We Can’t Dance

We can’t dance. You might even use the word terrible if you saw us trying.

I’ve always blamed it on a lack of practice rather than a lack of skill. Scott and I were high school sweethearts who attended all our Christian high school’s formal banquets together. I shopped for the perfect dress, stocked up on Aquanet so I could get my hair just right, got my nails done, and called the florist in time to have exactly the boutonniere I wanted. Scott vacuumed his car and gave it a good shine. He rented the shiniest tux he could find and requested a hot pink cummerbund to match my dress. We did everything our public school counterparts did. Except dance.

We didn’t miss the dancing; our high school dating lives were full. But then there we were, ten years later, married with little children and suddenly wishing we had better moves to pull out at weddings and events. It looked so fun and effortless to swing, cha-cha, and mambo. We’re both athletic and smart. We can learn this, we thought, so we bought a Groupon for dance lessons.

You know what we got out of those lessons? Laughter. Lots and lots of laughter, coupled with the freedom to let our dream die.

We arrived at our first lesson with high hopes, shiny shoes, and butterflies in our stomachs. Our instructor promised she could teach anyone to dance. She used Scott to demonstrate. I watched intently and counted her steps. My turn. Deep breath. Chin high. Hand in Scott’s.

We counted and stepped. She corrected and we tried again. Our sixty minutes evaporated. We left feeling hopeful and determined to practice. Week after week went by. Our instructor was patient, but I was not. We seemed destined to achieve only 60 percent of the steps.

It wasn’t pretty, folks.

I started hoping one of us would get sick so we would have to miss our lesson. Instead of experiencing a fun, romantic date night, we spent our lesson time blushing and barking instructions at each other. One night, on my way to the car with my shiny high heels in hand, I was stopped by my sweet husband. He had an inspired idea.

What if we gave up?

“Let’s stand up the instructor, blow off the rest of the lessons we paid for, and go have fun Scott and Lori style!” he suggested.

We did exactly that, and as a result hit a new high in our relationship.

Even with lessons, we are Albert Brennaman from Hitch on the dance floor. But I don’t care anymore. I’m not embarrassed, and I’m not spending any more time trying. Dancing just isn’t our thing, and it’s okay because we are fantastic at plenty of things. We love to travel together—a long layover in a foreign city is an invitation to discover a hole-in-the-wall schnitzel shop, for example. We share a nerdy penchant for information gathering, which means love notes often include links to podcasts or dictionary.com Word of the Day entries. We both wake up giddy on game day and look forward to our ten-dollar dates sitting on the bleachers in matching team gear to cheer on our kids. We’re great dreamers and always have something we’re working toward.

These are the dance moves I’m most proud of. When I stare long and hard at what makes us “us,” I really like what I see, even though it doesn’t involve dancing. It gets me all twitterpated inside, and that’s romantic!

The freedom we’ve found in being uniquely us has also surprised us with much more fun on the dance floor these days. There are no pressures or expectations because we’ve come to terms with how bad we are. We’ve embraced our combined lack of skill as another one of our uniquenesses.

This Valentine’s season, you and your love might need to give yourselves the gift of giving up on a dream. Take the pressure off and relax into what makes you great.

You might be Fred and Ginger. Cut a rug and let the rest of us clap with encouragement as we form a circle around you!

You might be Lucy and Ricky. Fan those flames of humor and let your family and friends bask in the glow of spontaneous laughter.

You might be Wesley and Buttercup. If you are, then for goodness’ sake, teach us all about how true love can’t be stopped.

[Tweet “Figure out what makes you “you” and savor it.”]

Lori Florida’s life is all about her people. She’s convinced that being Mrs. to one and Mommy to eight will be her most significant way to serve Jesus. She wants to use her life to cheer on and coach the women coming behind her. Lori blogs at loriflorida.com.

Photograph © Everton Vila, used with permission

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