The Self-Confi-Dance

I approach with arms open, stepping nervously toward this partner. One I have encountered in the past, a dance I’m all too familiar with, and yet, stepping to it seems such a monumental effort. The boulder rough underhand as I push myself to the dance floor, braving embarrassment once again. 

My feet like flippers and my palms sweaty, I’ve no choice but to ignore the fear, the overwhelming clod in my throat telling me to turn and run. The limelight was not designed for me, it flatters me not. The fear rings its alarms as I step forward, the music beckoning me and the arms of the partner waiting. 

I swallow the emotion, not bottling it like a fine wine for later, but savoring the protection it offers my heart as I put it on the line. I grab the hand offered to me, swaying gently to the rhythm across the floor. The fear abates as movement and familiarity take over, muscle memory existing in the comfort of familiar motion. 

These clown feet catch on themselves, sending me tripping into the partner, asking nothing of me but setting me back on my feet and giggling at my goofiness. The fear abates further as the dance continues, slip-ups becoming endearing, chaos becoming comfort. The dance swirls, moving and shaking with the time and tides of life throwing themselves at my heels. 

But dance on I must, step by intricate step, as I do the self-confi-dance. A silly thing perhaps, but a reminder that none who exist know what they are doing. That every second experienced by everyone is experienced for the first time. The comfort in the unknowability of it all, and the self-confidence to handle anything that may interrupt that dance. 

It moves forward, having been named, sweeping me across the floor, showing me aspects of myself that I knew not. She shows me the billows of the bottom, and the graces of high heaven. 

A line that stayed with me from the musician, Erick the Architect -“A person who has never truly failed, has never experienced the billows of the bottom, and will never be truly comfortable with themselves.”

The dance moves forward, my legs wobbling from exhaustion beneath me, but she holds me as we sway, comforting weary legs and softening tired eyes. I step away from the dance to breathe and watch, to gain a moment for myself. Suddenly, the solo acts before me enamor my eyes: others flowing and moving, doing wonderful things, expanding and testing themselves against her.

It fills me both with pride, and dreadful fear. The pride of seeing my loved ones figure their ways through the world without my guidance, without my reassurance, without my presence in their lives. A wondrous thing, a lonely thing. The dreadful fear that my dance is not the same, that I dare not push my own boundaries far enough, that I do not challenge that partner that we all sway with. 

Do I know the billows of the bottom? I think I do. What is it to be truly comfortable with oneself? Is it to sway the way I know how? To move and dance without the fear of it being “wrong”? That dreadful fear replaces the clod in my throat, pushing my heart down and drowning it within anxiety. 

Then I decide to go back to that dancefloor, to dare to take up space and embarrass myself. To challenge myself and not sit in the comfort of watching life happen around me, but participate in it with my mind, my heart, and my body. As always, she is gracious, eternally accepting of the invite to dance, simply waiting for an opportunity to take my hand once more. 

We sway again, I realize that from the perspective of the dance floor, the others ebb and flow from this cycle as well. I see others standing wistfully off to the side, some with their face buried in hands, unbeknownst to the beauty happening around them. Desperately, I wish to turn their eyes back to the dance, but my partner reminds me of mine own footsteps, as I trip over my feet once more. 

The elation is hard not to share, the freedom that comes with doing the self-confi-dance. As silly as it may be, taking that hand, stepping onto the floor, and engaging in the dance can save your heart.