Practice Makes Perfect

If practice makes perfect, then what’s stopping us?  Why do we stick with our strengths and hide our weaknesses rather than working to better ourselves in all respects?

 Last month my friend T took me to the New York City Ballet’s “XXI Century Movement” performance for my birthday.

 

I always enjoy the ballet, but I rarely go.  In fact, believe the last one I saw was Swan Lake, over four years ago in Slovakia.  Though I did take ballet lessons as a child, unlike music, dance was not a large part of my childhood.  My father had season tickets to the opera, would regularly attend performances of classical music performances, but dance was simply not a priority in our household.  So though I do have a great appreciation for all the arts, going to the ballet just never come to mind.   So when T invited me I was surprised and delighted and was thoroughly looking forward to the evening.

The day of the performance, however, it was a different story.  Having quarreled with my parents, I was in a terrible mood, and was considering telling T to take another friend.  The ticket would be wasted on me.  If she took another friend then I wouldn’t ruin her evening and her friend could have a lovely time.   Seconds from calling I thought better of it – I’d made impulsive decisions like that before and lived to regret them.  Besides, it was a birthday present.  T had put time and effort into getting it for me, canceling on her would probably be in poor taste.  With prodigious effort, I sucked it up, and headed to Lincoln Center.

 

The first act went about how I expected it would.  Lost in my agitated thoughts I barely noticed the dancers and for all their skill it was wasted on me.  During intermission T adroitly steered my attention away from my brooding thoughts and towards the world of dance. 

 

Gradually, through the second act my attention turned outward and to the stage.  The grace and skill the ballerinas moved with was breathtaking.  Soon all thoughts of the day’s confrontation were forgotten.  I was drawn in, mesmerized by the dancers’ precise movements, lost in the world of dance.

After the performance, standing in the line to the washroom, a middle-aged woman asked me if I were a dancer. Laughing with astonishment, (I am built nothing like a dancer and am almost certainly about 50lbs heavier than any of the girls on stage.)  I said that I was not and warmly thanked her for her compliment.

“Well, it must be in your blood,” she smiled and disappeared into the washroom.

Though flattering, the exchange left me feeling slightly melancholy. I would love to learn to dance.  I am passionate about music, I have an amazing time volunteering at Roseland assisted living community “dancing” with the residents, and every time I try to dance I have amazing time.   It would certainly be good for me to build these new pathways and gain a new skill. 

 

J and I have talked about taking dance classes, and in theory that would be wonderful.  In practice, on the other hand, I am terrified that trying to learn in a class setting would be all but impossible for me.

Neuroplasticity is a wonderful thing.  I can learn.  All survivors can, but it takes longer for us than for people without brain injury.  Whether it’s learning or relearning, retaining information, building the pathways, getting the steps down, all takes longer for survivors. To complicate things, ballet lessons ages 4-6 not withstanding, I don’t have a background in dance.  Learning will be covering uncharted territory and learning new things, building pathways where no pathways exist, takes longer still.  If that weren’t enough, there is the problem of my motor skill deficits. 

This is why I say that learning in a class would be impossible for me. I can teach my body to move in new ways.  I am capable of picking up steps; I just wouldn’t be able to keep up with a class.  I can’t learn at the same speed.

I don’t want to make the class wait for me to pick up the steps.  I don’t want to embarrass J and making him wait for me as I go through painstaking process of endlessly repeating a step until it is locked in my brain.  Unfortunately if I want to learn that is the only way I can do it.

Even after so many years it still embarrasses me when I don’t pick things up as quickly as people around me.  It reminds me of my deficits – what if I simply can’t?   That what if shakes me to my very core.  I guess it’s that way for most of us.  But embarrassment and fear of failure are poor excuses.  I may not be able to pick things up as quickly, and I won’t always be able to do them as well, but practice does make perfect.  Working on things we may not excel at exercises and strengthens weak areas of the brain and whatever level we are at, we can always improve ourselves.

 

No, I am not going to take a group dance class – at least not at first, but I am going to face my fear.  I am going to try.   Not dissuaded by numerous warnings, my kind and patient friend L has agreed to teach me.  Hopefully at some point I'll get to the point I can keep up with the class.