Listen, You.

I’ve been taking belly dance lessons for a little over two and a half years. From a methodical standpoint, I’m not half bad. I can perform many of the moves quite well in isolation. But when combined and set to music, there’s a tragic collision at the three-way stop of awkward, insecure, and confused. 

Today, for the first time, my instructor took video of me during a practice session of my first choreography. I see myself in the mirror at least twice a week, every week, yet these videos show an entirely different view. 

This is one that made me giggle. It does not present me in my best light,
but it presents me as I am. This is me. I am here.   

I watched them all, and cringed, laughed, and beamed (rarely, during brief moments of adequacy) and then I had a moment of self-awareness. I sat back and confessed to myself that I am not a dancer. And that is why I am not good and probably will not be. As I write these words I feel tears swelling up. Damn.

But then I thought: maybe I am my problem. Maybe my subconscious is suppressing me. Maybe it is telling stories about who I am that inhibit me. I have never relaxed and let go because my mental mythology has always had me by the wrist.

No more, I’m thinking. I will wrest myself from these fantasies of what I am not and create in their place realities of what I will be.  

~the beginning~ 

*my choreography song is called "Esma Yalli", translated "Listen You." Huh...