What I Learned from My First Tap Dance Lesson
Like, it’s harder than I thought.
There’s a scene in the movie Elizabethtown that slays me. Makes my eyes misty every time. In honor of her late husband, Susan Sarandon’s character performs on stage at his memorial service. Along her journey through grief, she learned how to tap dance. Here’s Susan, in all her tap-dancing glory:
Though it wasn’t the greatest hit ever, Cameron Crowe’s film is packed with goodness. It beautifully portrays themes such as failure, loss, grief, and healing. Some might argue that the movie is cheesy, but I like cheesy sometimes.
I am totally crazy about dancing. I have been since I was young. My girlfriends and I used to choreograph our own dances to the likes of Boyz II Men and Mariah Carey. I learned to dance hip-hop to Janet Jackson at a studio in my hometown, and I even tried out for a talent show in elementary school.
My sweet country dance, choreographed to a Garth Brooks song didn’t land me a spot in the talent show, but by my senior year of high school, I was back in the game. My friends and I earned the opening spot in the Senior Follies — end of school talent show — doing a group dance to I know by Save Ferris. We rocked it!
Since then, I’ve learned other dances like salsa, swing and line dancing. I even picked up some African moves while I was living in Rwanda, and South Sudan. My favorite dance of all is the two-step. Get me two-stepping, and you’ll see me beam straight up to heaven.
As I’ve gotten older, I have come to appreciate dance at a whole new level. I’ve learned there are health benefits that come from dancing — not only physical, but mental and emotional as well.
I see dance being used as communication between body and soul, to express what is too deep to find for words. ~Ruth St. Denis
There is healing to be found through dance. It’s also a fantastic way to tell a story. Dancing is another way of communicating.
After living in East Africa, the passion has continued to grow. Not only did I do a lot of dancing there — alone in my kitchen, on rooftops in Nairobi, at all the random restaurants/bars/conferences/trainings I found myself at throughout East and South Africa — but I also witnessed dancing in a different cultural context.
Dancing is an important part of life for many African communities I’ve encountered. It’s an important part of culture and it is a powerful storytelling experience. It never ceased to amaze me that every single time I watched a community dance, it brought me to tears.
With my love for dancing, and the idea in mind that it was healing, I recently decided to sign up for tap dance lessons. Having wrestled with loss, grief, and failure myself for a couple of years, I decided to learn something that would get my body moving and bring me joy. I also liked the idea of stomping my feet, noisily and vigorously, to a beat.
Here’s what I learned after lesson #1:
I think I might suck at tap-dancing.
My feet don’t work as well as I’d like them to. I’m usually a decent dancer with pretty good rhythm, but for most of the lesson, I felt like a colt trying to walk for the first time. I totally killed it during the ankle-warm-up part of class — the first three minutes — but the rest was kinda painful. I watched in amazement as the other women gracefully tapped their shoes in perfect rhythm and seemed to float around the floor like fairies.
I have always been a little foot-clumsy, I think. I was a natural athlete growing up, but I could only really excel at sports where you use your hands a lot, like volleyball or softball. Even in those sports, all the moves that required foot or leg skill, were the ones I struggled with.
I knew this clumsiness hadn’t magically disappeared, but I so wanted to get tap dancing. I wanted to glide across the floor like Susan Sarandon and kiss away the final residue of my grief. Alas, I think I might suck at tap-dancing.
But, I think I still want to try again.
It was only one lesson, and the instructor said I did well for my first time and that I got the basics of the bodily movements, even if my feet weren’t registering any or all of the actual taps. She agreed, at least, that I had some rhythm. I’m pretty sure she was basically saying I sucked, but I appreciated the lie. All the fairies smiled as we said goodbye and encouraged me to come back next time. They all lied and said I did well, too.
I’m debating about going back. I want to give it another shot, but then again, there’s hip-hop on Thursday nights. And what if I go to hip-hop and figure out I’ve lost my dope skills? You can probably see where I’m going with this. It’d be easy to call it a day and stick with two-stepping and solo kitchen dance parties.
But even if I’m not the greatest tap-dancer ever, or even a remotely good one: the process of learning gives me something worthwhile. For one, it was an excellent work out! For another thing, it felt really good to try something new, something I wanted to learn. Even if I sucked, I walked out of that dance studio and felt pretty great about life.
“When you dance, your purpose is not to get to a certain place on the floor. It’s to enjoy each step along the way.” ~Wayne Dyer
If I try again and decide to quit, I think that’s ok.
To me, the great thing about dancing — along with all forms of expressive arts — is the process, not the outcome. I’ve been telling this to people for years, in an effort to encourage them to dance even if they think they can’t. Because dancing is wildly wonderful, and it’s meant to be a thing of joy. That’s why I always encourage people to dance alone in the kitchen while cooking. Nobody can see you. Turn up the music and let it loose!
The point of dancing for me, is joy. It will never be about competition or being the greatest dancer who ever lived. It will always be about joy. Maybe I won’t find my joy with tap-dancing, and that’s ok.
Maybe I’ll quit tap-dancing after the second lesson and move on to interpretive dance. I don’t know that much about it, but I’m pretty sure I can stomp the floor to bits if I want to. And do all sorts of other moves that don’t require the most graceful of feet or fairy wings. In the end, I’m glad I gave it a shot. And I’m grateful I was able to.
