Dance!

You can't do it if you don't try.

For decades, he thought he had two left feet. He said he would only dance when he was drunk - and he didn't drink. That he didn't know how and didn't want to learn.

Until the day he did want to learn. It was the day she became engaged.

Like most stories, there's a back story. You see, his baby girl loved to dance. Swing dance, specifically. And to bring her joy, he stopped by her dance lesson to watch. He saw her exhilaration as she twirled around the room. And when she spied him standing there, her face became even brighter. Happier.

After class, she announced that, if she ever married, she wanted to dance with him at her wedding. A father-daughter dance.

Fast forward several years. He still didn't know how to dance. But now... he had reason to learn.

And so the call was made, secretly, to Arthur Murray School of Dance. And thus began his crash course in stepping and counting. Robin, the instructor, was fabulous. Encouraging. Perceptive. Creative in coming up with analogies to help him quickly grasp concepts of fox trot and swing. In fact, the whole team of instructors cheered him on to success.

They excitedly entered into his clandestine project to dance with his daughter. They selected the father-daughter song. They chose the type of dance that was most natural for him.* They choreographed the steps for him to lead the sure-to-be-surprised bride skillfully around the dance floor.

What he accomplished should have taken months of practice. Sure, he had an advantage of being a natural athlete. But he tried. And he learned that he can dance, even when sober. And he also learned that he likes to dance.

So why are you dragging your feet? Get out there and dance!

*the foxy, if you're curious