I have a pretty cool trapperkeeper

Posted on August 20, 2009

So…..the dance class. I sat outside terrified to go in. Terrified, as I had mentioned, that I would not be able to move or groove or do any of the things I was once able to do. I sat outside on the phone with E-Deezy, who calmly told me that my trapperkeeper will do just fine and that what matters is I go in and try. I sat outside smoking a cigarette debating on whether to just turn and run away or walk in there with my head held high, and give it my all. Stubbed out the cigarette, E told me to get my ass to class, and I went in, head held medium, walked into class and waited for the instructor.

The class was small and non-threatening. The teacher was sweet and approachable. I stood in the front row to make sure I could see, not realizing this is where all the cool kids that can dance stand. The music started. The warm up started. The dance moves started.

And I can still fucking dance.

A little awkward, a little more stiff than I’d like to be, and not quite in the hiphop attire that seemed required to make the moves look super hip and hop, but I can still dance. I can still pick up the moves almost as quickly as she doles them out. I can still remember the sequence of steps, moves, turns and thrusts as if I really am picking up right where I left off. I can still dance.

I sweat, felt sore within the first 5 minutes, and kept on pushing. Moved my body as I once did, quit thinking about the movements and just let it flow, let the instructor guide me through my first class back in 13-14 years, and didn’t get down on myself when I’d fuck up a kick, or miss a beat. After the class was over, I thanked the instructor, told her that this is my first class back in years and that I was terrified to come in, and that because of her, I had an amazing time and want to come dance again.

She said I did great, and that I should come back.

I left with tears brimming in my eyes.

What is it that sparks that fear inside when we begin to do something we once did, once excelled at doing, once quit to invest our time in using, or abusing? The fear of failure? The fear of being laughed at? Whatever this fear is, right before I went into class, I called my boy Axis and asked him to take mine. I told him I am afraid and asked him to hold onto the fear for me until after class. He took it, laughing, saying “I’ll paint it, and if you want it back you can have it.” As I walked out of the dance studio, I realized that this fear is not something I’d like to take back. It serves no purpose for me, has no use or value, except to hold me back. I left him with my fear, and walked out proud that I had taken the first step in taking back my life.

Now the problem is still addictive behavior. I want to go back. In fact, as I was leaving, I contemplated walking into another class. I want to dance every single day, to the point where my muscles no longer work, where my mind is fluid with movement, forget eating, sleeping, interacting with other people, I want to dance all the time.

This is unreasonable.

What is reasonable is for me to set up a schedule, to set days where I can go dance, days I take off to paint, days I don’t do anything. I must live with temperance, doing these activities in moderation instead of fanatical excess. One of my biggest problems in life is over-doing things…which is why I can no longer use drugs or alcohol.

Speaking of drugs and alcohol, I had a relapse dream last night. Strangest thing. I dreamt that I had a glass of wine with my boy Brett and that we had sex. I also had a pet monkey in this dream, which was the only thing that made me aware I was dreaming. I woke up kind of afraid that I had relapsed, afraid that I had actually had wine and sex before going to sleep. The strangest part was that the monkey kept biting me after I had decided to leave Brett-upset that he had contributed to my relapse. I was so butthurt about the monkey wanting to stay with him, and about relapsing, that I awoke a little angry. I told one of my girlfriends and she said that this is a sign of progress. A sign that I don’t want to use anymore, and that the obsession is being lifted. I don’t want to relapse, don’t want to drink or have sex with anyone right now, and I don’t want a pet monkey that bites me.

So I suppose this is progress. In any case, I think I’m going to find another dance class today and hit it up. As long as I’m not dancing all day long, or hanging out with a monkey that bites me, I think I should be okay…