Summary

The author overcame their fear of dancing, leading to personal growth and the realization that, much like writing, embracing vulnerability can lead to unexpected rewards and self-improvement.

Abstract

The narrative recounts the author's journey from refusing to dance as a teenager due to fear of ridicule and loss of control, to eventually embracing dance and finding joy in it. This transformation mirrors the author's approach to writing, suggesting that both activities require stepping out of one's comfort zone and facing insecurities. The author emphasizes the importance of not letting fear dictate actions and the value of creative freedom, encouraging others to write, dance, and express themselves as if no one is watching. The article concludes with the author's reflection on the journey from insecurity to confidence, advocating for embracing imperfection and the love of the craft.

Opinions

The author believes that self-imposed limitations, such as refusing to dance, can stem from a fear of social repercussions and personal insecurities.
They suggest that taking risks, like auditioning for a play that required dancing, can lead to surprising successes and personal growth.
The author equates the vulnerability felt in writing with that of dancing, implying that both are forms of self-expression that can be hindered by the fear of judgment.
They posit that the fear of ridicule is unfounded, especially in supportive environments like Medium, where the community is not as critical as high school peers might have been.
The author advocates for creative freedom and self-compassion, encouraging others to pursue their passions without the constraint of perfectionism.
They share the personal revelation that with confidence and practice, one can not only overcome their fears but also develop a love for the very activities they once avoided.

Write like nobody is watching

Lessons from refusing to dance for two decades

Write and dance like nobody is watching (own image taken in Havana).

When I was a teenager, I refused to dance.

My get-out-of-fun card? “I don’t do dancing.”

Why? I wouldn’t permit myself to lose control of my awkward limbs.

Dance, monkey dance!

I even refused to participate in the dance scene of our school production of Grease (much to my drama teacher’s disgust).

“Born to hand jive?” No.

It caused quite a controversy at the time. How very dare I disobey the “Dance, monkey dance” call to action?

To be fair, I was playing Frenchy — one of the principal characters — so I can see why my defiance was problematic to the integrity of the play.

Want to know the deeper reason for refusing? It was social suicide.

I was putting myself out there by singing and speaking in public.

So, I didn’t want the extra pressure or legitimate reason for ridicule by looking ridiculous.

Daily (tongue) beatings were a regular occurrence at high school (mean girls & boys were always waiting to pounce).

Something unexpected happened

Ironically, our social standing was elevated after performing for the entire school.

Not a single brick or cabbage was thrown at the stage.

Notice my absence from the dance scene (own photos).

Why is this relevant?

It was all in my head!

When you’re in your head, you’re dead — Tony Robbins

I made the mistake of allowing my insecurities to dictate my actions as an awkward teenager.

With new-found confidence, I auditioned for a professional play when I was at university.

The audition consisted of three parts on the day.

Singing

Acting

Dancing

I muddled through the first two and then endured a scene from A Chorus Line or Glee.

We had to dance and prance for what seemed like an eternity (it looked like I was having a seizure).

But guess what? I passed the audition.

And what’s more, I didn’t just learn how to dance.

I grew to love it!

Writing is the same

You feel awkward, vulnerable, exposed, not good enough, and you think everyone will laugh at you.

Hobgoblins will tell you to quit each morning (at least twice).

The grammar cops might tell you not to split infinitives or dangle your modifiers.

But guess what? Medium isn’t high school — I’ve yet to e-meet a single mean girl (or boy). So why beat yourself up?

Or deny yourself creative freedom?

Final thoughts

From one recovering perfectionist to another…

… Write like nobody is watching.

One day, you might even realise you’re kind of good at it.

Who can resist the Dance Monkey outro?