Solo

I remember the feeling all too well. Inadequate, mediocre,  unexceptional. I often felt this way growing up dancing. Even though I could keep up, I didn't stand out. I always waited on the sidelines as other people were picked for solos. I never took it too hard since I never expected otherwise. I could dance with the larger group, be in the back row, whatever. If anything, I was relieved. I could blend in. Less pressure.

As an adult, it somehow feels worse. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m the oldest person in the class — at least twice as old as the dancers and I have several years on the teacher. The class this semester has fluctuated from up to 12 people, now down to four (the one constant, my oldness). Just four on stage for the performance. And I’m not the exceptional one as always. I’m the one on the side. Sometimes I wonder if the teacher is humoring me - I wonder if I actually belong. I want to be there 99 percent of the time. There’s one percent doubt. It’s not like she’s correcting me all the time, so it seems like I’m doing everything fine. I just wish, once, I could be picked.

I have to admit that once I was picked. It’s the dance I’m most proud of. I was graceful, I was alone, I nailed it. I don’t remember the choreographer’s name - I’ll have to look it. But it was a dance of hula hoops. It likely sounds hokey, but if you could’ve seen this dance, it was all grace and beauty, and a little bit of humor. You would’ve liked it and you would’ve been impressed with my solo. I can always fall on that. There are dancers who have countless solos they can look back on and gloat — I have just the one. And that somehow makes it more special.