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?