It's been kind of a heavy week... Through a few interesting incidents, I realized that I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder from Switzerland, which caused some fresh mourning and thinking about tough things in my life. I found a skilled trauma counselor, and I've accepted that this is what needs to be done now. It is truly heartening to hear from so many people that God has been moving them to pray... one woman told me yesterday that God has been waking her up in the night to pray for me, and she didn't even know much of what I was going through. I feel that healing this PTSD is the real reason God has been keeping me home all this time... and I think it's why I had a day full of Swiss "signs" back in May. And if I'd moved to Africa or Europe with this, it could have been painful if the trauma was re-triggered by culture shock or something upsetting.
So tonight I gave myself some therapy.
I went dancing at this thing called "Friday Night Waltz". It is a bit of Revenge of the Nerds in there (thanks to engineers and other computer-ish types), but that only helps my case, so I get asked to dance a lot (and by grown-up men, too, not the young/insecure guys!) There are some pretty solid dancers, so I can follow them and learn something.
I've only gone twice and I can burn up the floor now... still bumble a bit but not a big deal. I'm ready for lessons. One older gentleman and I were having such fun in a whirling waltz that he grinned and said, "Keep doing what you're doing!!!"
The men kept asking me what other kinds of dancing I do, because apparently I dance like I know something. But I don't. I haven't danced in 5 years and I didn't know anything back then either. The only exception was last year sometime, when I went to a painfully nerdy ballroom. It was awful - I didn't dance with anyone who could lead confidently, and then the worst happened. A guy I knew from church asked me to dance, but immediately said ominously, "I want to see if you'll actually let me lead." And then he silently analyzed my every move. I just about fell apart from the pressure. Fuggedaboudit.
To get myself to try again this time, I called on a safe friend from church who is known for being rather skilled, and who would still like me if I was a terrible dancer! We borrowed a friend's living room and he taught me how to carry myself, how to be a good follower, how to waltz... and it worked. When I went Scottish dancing that week for the first time also in 5 years (I used to enjoy that a lot in Vancouver), one of the teachers asked me where else I was dancing. It was fun to answer, "Um, nowhere really."
But I've been remembering that I did actually do a lot of dancing during my two years in Vancouver. I just forgot it was that much, and I never thought I was any good at it.
Tonight I danced my brains out, learning 4 kinds of waltzes, one in particular was really lovely(think Sound of Music and that elegantly intense dance Maria and the Captain do outside in the garden), learning how to Polka (a hoot with a big guy), found that I could use some help figuring out a pivot (better luck next time!), tried a little Tango and Schottische, and discovered at the end of the night that my favorite dance partner was a Christian. No phone numbers (please), but he was a kind person and we had a blast.
One of the dance teachers discovered me halfway through the evening, and we went galloping around the floor for several different dances. During a swing number he whipped me all over the place (literally, my feet were off the floor!) and flung me into a fabulous dip a few times. Let me tell you, this is FUN.
Afterward, I drove to the store to get some Sprite for my British summer alcoholic drink, because, my friends, it is still 85 degrees in my apartment, despite that it has cooled to a brisk 75 outside at 1:30am. Once I got to Safeway, I could smell fresh bread, so I cajoled the midnight baker to give me a loaf, got my soda, and came home... mixed a perfect tall Pimm's No. 1 Cup with Sprite and a splash of lemonade, tore off some still-warm bread, cut a few slices of incredibly good aged Gouda cheese and German Kinder Schokolade... went in the bathroom and sat on the side of the tub while I soaked my feet and noshed my munchies.
Wow. This is the good life.
My feet are blistered and in pain (anybody got recommendations for finding good dancing shoes?), but it was worth every minute. Especially dancing the last polka and waltz barefoot. And there's nothing like dancing your heart out and watching the face of an appreciative man beam at you, even while he's covering for your misreads. But I learned a good line: "There are no mistakes in dancing, only new moves!"
Plus I got to dance a feisty swing with the aforementioned favorite partner, to one of my most-loved songs, Mary Chapin Carpenter's "I Feel Lucky".
