If you keep up with me on Twittaw, you know I’ve become something of a swing dance addict. There’s something uniquely satisfying about learning a new discipline that, if you’re doing it right, requires lots of awareness and technique and then you let it all fly out the window and go with your guts. Or in my case, I go with my booty. It’s a girl thing.

I take private lessons between some of the social dances- I’d like to move out of the current “barely passable” phase as soon as possible. My instructor Sarah paid me a compliment that may have been meant as an offhanded comment, but was strangely flattering. She told me that I could “…give a class on how to recover from screw-ups.” As a novice who either dances with amazing pro-level competitors or more often, other flailing novices, I can attest to the multiple levels of weird that happen when something goes awry on the floor. (This person screwed up! No wait…I think it was me. Where’s the beat? Ack! The Charleston!) I’m going to be making a ton more mistakes as I (hopefully) improve. It just makes me happy that one of my cello competencies has shown up in this new medium.

My other favorite hobby requires lots of practice fails, too.

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