My weekend class: I can’t dance — but that’s exactly why I showed up anyway
A young woman tries to dance. Usually, when people say they cannot dance, they mean complex styles or competitive dancing.
What you need to know:
- A reluctant dancer discovers that showing up, not perfection, is what truly transforms fear into freedom and joy.
- One afternoon on a dance floor shows how vulnerability, laughter, and movement can quietly reshape personal confidence.
On Saturday, I attended a dance class! I was hesitant when the invitation first came because if there is one fact I have long settled in my life; it is that I cannot dance. Usually, when people say they cannot dance, they mean complex styles or competitive dancing.
In my own case, however, my body simply does not move. I am eternally fascinated by people who can wind their head, waist and hands at the same time. I have since concluded that there is a dancing gene that people are born with, which I simply missed out on during creation.
I was unavailable the first few Saturdays and I thought my host, Ruth, would forget about me and stop trying to invite me. In any case, I had told her I cannot dance to save my life. But she was persistent and I knew I had to do it. I called my friend, Gladys, to check her availability and luckily for me, she agreed to be my date to the dance class. One important life hack I have learned is that when I am going to do something intimidating, it helps to go with a friend I am okay being vulnerable with, no holds barred.
On the D-day, I was nervous but excited. I could not back out because I take my commitments seriously and so at 2pm, I was on my way to Lavington. The dance studio is tucked somewhere on the fourth floor of the Lavington mall. At the reception, I noticed two dance studios on opposite sides. One had cutely dressed little girls getting ready to begin their ballet classes. For a moment, I considered changing my mission and going to watch their show instead. Just then, Ruth appeared from the opposite side, hugged me tightly and led me to our dance studio.
The session had already begun and the women were swaying away! I found myself a space. A quick scan in the room told me it was an intergenerational space and the oldest person in the room was probably 70 years old. I also saw a teenager. Eventually, my eyes found the choreographer and I started moving my body to follow. I wondered what she told her body to convince it to move like that! The excitement in the room was infectious and even when I nearly tripped over myself while doing a shuffle, I knew going to that dance studio was the best use of my Saturday afternoon. The music was largely soul from the 1980s.
After a few false starts, I realised that no one was marking any script and I should just move, however, my body allowed me. It made me realise how deeply the meritocratic system society runs on is engraved in me. I think Ruth could see the battle going on in my head because she walked up to me and reminded me that I did not need to be a good dancer – just vibe with the music. That did wonders to my confidence because she had reinforced the fact that I did not need to get the dance moves right – I was there to have a wonderful afternoon. I laughed at myself, laughed with the others on the floor who, like me, couldn’t move their feet and also watched in amazement those who moved to the beat like they were born on a dance floor, like Gladys.
I truly enjoyed my afternoon. I connected with some amazing women and got to have those breathless and sweaty introductions during the short breaks as we transitioned from one song to another.
I am happy that I did not listen to the voice of fear – that came up with excuses I could use to cancel the dance class. The idea is not that I will become the best dancer in the world, the idea is to challenge myself to get out of my comfort zone—and try something new. By the end of the session, I had confirmed one thing: I cannot dance, for real.
However, when Gladys asked me if we are going back for another session, my answer was a resounding yes! If there is a lesson I learned on that dance floor, it was that vulnerability does not kill. Being on that dance floor was the closest I got to dancing barefoot in the rain and I intend to seize that chance whenever schedules and time align.
The writer is the Research and Impact Editor, NMG ([email protected]).
