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I 💓 Dance Dance Revolution

I used to DDR Hottest Party on Wii. I had the metal pad and everything.

My metal pad has since died… but I added a new, better tech one to our wedding registry. So we’ll see if I have the chance to act like a 22-year-old, ponytailed otaku again, even though I’m more like a 33-year-old, penguin-shaped nerd now.

Anyway, even though DDR is nothing like dancing—more like what I looked like last weekend, in a Downtown Fullerton bar, under disco lights, shambling my feet everywhere after having three old fashioneds—my Wii game still piqued my interest in synthesized dance music.

Listening to Now 💓 DDR Music 💓

For instance, below is a list of my favorite Dance Dance Revolution: Hottest Party 3 songs:

A Brighter Day by NAOKI (featuring Aleisha G.)

Pluto the First by White Wall

Feel Good Inc. by Gorillaz

In My Life Today 💃 Dance Classes? 🕺

Now that Chase and I are getting married, and he has about as much dance experience as I do—yep, he’s also an ex-DDR fan—I want to take dance lessons. There’s a dance studio in walking distance, ten minutes away.

But I have excuses. I always have excuses. I like to defend my fear.

First off, we’re not the wealthiest people. Not the poorest, either—Californian, middle-class white people—so we eat well, sleep in a good bed, enjoy luxuries like Hulu and Netflix; my parents, and future parents-in-law, help us with planning a gorgeous wedding; we just have to watch ourselves when we’re grocery shopping, Amazon surfing, and beer flighting. When we’re investing in classes.

Secondly, I worry the DDR skills won’t translate; theoretically, they could even slow us down, metamorphing us into scarecrows, into bonobos waving our arms about, tripping over one another, getting in everyone else’s way.

These are the moments when my imagination petrifies me. Moments that flutter through me frequently, too frequently, daily. Since my autism diagnosis, I’ve had an explanation from my extraordinary clumsiness, and that’s good—but it doesn’t make the fine motoring easier. The embarrassment easier.

Meaning Making 💦 Separating Self-care and Fear 😰

Lastly, I worry about overwhelming our already-fragile schedules. Chase just recently started his teaching career; and I’m trying to recover from an inordinate amount of work stress, phobia-fueled anxiety attacks, passive suicidal thoughts, shutdowns with rapid stimming; I am a poster 30s woman for mental illness.

Will dance lessons help heal depression? Help exacerbate anxiety? Or am I defending my fear?


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