it must be better, or I’ll exhaust myself trying. I don’t need my rumba to be perfect, but it must be the best I can achieve. And therein lies my competition–me.
Competing may slake my thirst for continuing to move along the line of my dance experience. It seems a natural progression for me, as a woman with no dance partner and some decent moves on the dance floor. I may hate the whole thing–but there is only one way to find out.
Let’s do it!