Out of the Zone

Out of the Zone

The comfort zone, that is.

I’ve wanted to learn swing dancing for many years, only aggravated by those Gap ads back in the 90’s.

So, when I had my surgery, I promised myself I would get lessons when I lost 100 pounds and made Nikki promise to go with me.  And now I have, so it’s time to put my money where my mouth is.

I found a group in Philly, Lindy and Blues, that has dances every Tuesday and gives Lindy (which is basically swing) lessons on the second and fourth Tuesday of the month.  So I arranged a sitter, got dinner in the fridge, and tonight’s the night.

And I’m about ready to soil myself.

See, I have more than a bit of social anxiety. (When did we stop calling that shyness, btw?  I do think the two things are different, but we never used to distinguish between them.)  If I have a role to play, I can step it up, but in general social situations make me tense and a bit nauseous.  Especially a situation like this, where I don’t know anyone and I’m going to start out bad at a new skill with a lot of people watching.  I’ve already backed out of this once, blaming it on the weather. (I owe you one, February.)  But I don’t want to miss out on something I might potentially love doing because of fear.

So I have power dressed in subtle cosplay (not Peggy Carter, which would be more appropriate, but Sherlock Holmes, with the black suit coat and purple shirt of sex. Although I do have Peggy’s shoes.) and I’m going to spend the day trying to channel a vibrant, outgoing adult (yeah, Sherlock may not have been my best choice) and I’m going to get through this.  And I’m going to have fun.  I am not allowed to leave before 10.  That’s one hour for the lesson and one hour for dancing.  Then I can come home and have a nervous breakdown.  I will not decide if I had fun or not until tomorrow, when I can think about it more rationally.

I will not back out of this.

Oh god, what was I thinking?