I had thought my decision to return to dance class the following week was final, but I was wrong.  The problem with basing a decision on Intuition is that your choice is vulnerable to doubt.  Your Intuition suggests betting on a horse with a 100 to 1 chance of winning.  Should you risk your money on a long-shot hunch?  That is how I felt about my dance class decision.  I had not even made it out of the Dance City parking lot when I began to second guess myself.  Phobia, the protective side of my personality, was trying to regain the upper hand. 

"Rick, what are you thinking?  There is no way you want to go back to David's class! You would be foolish to face those awful River Oaks women again!!"

My Dance Class from Hell had been a total disaster.  So why would I subject myself to further humiliation?  I decided I had no choice but find another dance class somewhere in town.  I believed with a different teacher and normal classmates, I could relax and improve at my own pace.  Best of all, I would not have to confront a lifetime of psychological issues. 

Just then Chip on my Shoulder joined the debate.

"Look, Rick, those women were not there by accident.  Admit it, they were put there by the Universe to force you to face your fears.  You have no choice but to go back." 

Damn it!  Just when I thought the Great Dance Class Debate was over.  No, obviously it wasn't over.  Imagery of the River Oaks Seven laughing at me was so upsetting, I nearly lost control of the car.  Faced with a major failure of courage, I was unable to drive and think at the same time.  So I stopped on the edge of the parking lot and turned off the engine to conserve gas.  Now I began Round Two of the Great Dance Class Debate.

Phobia had suggested a good compromise.  I had made a commitment to God to continue dance lessons.  If I insisted on continuing dance lessons, another dance studio would spare me a repeat of today's trauma.  Only one problem.  Where was I going to find another class?  I recalled striking out on the first three dance studio listings in the Yellow Pages.  There was a reason for that.  A lady named Edna had told me Disco music was a fairly recent phenomenon.  She had added that David's class was the only one like it in town.  If Edna was right... and I had a sinking feeling she was... then it was going to be David's class or no class at all. 

I became sick with nausea.  My sniveling side begged me not to return to face all that hostility.  Phobia exclaimed, "You don't have any business going back there!  Those women hate you!  You will probably get your feelings hurt even worse.  Then where will you be?"

Oh, great, here we go again.  My Rejection Phobia was in high gear.  Phobia reminded me how terrified I was of appearing foolish in front of those pitiless women.  Realizing Phobia was right, a bolt of anxiety shot through me at the thought of returning to face those awful women.  I dreaded watching them sneer again.  Who wants to be reminded they are a loser?  I recalled how one woman had laughed out loud at my dancing.  Why set myself up for more humiliation? 

Sensing that I was weakening, Chip countered.  "Oh, Rick, knock it off.  Do you really wish to give those women that much power over you?  Aren't you getting tired of being pushed around by women?"

Ouch!  Good point.  As images of Vanessa, Christine, Debbie and Yolanda entered my mind, yes, I was definitely getting tired of being dominated by women.  This went back and forth.  It was Chip versus Phobia with 'Me' caught in the middle.  My helpless, sniveling Phobia wanted to protect me from all threats related to women.   Phobia promised that if I kept backing down, I could avoid any further anxiety.  Chip said I had to fight back.  Wasn't I tired of backing down?  How would I ever regain my lost pride if I quit now?

My life had reached a critical juncture.  This was crazy.  A Beginner-level Dance Class had turned into an Existential Gunfight at OK Corral.  It was strange how my search for the answer to my problems had led to this bizarre showdown, but this was it.  I had to make a choice.  Of course I wanted to fight back.  If I became as a good a dancer as those women, the River Oaks Seven might show some respect.  However, it seemed a lost cause.  They were so much better than me.  Considering the way I felt right now, Phobia was right, it made more sense to just give up.  I was incapable of learning to dance.

"Stop it!" Chip roared.  "You are giving up way too easily.  And stop picking on yourself all the time!"

Chip was right again.  The problem with feeling Cursed is that it had turned me into a whining, helpless victim.  One part of my psyche had me believing that I lacked the power to change my endless cycle of misfortune with women.  The longer I gave into this feeling, the closer I would come to the proverbial Point of No Return.  During my time at Colorado State, I had read a study on obesity that contained a dire warning.  Researchers concluded the longer a person remained overweight, the higher the risk the day would come when the obesity would become irreversible. 

