Think of Monkey Bars on a playground. The contraption where you can hang by your arms and move along hand over hand. Guess that's where the "Monkey" part of the name comes from. So there you are, hanging onto a rung with both hands, knees bent so that your hands are your only support. The only way to move forward is to let go with one hand and reach out. It's amazing how many people won't let go!
Sometimes comfort zones can be good things and other times they can become cages.
In the course of writing this blog I've tried to be honest about my own humanity. In that vein I have to admit that I've felt that feeling of not wanting to let go. Here's an example.
I'm in a small upstairs gym at an athletic club. One question is repeatedly bouncing around inside my head.
"How can a guy who's so graceful on a motorcycle be so freakin' ungainly on a dance floor?"
Yep, we were taking dance lessons.
Katie and I grew up as country kids. Once upon a time we were pretty good at the Square Dance thing. We knew a few simple steps for slow songs and waltzes. Maybe it was something she saw on the television. Perhaps it came up when she was visiting with her girlfriends. You now those coffee circles where they compare notes on what they've been able to get their husbands to do? It could even have been the fact that we're eligible for senior discounts and she felt we should learn something new together to help prevent Alzheimer's. Who knows? What I DO know is that one day Katie piped up and said she wanted to take Ballroom Dancing lessons.
Yikes!
You ever get that trapped feeling? Katie was looking me right in the eyes and waiting for my reaction. My gaze was locked on her face, as well. I knew she could sense my reluctance. I could also see the challenge in her eyes. It was as if she was saying:
"Come on my Swashbuckling Hero (honest to God, that's what she calls me; she even has the Indiana Jones theme song as her ringer when I call her cell phone) what happened to 'I love a challenge'?
I knew whether I refused her request or agreed I'd probably end up looking like one of these. It's a nice looking mule, but still....
You've already had the teaser about which direction it went. Being associated with a major university, I looked up their dance instructor. As quickly as you can sign a check we were committed to eight weeks of something called the Night Club Two Step.
It was rough in the beginning. I developed an instant rapport with the guy standing next to me on the first night. When the instructor told us to start actually moving instead of standing in one spot I could hear him mutter under his breath.
"This is going to be ugly."
Truer words were never spoken. We were learning the two-step and I had two steps, all right. My left foot went "Stomp!" and my right foot went "Clunk!" If only I could have brought Elvira! Then I'd show them graceful.
Things gradually got smoother. I learned that the real trick to being graceful (Ok, at least not as klutzy) is to stay up on the balls of your feet. I scored points with Katie. Plus we've actually gone out dancing and looked pretty good, if I say so myself. We actually have some new skills and are having fun in the process. We may even go back for the intermediate lessons.
Part of my success was due to the fact that the instructor was not only good at imparting the skills but she was also a sort of psychologist, too. She had empathy for where us guys were coming from and that informed her approach.
More on that aspect to come. Specifically on how it relates to gaining new riding skills.
Miles and smiles,
Dan
