“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” — Citizenship in a Republic, speech given by the former President of the United States, Theodore Roosevelt at the Sorbonne in Paris, France on April 23, 1910.

I sit back down in the studio at home, leaves of a Japanese redbud outside the window reflecting raindrops from a light rain shower.

During our long ride home last night, my wife and I talked about the range of emotions and thoughts we shared the past few days as newb (not n00b) dancers.

The self-deprecating downers:

• “I’m just this [guy/gal] who doesn’t deserve to be on the dance floor with such great dancers.  It would be a waste of their time to dance with inexperienced me.”
• “I don’t dance much because I’m not that good.”
• “What am I doing here?  Who do I think I am competing against better talent?”
• “Watching everyone on the dance floor having so much fun is tiring and depressing.  Why can’t I be as good as them?  Well, I know at least a few of them have been dancing since they were three so it must be innate talent that I don’t have that makes them so fantastic, which is even more depressing that I’ll never be like them.”
• “I’m too nervous to dance well in this competition.  I’m going to mess up, trip and fall or miss a step.  What if I don’t demonstrate musicality or get off the beat of the music?  The judges will score me in last place, I know it!”
• “What’s going on?  The competition is about to begin, I’m in line to go out on the dance floor in front of the judges, the crowd and video cameras, making me so nervous I could scream.  I’m confused by the instructions because I’ve never seen a competition in person, let alone competed as an ignorant newcomer.  I feel so stupid and scared.”

The self-confidence -building uppers:

• “I just learned a new move without it taking weeks to understand the steps.  This is more fun than I thought.”
• “People, some of them the best dancers here, are actually interested in dancing with me.”
• “It’s like being inside a TV show or movie about dancing and I’m the ‘star’ of the moment with my dance partner.  ME!”
• “Not only did I survive the competition, I was so focused on having fun dancing I didn’t even see what my competition was doing.  I actually competed against the strong belief that I would surely fail and I won because I didn’t fall down and didn’t feel like I made a fool of myself even though I know I made a few mistakes!”
• “Everyone cares about me and how I danced — their praise and constructive criticism was so good to hear because they paid attention to me, a mere beginner, and wanted me to be a better dance partner with them.”
• “Can you believe that I went from not wanting to attend this competition or anything like it ever again to wondering when’s the next competition we can go to and repeat the exhilarating fun?”
• “At football games and car races, there’s too much negativity amongst fans who spent so much of their energy yelling at or putting down others.  Here at this dance competition, we encourage each other, especially our competition.  At our age, maybe we should say goodbye to the ‘boo birds’ and spend our money more wisely with people who support their competitors to get better.”

There were several times after watching some of the competitions that I was sick and tired of dancing because the weight of negative thoughts that I’d never be a dreamy dance partner killed the good mood of the moment.

But then I’d get out on the dance floor, connect with a new partner, enjoy the brief flirtatious friendship and instantly restore my self-confidence regardless of whether I was in perfect sync with my partner the whole time.

As more than one person said, the first is not always the best dance with someone — it may take one, two or three songs for you and your partner to find your commonalities — but you are helping each other improve yourselves that drives you to keep going.

It’s that giving up of one’s ego for the sake of the dance that is amazing to me.  Abi often reminds not to stop dancing because sometimes I would just stop and watch her dance, swept up in the amazement of how great her dancing made me feel.  Same for many other partners, too.  I forget that they’re feeding off me for the sake of the dance.

You mean this little ol’ kid in me is an inspiration for others?

I worked hard all weekend to give myself permission to have fun dancing, clearing my thoughts of guilty feelings that I’m having a great time while people around the world are suffering and my niece is in the hospital recovering from a difficult birth of her baby son.

In fact, I had so much fun that I didn’t constantly split myself into multiple personalities, including the diarist/journalist/blogger who observes and reports everything he saw and felt.

Therefore, I don’t remember the names or personal stories of everyone I met.

Sensory overload was an issue that I didn’t want to get in the way (which triggers crowd anxiety) so I shut off the internal critic, the judgmental elder who uses criticism to build up barriers, and let myself live timelessly in the moment.

I first suppressed and then let pass through me the jealousy/envy of better male dancers who were making the women with whom I wanted to dance look like goddesses, especially after those very same goddesses wanted a song or two with me.

Memories of grade school sockhops welled up from out of nowhere, recalling when I stood like a statue fixated on girls I liked, occasionally getting up the nerve to ask a popular girl for a dance, where I first learned to dance awkwardly with equally-awkward partners, no matter how popular they were, sharing a laugh at the realisation we both felt embarrassed for no reason; high school dances where I was known as a guy to have fun flailing about on the floor, literally, doing jumping jacks, pushups and other shenanigans because I was the wild-and-crazy president of the drama club who had a reputation of outlandishness to maintain; college years full of sorority formals and punk rock mosh pits, often on the same evening; then, 25 years generally devoid of dancing.

And now this, the post Dance Mardi Gras euphoria, where, interestingly enough, a dance form that has no rules or formality — turning into The World Swing Dance Council, with scoring and a points system — inspired me to dance without thinking, letting my whole body speak and learn a new language all over again, while I sit here trying to describe what I felt rather than directly thought with the formal labeled sounds/memes we call words.

Thanks again to everyone of all ages such as the dance groups like Newsies and Tortilla Chips who put on an entertaining show for us during the masquerade ball.  The celebrity J&J contest was just as exciting!

Last, but not least, a big shoutout to the crew who made it all happen.