"The worst thing is that negative perceptions gained during early childhood learning will remain imprinted in a child's brain, leaving a mark that will affect his or her way of perceiving themselves and the world.  It is imperative that each child receive intervention before a negative mind set develops that will virtually guarantee this paralyzing negative attitude lasts a lifetime."

Once a person loses hope, they approach the Point of No Return.  Lacking the courage to truly give it one's best effort, some people become so mentally defeated they reach the point of giving up permanently.  Once fat, always fat.  By extension, once ugly, always ugly.

Considering my own negative mind set, that possibility frightened me.  Considering I had spent my past ten years feeling ugly, the Point of No Return research implied if I waited much longer, the day would come when there might actually be no way to cure my fear of approaching pretty girls.  Or more likely I would settle for someone safe and spend the rest of my life berating my cowardice to meet my match. 

I imagine this entire debate must seem ridiculous to those blessed with a healthy mind.  All I can say is that mental illness is really tough to cure.  The smart thing to do is seek help, but I was trying to do this on my own.  Sensing I was starting to let my difficulties dictate to me again, it was time to assert my will.  I reaffirmed there was no way I was going to back down.  Today I had let the River Oaks Seven and Disco Dave intimidate me.  Okay, fine, they won this round.  More power to them.  I might add that my tendency to constantly criticize myself had definitely sabotaged my performance in class.  Maybe if I stopped criticizing myself, I might do better.  Why not just accept that I was clumsy and take it from there?  Chewing myself out was not going to make my dancing improve any faster.  

Yes, it was a shame that today's dance class had been so hard for me.  And yes, it was a tough break that dancing came naturally to other people, but not to me.  That said, I was certain if I put my heart into it, I would eventually improve and show those awful women that I was not a pathetic human being.  As for my dancing, I accepted it would take a while.  On the bright side, if I refused to give up, I would get there eventually.  Vanessa and Fujimoto had sent me on a losing streak of epic proportions, Yolanda had prolonged it, and now the unwelcome presence of the River Oaks Seven blocked the door to my chosen comeback route.  Well, I wasn't going to let them stop me.  For the second time today, I made up my mind to return next week. If they tried to close that Door again, I vowed to knock it down.  Full of confidence, I revved up the car.  And how long did my good mood last?  Maybe 30 seconds. 

A MYSTERIOUS HINT  

With the gas tank on empty, the debate subsided when I stopped at a station.  Sure enough, the moment I got back in the car, Phobia renewed its protest and refused to shut up.  I was overwhelmed by a new flood of doubt and negativity. 

"Rick, you cannot dance worth a lick.  You're gonna stumble and those women are just going to laugh at you again!"

Phobia was right, so my confidence wavered as the Great Dance Class Debate entered Round Three.  I thought I had made up my mind for sure, but apparently not.  Those nasty River Oaks women were sure to be ugly to me again and I despised David for betraying my trust.  Just then Chip reminded me that David definitely knew how to dance.  If I could force myself to go back to David's class, I was sure to get the dance moves I coveted so much.  But where was I going to find the courage to return?  The moment I tripped over my feet again, those women were sure to laugh.

If only there was some way to improve in the meantime!  

Phobia reminded me how embarrassed I had been over that stupid step-ball-change move.  The memory of that woman laughing at me made me wince.  It was incredible how my powerful Phobia used my fear of ridicule to control me.  As things stood, I was certain to repeat today's errors next week.  Feeling helpless, I realized I could not go back to that class until I figured out what I had failed to learn today.  Feeling trapped, as I waited at a stop light, out of the blue a voice whispered to me, "Go get a mirror!"

Startled, I looked to see where that voice had come from.  Turning my head, I noticed a hardware store right across the street.  I immediately grasped the meaning.  If I had a mirror in my apartment, I could practice what I had learned today.  Without hesitation, I turned left at the light and headed to the hardware store.  That was quite a coincidence.  At the exact instant my decision on the Dance Class Debate hung in the balance, a voice from nowhere not only suggested a mirror, my eyes had been guided to a place where I could find one.  Nice timing.  I liked the idea of buying a mirror.  It felt like an Omen.

