When I was a kid, I played piano. I signed up for band as I was about to enter junior high, thinking I’d learn the bass and play in the jazz band like my friend’s cool older brother. As it happened, string instruments were learned in orchestra, not band, but the band directors thought that since I already played piano, I’d be a good fit for percussion.

They were absolutely right – I excelled at classical percussion. I continued playing percussion through college, majoring in music performance (for a time).

Rewind: my 13th birthday was coming up. I had been hinting at a drum set for Christmas/my birthday (January kid’s curse, amirite?) since November, and my parents vehemently said no. Nope. No drum set. Not our little girl. As if playing percussion isn’t enough, now you need a drum set?

So come January, I changed my tune and said, “fine. I’d like ballet lessons.”

I got the drumset.

But I genuinely did want ballet lessons. It was something I’d wanted since I was little, but it was EXPENSIVE and way out of budget for our family.

Fast forward to college: I did West African dance as a part of my major – a big part of West African drumming is dance, so the performances incorporated both. I even joined a private African dance company for a time. A very short time, but for a time.

I joined the salsa dance club. I made it onto the salsa dance team. I was the captain of said salsa dance team. Turns out I was a pretty okay dancer, despite a complete lack of training.

So I got some fun dance in, sure, but still no ballet. And ballet was so lovely and gentle – the styles I’d danced were so aggressive! I saw that my university offered beginning dance classes, but they just never fit into my wildly impacted schedule. That was that.

A few months ago, I started looking into local dance or gymnastics classes for Cameron, and found that the studio closest to us offers a lot of adult classes. Including adult ballet. And I could fit it into my budget. No brainer. I was going to live out my childhood dreams of taking ballet!

And then I took my first class.

Let me tell you how I felt after my first ballet class at the tender age of 27.

When you take ballet, the terminology is literally French. Except the positions. Those are called by number. Not something descriptive. Numbers.

So here I am, facing the wrong direction, looking at everyone and the instructor’s feet for guidance, struggling to maintain good posture while marking along with what I *think* this sequence is supposed to be.

And I loved it.

I loved this feeling of suckitude, of knowing absolutely nothing, of having a (mostly) fresh slate because there was nowhere to go but up.

It’s hard to find that feeling as an adult sometimes, because we get so stuck in what we do. We stick with the things we know moderately well, or at least things that fit into our skill sets and backgrounds. We get so busy that we don’t always have time to learn new things or try new things or explore the things we suck at.

When we suck, it’s a lot easier to drop things as adults and say “nope, not my thing, not my skill set. Don’t need to know it, not going to bother.” And if it’s something that isn’t enjoyable, that’s all fine and good. Why waste time at sucking at something when you don’t care enough to become better?

But what about taking the leaps? How often do we really step out of our comfort zones to try something new, especially when we know we’ll be the worst in the room right off the bat?

When I walked out of the room after that first class, I knew I’d suck for a while. I realize that I’ll probably never attempt pointe (and even if I had started when I’d asked at 13, I’d probably not have done pointe then, either). But I duck-walked out better than I walked in. And that’s an awesome feeling.