I fell into that trap last week of thinking that nothing I had to say would be worthy of your time. The classic procrastination and criticism, which resulted in me taking a week’s break from writing. Having plenty to say has never been one of my problems, but writing is my Achilles heel. Putting words down on paper is a mixture of angst and exultation. I feel alive when I create, and yet, I can often criticize the quality before the words get their chance to live.
The ironic thing about the process is that the more you write, the better you become. The more you explore, assess, and tease out innovative ideas, the quality and voice you’re honing is infinity better.
How many of us talk ourselves out of things because we think we’re not skilled enough? When, in fact, the practice of learning holds the richest of rewards. I did an A level in Dance. Yes, that’s correct. Dance. Do you remember in the UK when everyone was going to university, and you could get a degree in surfing? Well, I fall into that bracket of having a Dance A level, with no intention of ever using it for career advancement. Perhaps there is still time? (As an aside, I once met someone who for a considerable amount of time thought I had studied A level Darts. If only, eh.)
So, yes, my friends and I studied contemporary dance for two years, but I’ll add it wasn’t all jazz hands and self-expression. There was anatomy to throw into the mix, and a weird form of documenting dance on paper (the equivalent to a music score) called notation. Tetris-like symbols in parallel lines, where a small triangle told you to raise your left arm at beat 8 and a cross-hatched rectangle said turn to your left on beat 16.
I haven’t taken my dance career any further than achieving my A level but a few weeks ago I enrolled in a dance class. It is a mash-up of contemporary, jazz and street and I can tell you I’ve never laughed harder than with a group of strangers as we all try to hip roll like The Pussycat Dolls. We bumped into each other, lost balance, and last week we attempted a floor roll and once down there had to do a side leg kick to end the piece. We rolled, I shot my left leg in the air, looked down and I am positioned with a new friend’s head almost in my crotch.
First dance class, can you see the fear!
Learning anything should be fun, and practice is where the magic experiences happen. My own creative writing, from fiction to these posts, contains the fear that it is no good. My expectations are high, and I’m putting pressure on that first draft to be performance ready. Which is missing the point entirely isn’t it, because the first draft, or first try of anything, should be like that first run through in the dance class where you stumble and lose balance.
And here’s the thing, at the end of the class when we’ve just about remembered the sequence, we all stay longer. “One more run through”. “Again?” “Ok, last one”. “I mean it now, we have to go home, this is the final one.”
There is an abundance of joy in the process of learning. Seeking feedback, observing others, asking questions, and immersing yourself in the experience, all whilst acknowledging that you might still fall on your arse.
With that being said, I might find enough courage in the coming weeks to give you a teaser of a project I am working on. I will need to be brave as it will be like one of those dreams where everyone else is clothed and you are naked.
I need to try and let go of the expectations that exist for my writing, because otherwise nothing will be written, no experiences will be had in the process, and I’ll be stuck with a blank page. Getting out of your own way has never been more apt.
It all reminds me of a challenge I took on over 10 years ago, the London Marathon. A runner I am not, but I got a place, so thought I’d give it my best shot. The day itself was fun, unbearably hot, and I had a guy carrying a washing machine on his back overtake me. But despite the medal and the achievement of finishing, do you know what I remember?
I remember getting up in the dark on wintery mornings and running down single-track country roads that glistened with frost. I remember training runs vividly, appreciating the hedgerow coming to life in spring and the long Sunday runs as the sun began to set. I remember the village church I passed every single time, its grey weathered tower a beacon that I was nearly home.
I remember the practice.
I remember the joy of progress.
This article will serve as a reminder to enjoy the weekly opportunity that I get to write. They won’t be perfect, but they are mine. There is huge satisfaction in giving the words life and by the simplicity of leaving them here, for you and for me.
A moment in time, part of the journey.
I think we all struggle with imposter syndrome, myself on a regular basis. But we are brilliant!! We totally should have taken our dancing skills further so I am very proud that you are doing this. Throw in a step ball change for me 😘🤣 xx
I hope you avoided a sprained ankle when you did a barrel roll turn!! I'm all seriousness, I love this for you 🥰