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Dancing with the Scars (Emotional Ones)
Photo Credit: Seth Anderson
The last time I danced was at my son's wedding - the Hora. One of my sons, Benjamin, actually broke his arm at the wedding trying to impress the ladies with his slick dance moves. There is nothing like leap-frogging over another dancer and breaking your arm to impress women.
Someone by the name of Vicki posted a comment on one of my blog posts to suggest that I dance with my wife as a way of getting exercise. At first thought, I would rather be chased by a pack of rabid pit bulls then dance. She did suggest that we do it privately (at home) which would eliminate that performance anxiety. I do realize that dancing would be a good exercise outlet, but in order for any exercise to be effective, it needs to be sustainable. I would have to LIKE dancing, and I do not. Of course, bad dancing may have more aerobic benefit than good dancing.
I do not have a problem singing in front of crowds. In college, I was in a Kingston Trio-like group, and I have sung in barbershop quartets. My barbershop group even sang the National Anthem at an Oakland Raiders game back in the ‘70s. But any type of dancing in front of other people terrifies me.
I have been on numerous (live) television shows. I have given medical talks in front of thousands of people. I once gave a lecture on "Fever in Children" dressed as Satan, complete with horns and pitchfork. Again, I had no problems. When I entered the lecture hall to the music of Fever by Peggy Lee, I did try to dance a bit. I quickly stopped when I realized how badly I was doing. One of my colleagues did mention to my wife that, "that boy has no rhythm", further validating what I have always known.
Like many men, I have to tolerate Dancing with the Stars, a virtual showcase of good dancers teamed with klutzes, like myself. They have fat people, old people, and the rhythm-impaired. Unfortunately, I am all of those. My wife loves that show and keeps pointing out the big guys that have learned to move like Fred Astaire. She insists that a singer has natural rhythm. I insist that I do not. Even when the barbershop quartet would do a synchronized move, I would be doing something totally different.
My mother loved to dance, mostly the polka, which I found to be odd. My first wife's family were Slovak and they, too, loved to polka. In my experience, the vast majority of polka dancers are heavily influenced by alcohol. Since I never drank alcohol, I blamed my lack of polka enthusiasm by simply being sober.
My high school years were in the late 1960's - a period of some very odd dancing styles. In rural Pennsylvania, we did not have free-loving, dance-crazed hippies - just hillbillies. Hillbillies liked to clog to banjo or fiddle music, or even church music. Again, I did not fit in. After college, I moved to San Francisco, working in a clinic a few blocks from the Haight-Ashbury district. Pot-smoking hippies loved to dance, and since I did not smoke pot, I mostly sat and watched. Then came the disco years, yet another reason not to dance. Besides, I didn't own a white disco suit.
As I am writing this post, Dirty Dancing is playing on the television in another room. I really enjoyed that movie, but I did not envy those dancers one bit. I only identified with the rhythm-impaired sister singing the Hawaiian song. One of my favorite movies of all time is Billy Elliott, but in this one, I identify with the caring father - not the ballet dancer. I have gone to dozens of dance recitals, starting thirty years ago with my daughter, and ending about six years ago with my granddaughter. I find recitals interesting, but if I had to miss one, I would not be heartbroken.
I have tried to analyze myself to determine the origin of my emotional scars about dancing. I do believe that some of us are rhythm-impaired. I am not very good at sports either. Both dancing and sports require a certain level of rhythm and coordination. I can sew up a lacerated eyelid or lip on a struggling two-year old. Let's see a dancer do that!
Maybe it started in kindergarten. Kindergarten teachers (Miss Hickle) loved to make us dance; sort of an evil spell. I distinctly remember doing the hokey-pokey. I felt the name of the dance was appropriate: it was hokey, and I was pokey. The hokey-pokey was NOT what it was all about.
I didn't fare in better by junior high. A group of guys would be sitting on the bleachers watching girls dance with each other. Girls had to dance with each other, since we were on the bleachers. Occasionally, one of the guys would go up and ask someone to dance - usually a slow dance. We would laugh at him, but secretly envy him for his nerve, and of course, the fact that he was holding a nice-looking girl very close. The Twist was the rage about that time, perhaps the easiest dance in the world to learn. I couldn't do it. I had problems with the hula-hoop, too.
My high school girlfriend was a cheerleader. She had lots of rhythm and liked to dance. I would feel obligated to dance with her from time to time, mostly so no one else would dance with her. Guys are like that. We won't dance, but we don't want anyone else dancing with our women.
In college, I didn't dance either. I went to a Baptist college in West Virginia for my undergrad. We had a joke: "Why don't Baptists have sex standing upright? They are afraid someone will think they are dancing." I told that joke to one of my patients - a Baptist minister. He loved it. For reasons unclear, some Baptists feel that dancing is ungodly. In Appalachia, only the fringe Pentecostals danced - with snakes!
