A popular adage about living life states: “Dance like no one is watching.”
But what happens when they are watching?
This is what I’m facing as part of the Dancing with the Shuswap Stars event, which is set for Nov. 18 at the Salmon Arm Community Centre. It’s a fundraiser for the effort to expand the ski chalet at Larch Hills. Tickets are $50 each, available at Skookum Cycle and Ski, Wearabouts and Martina’s Classic Barber Shoppe. Remember to bring some cash to purchase votes for your favourite dancers.
I’ve always liked to dance, but it’s usually while I’m wearing yoga pants and the music is on in my house. Hey, if you have to be cleaning the kitchen, you might as well add a few twirls and a shimmy or two. The addition of children also added a few new dance partners to my life. From babyhood, all three of my kids loved to spin in my arms, and they used to be small enough that I could easily manage a dramatic dip, which always made them giggle. But the kids don’t judge. Neither does the dog when she watches me groove around the dining table. That’s as far as my audience usually goes.
This time, it’s different.
This time I’m going to be on a stage and, not only will there be people watching, there are going to be three actual judges who will be critiquing the performance.
They say many people have a greater fear of public speaking than of death.
I think this is equally true about dancing in public.
Already the idea of all those pairs of eyes watching me try to make the right steps is making my innards turn to ice water. I haven’t gone near the Community Centre stage yet, but stage fright is already upon me.
It’s not without good reason.
At a recent dance practice, my beleaguered partner, City Dance instructor Orlando Robertson, got to experience my skill level in full force.
As we attempted a dramatic turn, my elbow came up and hit Orlando in the jaw. And it was not just a glancing blow. It was a full-out whack in the side of the face.
He quipped that only one of his teeth had come loose, but secretly I’m wondering if he didn’t schedule a dental visit to check on his periodontal status the next morning.
I screeched to a dead stop in mid-twirl and fussed about him, apologizing until he told me to cut it out and get back to the dance floor.
Orlando’s dedicated.
“If that happens in the real thing,” he told me, “Don’t stop. Just keep on dancing.”
That’s fine, as long as I don’t knock Orlando unconscious. Because if there’s one thing I’m fearing more than dancing in front of an audience, it would be having to step over the body of my partner as I attempted to finish the performance.