Music Monday: "I Don't Dance"

Side note: I know it says "Music Monday" despite being posted today (Tuesday). I was having computer issues last night. Better late than never! :)

Today's song, "I Don't Dance", is by Lee Brice. I originally came across this song after looking up another of his, and I instantly fell in love with it.

Before our wedding I tried so hard to get Tim to practice dancing with me so we wouldn't look uncoordinated during our first dance. He adamantly refused, and he would often tell me, "I don't dance." [Spoiler alert: When Tim tried to get fancy during our first dance and spin me, I tried to spin the opposite way...more than once...and we laughed our way through a good portion of our first dance.]

Fast forward a bit to the few weeks before our wedding. I told him he has to dance twice in his life and then I'd let him off the hook for the rest of our lives: once with his dear bride to a mutually-agreed upon song, and once with his momma. He accepted that offer begrudgingly. [For the record- my hubby has danced with me at least double that amount since then.]

There's something powerful about the things we do for the people we love -- especially when it challenges us to step outside of our comfort zone. This song captures that in a simple yet beautiful way.

Get(ting) Real: Vulnerability

There's a nearly overwhelming amount of excitement that comes with starting something new. There's hope for the joys and victories ahead. There's exhilaration that comes with having the courage and determination to get started and see it through.

On the other hand, there's also a certain amount of vulnerability that comes with new beginnings as well. There's doubt that your abilities will be enough to be successful. There's fear of mistakes to be made along the way. There's a worry about the outcome that could be radically different from the highly optimistic picture of perfect results you have in mind.

For some people that vulnerability is enough to quit trying.

I've never been a stranger to trying new things with excitement and enthusiasm --
kayaking on the ocean
playing clarinet
trying out for college theater productions
attempting to earn a solo in choir
climbing a mountain
sliding down a mountain in the snow
getting an eight week old puppy 
training dogs
taking a six hour Amtrak ride alone
walking through downtown Chicago alone for the first time (without getting lost!)
calamari 
driving a boat
leading preschool story time at VBS
gardening 
teaching
moving across the country
moving partway across the country
running power tools
making salsa
blogging for a year 
-- but I've also never been a stranger to that vulnerability or times where it has held me back.

I've been pushing myself to delve into hobbies more so I can be defined by more than my career. I never intended to let fear or vulnerability hold me back in life, but at some point I gave up on regularly pushing myself to feel that rush of excitement that comes with trying new things. It makes a huge difference when you lose touch with yourself that way, but it's also a huge difference when you bring that excitement back.

Two hobbies I've been diving into are watercolor painting and photography. I may now be the world's best at either one, but I love it. I love to feel that sense of exhilaration again. I love to feel wonder again. I love the feeling that comes with creating new things and learning new things. I still have that vulnerability, though, and that  makes it difficult to share the outcome of my time and effort -- even with my husband. Learning these new skills also means learning to be open and honest.

It means learning how to get real. 

I found this quote a few years ago on Pinterest, and I immediately wrote it down to put by my desk where I would see it every day. Sometimes all it takes is a nudge to remember the value in trying.

Park Games

We unpack the bag with the game, and I hope it will go better than it did with the kite. (Those puffs of wind that cooled us weren't enough to keep it afloat for long.)

I give a gentle toss, and we search for where the little, white ball lands. Our eyes squint as we differentiate dandelions past their prime from the top of the ball in the tall, sturdy crabgrass.

There. 

With our target in sight we take turns throwing.

Red.

Black.

Red.

Black.

My competitive side aches to win while the rest of me savors the sunshine, the breeze, and the company as we take turns getting points. 

An uninvited tick joins us - we take it as our cue to leave. 

As we pull away I realize I don't remember who won. I remember instead the joy, laughter, and relaxation as the pressures of life melted away in the summer sun while we played Boccie ball next to the lake. 

I'm sure that means we all won in the end. 

Get(ting) Real

"Get real."

I remember that used to be a phrase uttered when someone was being unbelievable -- like that they could climb all the way to the top of the tallest tree in the yard or hit the ball all the way out to the field. That was back in the times where life's big struggles included deciding between a bologna or pb&j for lunch or why your favorite pair of shoes (the jelly shoes with the sparkles in them) always gave you blisters no matter how few minutes you wore them on your feet.

"Get real."

That phrase now offers a nudge into truth and honesty. It is a challenge to own and embrace now for what it is rather than being frustrated or sad over what it's not. It's a call to opening up and exposing things I'd rather sweep under the rug than utter aloud.

We tend to let ourselves feel like we are alone in our negative feelings or experiences in a world that pressures us to be perfect in appearances and hide our struggles. We buy into the lie that everyone is more pulled together, happy, and better than we are. We brag about our ups while lying about our downs.

And you know what? All of this effort to project perfection is exhausting. In high school we'd finish a play and have an unbeatable rush of joy, pride, and excitement; this kind of performing is crushing. Buying into that lie took away my feeling that this blog was my safe place to be myself. And that's not okay.

So now's the time to heed the call to get real. This is my blog, and this is my life. It's not always witty, funny, or entertaining, but it's real.