One Saturday morning in July 2024, I woke up with an overwhelming feeling of impending dread.
In just 10 hours, I would be dressed up like a 1950s rock n’ roll gal straight out of Happy Days, dancing with a group of recreational adult tap dancers on stage in front of a packed audience.
I had no one to blame for my situation, no overenthusiastic dance mum pushing me along or friends applying peer pressure for me to participate – I was 45 years old, after all – and suddenly, I felt silly and small.
My contented mid-life routine with my lovely husband and family had been busy over the last few weeks. I enjoyed the role of homeschooling Mum and providing part-time support to an online business start-up from home. The middle of the year saw us syncing clocks and calendars in our little microcosm of work events, excursions, music, and performing arts classes.
In my own inner world, I was detangling myself from activities and roles I had completed on autopilot for the last few years and openly considering other ways to channel my expertise and passion. Physically, I was in good shape for my age from a general health perspective, but inside, I was feeling humbled into midlife after 38 years of association with the Dance world. Age, life, and childbirth had changed how my body felt from the inside, with parts of me wider, softer, and looser than I still clearly remembered from the peak of my competitive dancing career some 20 years before.
In a moment of inspiration three months earlier, I had signed up for an adult tap dance class as a part of a larger inner goal I was nurturing to see whether I could return to performing overseas as a Highland Dancer. The tap class sign-up was part of my ‘throwing spaghetti at the wall’ strategy to find ways to stretch myself, get out of my head (and comfort zone), and disarm the inner imposter and critic voice who regularly reminded me that the international dance stage wasn’t the goal of a ‘normal’ 45-year-old.
Over the first few weeks of Tap lessons, my perspective of this fantastic group of people was shaped from my unassuming location at the back corner of the room. I witnessed their laughter, passion, and enthusiasm with wide eyes and the feeling of my own life’s experience of elite dance being reshaped after every lesson. They often began arriving at class nearly an hour early, practiced without fail most days, and playfully defied husbands or sceptical family and friends to attend this class as the highlight of their week.
I began to be swept up in the flow of the tap class. The happy faces to see me each week filled my heart, and the giggles of acceptance when any misstep was made tore down the armour of expectation I had grown up with in my history shaped by competitive Scottish dance.
Suddenly, my name was down on the performance list, and next thing, I was the owner of my very own rock n’ roll dress. This was undoubtedly a long way from my natural habitat of Tartan kilts and bagpipes!
For all that had been wonderful about this experience so far, however, here I was, sitting at home on a Saturday morning feeling all wound up inside, with the voice in my mind reminding me I had no one else to blame but myself.
Thankfully, I have embraced a morning practice these last few years to connect with myself, to receive all that I am grateful for, and to set my intention for the day ahead. This morning, I sat down in my morning spot and conjured all the swirling power of the storm brewing inside me.
The message was violent and harsh –
“Oh my goodness Lisa, why did you say yes to this?”
“Why do you always have to push yourself to do things that make you uncomfortable?”
“Why are you not just satisfied with your normal, happy life?”
The angst and self-judgment coursed through my body. I could feel my pulse and what felt like electricity vibrating in my limbs. I sat there for some time, allowing all my doubts and fears to bubble up and inviting all that wanted to be heard to have its moment.
There was a time in my life when the idea of walking towards feelings like these would have brought howls of self-judgment about how fruitless it was to explore emotions that I thought had nothing to do with achieving a goal. I used to think that would expose weakness on my part and cause my inner strength to falter.
I watched a documentary once on the French Foreign Legion, and one of the officers used the phrase “Pain is just weakness leaving the body”. As a dancer hell-bent on being the best performer I could be at that time, I felt like I could relate… letting myself feel pain only held me back from achieving my goals.
Thankfully, I had subsequently grown enough to learn that sitting down with self-kindness and allowing myself to acknowledge all I was feeling and thinking could actually help me and required more strength and courage than simply pushing those emotions away.
After some time, like clouds in the sky, it all slowly quietened down in my mind and then passed completely. I was left feeling the quiet and still.
And then… another voice.
“Lisa, just imagine for a moment… you get to go all in.”
A spark of recognition stirred inside.
“For 4 minutes, you will be on stage. In the bright lights, in front of an audience, accountable to no one or nothing other than the routine you have learnt. There are no other commitments, no other balls to keep in the air, no other people to consider or for whom you are responsible other than your fellow tap class performers who are sharing the deep union of doing the same thing individually and collectively at the same time.”
All of a sudden, deeper memories came flooding back.
While on stage, I could be myself. Not only could I be myself, but I was obliged and expected to be my whole, complete, BIG self. For 4 minutes, it was the only thing I needed to do… no…. it was the only thing that I HAD to do.
Be me. Unapologetically.. with my best effort… from every fibre of my being. And to be in community with others while doing it.
What a dream that was!
Just like that, I was filled with a thrilling sense of enthusiasm. How often, on any typical day, did I have no one to explain myself to, or have to consider or factor in?
How freeing would it be to go all in? How satisfying and heart-filling?
With all the nerves, adrenaline and excitement that accompany public performance, I knew in those 4 minutes I would feel truly present and alive.
… and just like that, I remembered why I loved dancing.
For the rest of that Saturday, I couldn’t wait for those four minutes. As my fellow tappers dressed and warmed up backstage later that afternoon, the audience filled with our families, friends, and fellow dance lovers. As we walked out on stage to take our place around the jukebox, the stage was filled with whoops and cheers before we started, and halfway through, even the adjudicator was smiling and clapping along as we danced our hearts out to the music.
I experienced those 4 minutes exactly as I had imagined – a perfect mix of nerves, euphoria, disorientation, concentration, pride, connection, and inner freedom.
I was so thankful I had let myself go there with all of the turmoil I had woken up with because it enabled me to feel present and aware of what this was all really about for me.
Who would’ve thought fear could turn to freedom in only 4 minutes?
What a gift this whole experience had been.