This was the second time in my life that I had heard a voice like this.  The first time came in February 1970.  A voice from nowhere had warned me that I was seriously depressed, then added I better do something about it.  The next day I had visited the Baltimore Quaker Meeting looking for a way to cheer me up.  That was the day I met Richard, the man who suggested I read Autobiography of a Yogi.  Taking inspiration from this amazing book, my spiritual journey became the ladder I used to climb out of a very deep hole. 

Just my luck, now I was in another deep hole.  With a grim smile, I wondered if a mirror could rescue me from this impasse.  Phobia refused to let me go back to my dance class.  What I needed was something to help Chip regain the upper hand over Phobia.  Given the strange events of the day, this 'Get a Mirror' message offered a ray of hope.  However, Phobia suggested I should think this over.  That is when my defiance kicked in.  I told Phobia to go to hell.  Since the 'buy a mirror' whisper felt suspiciously like Divine Intervention, for the first time all day Phobia shut up.  Freed of the incessant torment, I wasted no time driving to the store.  Once inside, I noticed some decorative mirror tiles selling for a dollar apiece.  The tiles were cheap and tacky, but I did not care.  I needed a mirror and these reflective tiles would do.  I picked out 15 tiles and headed to the check-out counter.

As I stood in line, the young lady at the register eyed me incredulously.  Thanks to the Parking Lot Inferno, my face was pale as a ghost and my clothes were soaked to the bone.  My pants were wet and so was my red flannel shirt.  Even the dollar bills I handed her from my wallet were soaking wet. As I stood there, water from my shoulder length hair dripped steadily onto her counter.  Considering there wasn't a cloud in the sky, the woman could not imagine why I was soaking wet.  Seeing her jaw drop, I could read her mind.  Creature from the Black Lagoon.  But so what?  I was on a mission and I didn't care how terrible I looked.  Just give me my change, lady, and I will stop dripping water on your counter.  As I walked out of the store, I shook my head.  This day was too weird for words. 

THE MAGIC MIRROR

The moment I returned to my apartment, I stuck the 15 mirror tiles on the wall.  3 feet wide, 5 feet tall, I had a mirror. 

I turned the radio to KLOL, a rock music station.  Lady Marmalade had a good beat, so that's where I started.  Standing in front of my makeshift mirror, I practiced what I had learned earlier in the day.   I practiced 'step-together-step' over and over.  Now that the women weren't frowning at my appearance and my dancing, I could calm down. 

It did not take long to discover my fatal flaw... I think too much!  Let's say a song comes on with a powerful beat.  Without realizing what you are doing, you tap in time to the music with your hand or your feet.  Suddenly you notice what you are doing and lose the rhythm.  That is your brain getting in the way.  Same with footwork.  My brain was constantly interrupting.  I am too analytical, it is just my nature.  My brain did not trust my feet.  By over-thinking my footwork, I became my own worst enemy. 

Mind you, I could play basketball all day long without worrying about my feet, but when it came to dancing, I was acutely self-conscious.  My brain would not let my feet move unless it could supervise each step carefully.  The mirror helped immensely.  As long as I could watch my feet in the mirror, my brain eased up its vigilance.  Pretty soon I could let my feet move without stopping every ten seconds for another round of criticism.  Slowly but surely, I got it.  It took an hour, but I finally reached the point where I could dance a few patterns to the music without stopping to evaluate.

Each night that week I practiced dancing in the mirror.  Now that I had started to improve, I wasn't quite so self-critical.  To my amazement, Phobia continued its silence.  I was so encouraged by my progress that I no longer feared returning to David's dance class.  I had a new name for my prized acquisition.  I called it the 'Magic Mirror'. 

I was thrilled to see my self-discipline make a welcome comeback.  Once I put my mind to something, I have an uncanny persistence.  My discipline had allowed me to succeed in academics even when I did not care for the subject.  I was pleased to note this same persistence had transferred to Dance, another subject for which I had no natural affinity.  However I did have one advantage.  At least this time I was motivated.  Unlike useless subjects like Latin and Chemistry (with an apology to those who like science), I dearly wanted to learn to dance.  I was excited over my decision to stay with the Dance Project.  I was very proud of myself, a feeling I had not felt in ages.

