What If Perfection Wasn’t the Goal

“My boss said if there’s no work left to do, I can take classes,” she said.

Our dance teacher saw her watching from the hall and invited her to join in. She thought about it for a second, maybe two, then left to change into shorts, a t-shirt and sock feet. She came back. Her friend watched from the door. Amused. Apprehensive.

We went through a dance routine we’d already spent a class period learning. Fast. I told her we’d been learning it for a week, that if she didn’t catch on right away, it was okay. We were all learning. I told her the things I need to hear. The things I need to internalize.

She watched closely. Joined right in. Tried to keep up. Didn’t get frustrated. In fact, she smiled. She said she wanted to come back.

I thought about the beautiful dancers in my class - women who learn easily, perform with a grace that appears effortless. And I think of the courage it takes to join a class of strangers, halfway in, and dance a song they already know. The heart it takes to have fun doing it.

I used to think the effortless grace was the goal. The beauty. The perfection. But more and more, I admire the heart. The willingness to try. The soul who knows instinctively you don’t have to win a journey. You just move your feet, open your arms and enjoy it.