On being a perpetual beginner... and jumping in.

In the belly dance world, I'd consider myself an intermediate-advanced dancer.  I recently earned my Level 4 certification in the Suhaila Salimpour format and the Level 3 certification in the Jamila Salimpour format.  These are not easy.  I have injured myself, cried, lost sleep, and sweat buckets to earn those accolades, and I am very proud of the work I have done.

In the Western dance world, though... I am certainly an intermediate-beginner.  Last week in my modern technique class, the instructor taught a combination so fast that I hardly had time to even understand what was happening.  I flailed in the back knowing that we'd return to this combo next week, and that once my no-longer-21-year-old-brain had some time to process it, it would feel less foreign.  Despite knowing that we'd do it all again in a few days, I felt discouraged and frustrated that I could not just pick up the combo and rock it like so many of the other students in my class.  (Being a bit PMSy didn't help either.)

But in these situations, I do not blame the instructor.  She is there to guide us, challenge us, and help us expand our kinesthetic and technical knowledge in a modern dance context.  She is not there to make us feel good about ourselves.  She is not there to give us work that is easy.  And she is a fantastic teacher.  My ego, my frustrations, my self-pity really aren't her concern.  That's my sh** to deal with as a student.  If I am injured (I couldn't do part of a combo today because of an injury to one of my ribs this summer), that's another matter, but still it is my job as a student to ask for a modification or figure it out on my own.

It's also my job as a student to jump in, flail, and give it my all.  As dancers we have to attack a movement, like a cat pouncing on its prey.  Even if we miss, if we step on the wrong foot or raise the left arm instead of the right, we still need to jump in.  I'm still trying to learn how to do that while turning off the little voice inside my head that says, "You're doing it wrong."