I practiced and practiced.  Then I practiced some more.  I practiced the next night and the night after that.  I practiced every night that week.  15 minutes, 30 minutes, 60 minutes, it did not matter just as long as I practiced every night.  I did not understand why it was so important, but this ritual was something I had to do.  In the midst of my Phobia crisis, I firmly believed that if I could learn to dance, I could somehow pull myself out of this hole.  I had not thought in terms of Fate in a long time.  For some odd reason the idea of Fate never entered my mind during my problems at Colorado State.  However, the Dance Class from Hell and the events leading up to it were so weird I was now convinced that something very important was taking place in my life.  As I stared at myself in the Magic Mirror, I wondered if this goofy dance project was Destiny.  The thought that God might have had something to do with that mysterious Voice was a powerful incentive to take 'Step Ball Change' seriously.

As I practiced dancing at night, my mind returned to those high school dance parties of yesteryear.  Each dance had been held at the palatial home of various classmates after home football games.  Yes, I wanted to see the big homes where my classmates lived, but the main reason I went was to watch the dancing.  Considering I never participated, why had I been so drawn to these dances?  I knew the answer to that.  It was rooted in my sense of inferiority.  I never dated due to my acne-scarred face.  I never played sports due to my blind eye.  I never participated in plays or any sort of extracurricular event.  I did not play golf with the boys.  I did not play tennis at the local country club.  I did not go down to someone's beach house in Galveston for the weekend.  I spoke little to anyone outside of class other than two or three lunchtime friends who were shy like me.  Nor did I participate in the school-sponsored dances... but I wanted to. 

Throughout high school I never missed a chance to attend, but that did not mean I would participate.  I would spend the entire evening hiding in the shadows.  Those dance parties were important because they offered the only window I had into the private lives of my superior classmates.  I watched in envy as my classmates had fun dancing to the sounds of Beach Boys, Supremes, Aretha Franklin and Marvin Gaye.  I wanted so much to join them!  But I would not have known where to start.  Nor would I have found the courage to ask a girl to join me.  During those nights of watching, I vowed that someday I would take the time to catch up to my classmates in dancing and dating.  Due to the acne, so far my entire life had been one of constant postponement.  For ten years, I had delayed my long lost goal of catching up to my classmates someday.  With a sense of irony, I realized the presence of the River Oaks women had reawakened my desire to become the social equal of my classmates.  This was a very important point.  If I had been free of those taunting women, I would have quit the moment I realized this mountain was too high to bother climbing.  I am completely serious.  If it had not been for my deep-seated desire to prove those women were no better than me, I would have quit halfway through my first dance class.  Those horrible River Oaks women were the only reason I had stuck around.  Here again the lines between Good Luck-Bad Luck became blurred.

There was something powerful about staring into the mirror.  step-touch, step-touch...  All kinds of strange thoughts floated through my head as I danced.  Plus the music.  Something was bothering me.  It was a struggle, but my mind eventually confessed.  I wanted to develop enough confidence to date women who were just as pretty, just as intelligent, just as gifted as the young ladies at St. John's.  That was my real goal, the chance to date the best and the beautiful.  Dream on.  Where would I ever get the nerve to talk to a woman of their caliber?  Women like my former classmates were out of my league.  Or were they?  step-ball-change, step-ball-change...

Every night as I practiced I had the chance to reflect on why the River Oaks Seven bothered me so much.  I was certain that Fate had deliberately placed those nasty women in my class.  Symbolically, they became the new representatives of 'St. John's Superiority'.  If I could catch up to those women, I could fulfill my teenage vow that I would one day learn to dance just like everyone else at my school.  I acknowledged my deep-seated desire to achieve equality was powerful motivation.  If I could match the society women step for step in dance class, by extension I would achieve a sense of parity with my former classmates.   step-together-step, step-together-step...

PREPARATION

I had a lot of unanswered questions regarding the Dance Class from Hell.  Recent events such as the Mistress Book, the Stalled Car and seduction by a drag queen had awakened a strong suspicion that I was undergoing a Fated Event.  I had no idea where this was headed, but something very strange was definitely going on.  Due to the extreme difficulty of the Dance Class from Hell, I began to wonder if there was a hidden message involved.  Fate had placed me in that dance class, I was sure of it.  I did not know why the class had to be so difficult, but it must have been a Karmic Test of some sort, a Trial by Fire.  I especially appreciated the intense heat of the parking lot.  To Hell and Back.  Certainly not the equivalent of the famous World War II movie, but pretty serious as peacetime events go.

