Not so Dirty Dancing

When it comes to dating I am one of the shyest people you will ever meet. Coy smiles and flirtatious comments are beyond me - even eye contact is tough. I'm lucky if I can manage "hello" and "goodbye" to the person I'm crushing on. So when I walked into studio three of my local dance center, I knew I was in for the shy girl's ultimate challenge.

The first few minutes of the class were easy. We spread out across the dance floor, all facing the teacher, and the mirror beyond her. She showed us the steps in pieces, then in slowmotion, and like a bunch of obedient Bambis, we followed along. "I can handle this," I thought. Which is, of course, about the time things changed.

"Partner up," she said, clapping her hands and heading toward the stereo system to put the music on. Since our class was a mix of all levels, almost nobody hesitated to find a dance partner. Except for me - I leaned against the windowsill and pretended to be very interested in my water bottle.

"Shall we?" A voice interrupted my bottle-gazing, and I looked up to see a handsome man about ten or fifteen years my senior, smiling at me, his hand extended for me to take. "EEEEEEEEK!" went my insides. My brain went into panic-mode, searching for excuses to escape. Common sense somehow managed to get through the noise, and I squeaked out, "okay."

On the floor, I was terrible. Having danced in various forms since I was three, I thought ballroom would be easy peasy. And it should have been, except that in ballroom dancing eye contact is of the utmost importance. "Don't look at your feet," my partner reminded me gently. "Look at me." I tried, but my eyes wouldn't land on his face. Instead I looked at the mirror, the window, his shoulder - everywhere but at him. By the time he walked me back to the wall, I'd barely managed to make eye contact with him for a full second total.

That night I sat in the car and stared at the ceiling. What was I going to do? I'd already paid for three months of lessons, and asking for a refund would mean going back. But every time someone touched me I flinched, and I couldn't seem to make direct eye contact to save my life. How on earth was I going to do this?

In the end, it was plain old embarassment that made me go back. Two coworkers cornered me in the breakroom at work the next day to enthusiastically ask me how it had gone, had I loved it, when was I going back? Their envy in my participation was too great - I caved. "Um, great. And, uh, Tuesday." Dear God, save me.

That Tuesday night I returned to the studio. Some of the class veterans were there early, practicing to a Michael Buble tune. It wasn't until I'd crossed the room to put my water bottle on the windowsill and claim my invisible place in the corner that I caught the lyrics - "let's face the music, and dance." As the other students wandered in, chatting in the few minutes before class, I thought about why I'd signed up for ballroom dance lessons in the first place. I loved dancing in all its forms - I'd done ballet, tap, clogging, cancan, and tribal bellydance. I loved learning the shape of each new kind dance, and since I was little I'd watched the dance segments in movies like White Christmas, Dirty Dancing, and Strictly Ballroom and sighed. I wanted to learn this. And gosh darn it, I wanted to learn not to be a scaredycat, too. That evening when a paunchy but nicely dressed gentleman asked me to dance, he looked surprised at the quiet determination in my "yes, I do."

It was difficult at first. Even though I wasn't interested romantically in any of my dance partners, my shyness had kept me from ever getting completely used to physical contact from people outside of my home circle. But as the weeks wore on, I slowly began to relax. I smiled at my fellow students' small talk, and when a gentleman asked me to dance I learned to smile and say "I'd love to." Most surprising of all, that statement was true. As I grew more comfortable with the platonic closeness and the frequent eye contact, my shyness eased and I found myself forgetting that there was anything to be nervous about. I was having too much fun!

I was sad to finish up my last week of ballroom dance class. My work schedule had changed, and I wouldn't be able to take any more classes for a while. The next day as I sat at my desk and stared at my schedule, trying to think of a way to make dancing fit into it, I was startled by my crush's voice. "Whatcha doin'?"

In the months that we'd worked together, I'd never once managed more than a "hello," "goodbye," "yes," "no," or "I'll check." This time, however, was different. I ignored the butterfly beating in my chest, remembered how brave I'd been in dance class and how much fun I'd had, and smiled. "Just looking at my schedule... I'm so bummed, I won't get to take dance lessons anymore."

"I didn't know you dance, what kind?"

And that's how it happened. A week and a half later we had our first date, and then another. Thanks to ballroom dance class I'd gained the confidence I needed to open myself up to conversation, and more. It wasn't what I set out to do when I started, but taking dance lessons made an enormous difference in my love life by giving me practice in something utterly basic - simply being comfortable in someone else's presence. I'm still no queen bee when it comes to flirting, but I no longer hide from it. For now, that's plenty.