My wife loves to dance, unfortunately. I gave my blessing when she wanted to do line dancing with a neighbor. She tried her best to get me jealous about other guys in the class, but it didn't work. I dislike doing all types of dancing, but some I dislike more than others (polka, line-dancing, fast dances). I once weakened a bit and agreed to take dancing lessons at Arthur Murray, but I never followed through. I chickened-out. Oh, yeah, that's another dance I don't like - the Chicken Dance.
I do envy those who can dance, and those that love to dance. It looks like fun. I am not sure where those dancing scars originated, but for now, I am destined to be a clumsy wallflower, to sit on the bleachers of life watching others cutting the rug, tripping the light-fantastic. I will just do my medical stuff - perhaps putting a cast on my son who broke his arm dancing, treating someone with the Tijuana Two-Step, or someone who may be "Dancing with SARS". The way I look at it, not everyone can dance. Perhaps, not everyone should dance.
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Labels: dancing, Dancing with the Stars
5 Comments:
Dr. Moser, you are not alone. I am a 27-year old woman who would rather gouge out her own eyes than get on a dance floor. I look - and feel - ridiculous when I dance. I can fake my way through the Electric Slide or the Macarena since the moves are set in stone but any kind of "free" dancing and I completely fall apart!
Luckily my husband hates to dance too so he keeps me company on the bleachers!
We can sit together....
Loved this post! But you should know that when I start to feel like I’m losing my mind and I’ve sat for way too many hours staring into the computer screen, I’m likely to crank up the music and DANCE! Yes, I’m one of those dance people - born that way. I’ve always loved music and movement. In high school I used to get yelled at by the orchestra conductor because I danced in my seat while playing violin. I’ve had the good fortune to attend lots of concerts over the years (my husband produces music festivals, mostly jazz and some blues over the last several years). I’ve boogied to Dr. John, slow danced to Rosemarie Clooney, and shimmied to Coco Taylor. Music and movement go together so beautifully. If you ever get to Portland, I’d love to introduce you to the young lady that teaches “Rhythm and Jews” to the kids in our religious school. I guarantee a good time. J
Enjoyed your "Dancing w/Scars" but want to share an added perspective!
Mary Ellen
DANCING THROUGH THE STORMS OF LIFE AND OVERCOMING
Reading inspirational stories about the trials and tribulations of others is one thing – finding gratitude in your own struggles and suffering is quite another.
It’s easy to appreciate and applaud the courage of others who’ve transcended their pain to find beauty and meaning –
but it can be much harder when it’s our turn to transcend.
What can we learn from others’ experiences? How can we adapt their lessons to our own lives?
That is what Learning to Dance in the Rain...The Power of Gratitude is all about. It teaches us and shows us how one word of gratitude can change your attitude, thus, your life forever...if you'll let it! It almost sounds too simple to feel important, but Sarah Breathnack captured the true meaning of gratitude when she said:
"When we choose not to focus on what is missing in our lives but are grateful for
the abundance that's present...we experience heaven on earth."
Dancing in the rain isn’t something that most of us are born knowing how to do. We learn it. We learn it from others; we learn it from Life. The more we dance, the better we get at it. With practice, dancing in the rain becomes almost automatic. We no longer seek to run from storms … instead, we toss back our heads, throw out our arms, pick up our feet, and DANCE!
Here's a short story found in the book called...Plant a "Trouble Tree." Enjoy!
We all have storms come through our lives, but one thing is for sure – we have no right to make everyone else miserable with our own unhappiness. No need to rain on others’ parades. A simple story illustrates my point:
The Trouble Tree
The carpenter I hired to help me restore an old farmhouse had just finished a rough first day on the job. A flat tire made him lose an hour of work, his electric saw quit, and now his ancient pickup truck refused to start.
While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence. On arriving, he invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree, touching tips of the branches with both hands.
When opening the door, he underwent an amazing transformation. His tanned face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss.
Afterward he walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier.
“Oh, that's my trouble tree," he replied. "I know I can't help having troubles on the job, but one thing's for sure, troubles don't belong in the house with my wife and the children. So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home. Then in the morning I pick them up again.
"Funny thing is," he smiled, "when I come out in the morning to pick 'em up, there ain't nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before."
I don’t know who first told this story – no one seems to know – but he or she must have been a very wise person. Putting boundaries around our problems is a really good idea – it prevents our difficulties from spilling over onto other people (especially our loved ones), who can’t do anything about our problems. Why burden them if they can’t help us?
So, plant yourself a trouble tree outside your front door -- or a potted trouble plant, if you live in an apartment – and use it whenever you come home.
Be grateful that you have loved ones to go home to, even if your loved one is simply your beloved dog or cherished cat or prized goldfish.
And when you pick up your troubles on the way out each morning, be grateful that
they’re not as heavy as they were the night before.
Huh??? What are you talking about? I loved this post and got more than a few chuckles out of it.
And what does a personal opinion on dancing have to do with one's professional competence?
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