Now that was a good night. I think I'm going to keep doing this.
So tonight I gave myself some therapy.
I went dancing at this thing called "Friday Night Waltz". It is a bit of Revenge of the Nerds in there (thanks to engineers and other computer-ish types), but that only helps my case, so I get asked to dance a lot (and by grown-up men, too, not the young/insecure guys!) There are some pretty solid dancers, so I can follow them and learn something.
I've only gone twice and I can burn up the floor now... still bumble a bit but not a big deal. I'm ready for lessons. One older gentleman and I were having such fun in a whirling waltz that he grinned and said, "Keep doing what you're doing!!!"
The men kept asking me what other kinds of dancing I do, because apparently I dance like I know something. But I don't. I haven't danced in 5 years and I didn't know anything back then either. The only exception was last year sometime, when I went to a painfully nerdy ballroom. It was awful - I didn't dance with anyone who could lead confidently, and then the worst happened. A guy I knew from church asked me to dance, but immediately said ominously, "I want to see if you'll actually let me lead." And then he silently analyzed my every move. I just about fell apart from the pressure. Fuggedaboudit.
To get myself to try again this time, I called on a safe friend from church who is known for being rather skilled, and who would still like me if I was a terrible dancer! We borrowed a friend's living room and he taught me how to carry myself, how to be a good follower, how to waltz... and it worked. When I went Scottish dancing that week for the first time also in 5 years (I used to enjoy that a lot in Vancouver), one of the teachers asked me where else I was dancing. It was fun to answer, "Um, nowhere really."
But I've been remembering that I did actually do a lot of dancing during my two years in Vancouver. I just forgot it was that much, and I never thought I was any good at it.
Tonight I danced my brains out, learning 4 kinds of waltzes, one in particular was really lovely(think Sound of Music and that elegantly intense dance Maria and the Captain do outside in the garden), learning how to Polka (a hoot with a big guy), found that I could use some help figuring out a pivot (better luck next time!), tried a little Tango and Schottische, and discovered at the end of the night that my favorite dance partner was a Christian. No phone numbers (please), but he was a kind person and we had a blast.
One of the dance teachers discovered me halfway through the evening, and we went galloping around the floor for several different dances. During a swing number he whipped me all over the place (literally, my feet were off the floor!) and flung me into a fabulous dip a few times. Let me tell you, this is FUN.
Afterward, I drove to the store to get some Sprite for my British summer alcoholic drink, because, my friends, it is still 85 degrees in my apartment, despite that it has cooled to a brisk 75 outside at 1:30am. Once I got to Safeway, I could smell fresh bread, so I cajoled the midnight baker to give me a loaf, got my soda, and came home... mixed a perfect tall Pimm's No. 1 Cup with Sprite and a splash of lemonade, tore off some still-warm bread, cut a few slices of incredibly good aged Gouda cheese and German Kinder Schokolade... went in the bathroom and sat on the side of the tub while I soaked my feet and noshed my munchies.
Wow. This is the good life.
My feet are blistered and in pain (anybody got recommendations for finding good dancing shoes?), but it was worth every minute. Especially dancing the last polka and waltz barefoot. And there's nothing like dancing your heart out and watching the face of an appreciative man beam at you, even while he's covering for your misreads. But I learned a good line: "There are no mistakes in dancing, only new moves!"
Plus I got to dance a feisty swing with the aforementioned favorite partner, to one of my most-loved songs, Mary Chapin Carpenter's "I Feel Lucky".
Now that was a good night. I think I'm going to keep doing this.
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1 comment:
Hola, chica! You have been in my thoughts and prayers - I'll be driving in my car and I'll pray for you; or I'll be up at 5:30 am like now...=) Thanks for sharing this great experience. I really miss all the ballroom dancing myself...I once went to the Viennese Ball (Stanford) with an Aeronautics/Astronomics major that I barely knew from an evening tango class when I was a junior! He was a perfect gentleman.
Love you!
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