The whisper suggestion to buy a mirror was another nice touch.  Feeling my confidence elevate whenever I practiced, this Magic Mirror felt like a Divine Blessing.  During the Parking Lot Inferno I had felt abandoned by God.  Thanks to the Magic Mirror, I no longer felt abandoned.  In fact, dancing in this Mirror cheered me up so much I felt like I was following God's Will.  With that thought, tears of joy came to my eyes.  To me, the Mirror implied I was not traveling this Dance Path alone after all.  Somebody up there liked me. 

The Magic Mirror reminded me I needed to do something about my appearance.  It was time I came to grips with the fact that I lived in Texas, not Colorado.  First I got a haircut.  Then I put away my beloved flannel shirts.  My mountain boots went in the closet never to be worn again.  Out came the loafers.  A little polish eliminated the dust.  As an added touch, I purchased a white polo shirt and khaki pants.  This was the St. John's uniform, a familiar suit of armor I had worn for nine years.  It was my way of reminding myself how I had once stood up to women like the River Oaks Seven at my school.  If I could do it then, I could do it again. 

Each night that week I practiced in the mirror.  I was so encouraged by my progress I no longer feared returning to David's class at Dance City.  Dancing in the mirror worked wonders on my confidence.  To my relief, Phobia continued its silence.  Getting rid of the constant self-criticism was worth the price of this mirror many times over.  For the first time since leaving Colorado State, I felt like I was doing something positive to get my life back on track.

My attitude changed so dramatically during the week, I was bound and determined to show those awful women they could not intimidate me.  Furthermore I was determined to one day pass them.  Although I lacked natural ability, I would make up for it with practice born of self-discipline and intense motivation.  It might take a while, but now that I had my direction, I was sure I would succeed.  This class meant more to me than it did to them.  Those women had caught me off guard last week.  They had reminded me far too much of my lonely days standing in the shadows at those high school dance parties.  Thanks to my secret weapon, this week I was ready.  Dance class is where I would stage my comeback.  I was going to conquer all my demons at once - Vanessa, Fujimoto, snobs, fear of pretty girls, inferiority, and those awful feelings of ugliness.  I was fighting a Curse known as the Epic Losing Streak.  For ten years I had backed down every time something went wrong.  Those days were over. 

Dance class is where I would make my stand. 

Saturday was here.  I returned to Dance City and brought my Game Face with me.  The change was immediately apparent.  I was not exactly a sharp-dressed man, but I had made a vast improvement in a short time.  When the Gay Gauntlet stared at me, I stared back.  Hey guys, Freak Show is over.  Not only that, this time I smiled.  Why should I be afraid of them?  A couple men looked away at my challenge, a couple more smiled back.  Most important, this time no one glared in horror. 

David was so surprised to see me I thought he would have a heart attack.  He took an involuntary step backward and covered his mouth to hide his shock.  When David saw the look of determination on my face, I am sure his first reaction was to wonder if I had returned to beat him up.  Seeing him cower, I nodded to reassure him.  The relief on his face was so obvious I almost broke character and laughed. 

The River Oaks women frowned.  No problem.  That was to be expected.  But they definitely understood the message behind my change in appearance.  Last week I looked like a homeless person, this week some of my prep school polish had returned.  I could see it in their eyes, a resentful acknowledgement that I had just as much right to be here as they did.  They still refused to show any regard for me, but they did not laugh or snicker during class.  It was an uncomfortable truce to be sure, but a definite step forward.  At least they didn't try to get rid of me.

As for my dancing, the improvement was noticeable.  I was still clumsy, stiff and mechanical, but I no longer lost my balance on Step-Ball-Change.  Best of all, no more temper tantrums over my my clumsiness, no more chewing myself out for every mistake.  The River Oaks Seven were still much better dancers than me, but I had closed the gap slightly.  That was the encouragement I needed. The Magic Mirror had worked a miracle of sorts.  Thanks to the Magic Mirror, today I won the Rematch.  

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