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Rick
Archer's Note:
Who is Connie Kill Shot and what is her relevance to our
story?
A
serious attack of acne early in high school turned my face into grotesque
mask. By the
time the problem cleared up, two years had gone by. Given that I was low man on the social totem pole to begin
with, I felt far too inferior to ask one of the
bright and beautiful St. John's girls for a date. At
this point, it was easier just to give up and wait for
college. And
since no girl ever approached to show interest, I
made it through four years of high school without a date.
For this reason I never danced in high
school.
I
tried to date in my Freshman year of college, but made a
mess of things due to my woeful inexperience. Hurt and
dejected, I decided to swear off dating for a while. I
would try again in my
Sophomore year. Since Johns Hopkins was a men's
school, women were difficult to meet. But finally I
had my chance. There was a mixer dance at my school and
girls from nearby colleges were bussed in. During the
event, I had
already been shot down by the first two girls I asked to
dance. Connie was the third. She said yes, but
reluctantly.
I don't
even remember the song. I was too nervous to care. We got out
on the floor and I attempted to dance. This was no
easy feat because I had no previous dance experience and did
not know where to start. I
watched the other guys, but that didn't help.
They didn't know what they were doing either. So I
waved my arms around and shuffled my feet. I felt like
an idiot. Probably looked like one too. Connie
looked bored out of her wits. She turned her back
and looked elsewhere as we
danced. I assumed she looked away to avoid being forced to
look at me. For some reason, Connie suddenly got the biggest grin on
her face. Curious, I followed
her gaze. When I realized Connie was looking at her
two girlfriends standing about 20 feet away, I froze. One of her girlfriends was pointing
directly at me
and the other was convulsed with laughter. I was
positive they were laughing at my dancing. No doubt
they thought it was hysterical that poor Connie was stuck
dancing with a spastic. I was mortified. Feeling
like a pathetic joke to these girls, I wanted to die on the spot.
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Suddenly the
two girls realized I was
staring right at them as they made fun of me.
Oops!
Embarrassed at being caught, they covered their
mouths, a tell-tale sign. Then they whirled and made a beeline for
the restroom. Their rapid exit confirmed they had been
laughing at me. I turned back to face Connie.
She had already stopped dancing, probably due to the hostility
written on my
face. We locked eyes and she replaced her smile with
a smirk. Angry, I stared
at Connie. "What was that all about?"
Connie just shrugged, a gesture I took
to mean 'deal with it.'
"Who do those girls think they are?"
I demanded. "Do they think it's funny to laugh at me?"
Connie
laughed contemptuously. "What's your problem, buddy? Those
girls are my friends. They can do whatever they want."
I came within an inch
of slapping Connie senseless.
Realizing that I was badly out of control, I
turned and left the gym immediately. The
aftermath was brutal. Given my thin
skin, the rejection was equivalent to an
extinction-level event. I did not know
which was worse, my acne-scarred face or my
pathetic dancing. I succumbed to a
terrible depression and did not date again
for two years.
So now we can begin
the psychoanalysis. It all goes back
to my feelings of St. John's-related
feelings of inferiority. Here in July
1974, I had just failed in the two most
important areas of my life, women and
career. Through a series of odd developments, I
suddenly found myself in a dance class of
all things, the worst possible place given my mental condition.
If ever I needed further proof of my
inferiority, the Dance Class from Hell
spelled it out plain and simple. And what is
going through my mind? There are seven
hostile women who remind me of my St.
John's-related sense of inferiority.
There are mirrors to reflect my grotesque
appearance. Worst of all, the memory of Connie
Kill Shot and being laughed at due to my
dance-related clumsiness is tearing me apart. If someone
set their mind to it, they could not have
designed a better trap to expose every
single one of my insecurities... fear of
rejection, fear of being unattractive, fear
of not being as good as my former St. John's
classmates.
For reasons that did
not
make a bit of sense, I had seized on dance
lessons of all things as my last best-chance
to deal with acute loneliness caused by my
strange inability to approach a woman my age under
any circumstance. To my shock, these
horrible River Oaks women are treating me
the same way as Connie and her nasty
girlfriends once did. So what on earth
makes me think a dance class is a good place
to solve my problems? God.
I came to this class
specifically because I thought God had sent
me a message to try dance
lessons as a way to solve my problems.
Learn a few steps, ask a girl to dance, if
she said yes, take it from there.
Okay, God, if that's what you want me to do,
I will try. Hoping for the best but
fearing the worst, I failed
miserably! What in the hell am I
doing here? I had hoped for some
sort of encouragement only to be humiliated
in every possible way. Consequently by
the end of class, the Point of No Return is
beckoning. Down to my last silver bullet,
I focus on my dance teacher as the only way
I might salvage the day. To my
surprise, David seems willing to befriend
me. Finally, I think, someone is
willing to help. And what does David
do? He tries to take advantage of my
woeful state.
That's it, I can't take this
anymore. I have made a horrible
mistake coming here. Feeling like a dog kicked in the face, I stagger to
my car and had a total
breakdown amidst the overwhelming heat of
the parking lot.
More than anything
else, I felt betrayed. No, not by
David, by God. I was almost
certain that God had guided me to this class
through a series of omens... the
Mistress Book, Yolanda's strange
behavior, the stalled car, plus Lynn locking
himself/herself out of his apartment. Oh, and
by the way, Lynn had a message for me.
"Maybe you should try dance lessons, Rick."
Staring at Lynn with
an open mouth, was he a
Messenger of some sort? Lynn had just
underlined the
dance class idea from the Mistress
Book. Skeptical and more than
slightly incredulous, I told
myself, "Okay, given that this
situation has all the earmarks of a
supernatural event, I will trust my instinct and
try a dance class even though I doubt I will
do very well."
This weird idea
reminded me of God's demand to Abraham in
the Bible.
"And the Lord said unto Abram, “Abandon
your country, leave your family and your
father’s house behind, go to an unknown
land I have chosen for you."
Granted, taking a dance class against my
will was not quite the same thing as Abraham
asked by God to abandon his entire world,
but my decision was based on Faith
nonetheless. Maybe dance class would
work out better than I expected. Maybe
I'm not as bad a dancer as I think I am.
Besides, if
someone decides to obey God's Will, they
expect to be rewarded for their trust,
right?
So was I
rewarded? No! In fact, I was
punished in about the cruelest way
imaginable. Not just that, it was
painfully obvious that God had gone out of His way to make my first class more difficult than I
ever imagined possible.
Feeling like God had deliberately played a mean trick on
me, I broke down completely.
Perhaps the Reader
thinks I am making this up. Not true.
Right there in the Parking Lot Inferno, the
only thing on my mind was the distinct
feeling that dance class was God's idea and
that surely this must be some sort of cruel
joke. Perhaps it was punishment, but
if so, I had done nothing wrong to deserve
it. How had it ever come to this?
I had failed in graduate school, I had been
betrayed by a woman who claimed she loved
me, I was mentally ill, I could not dance a
lick, I felt inferior to seven wealthy
women, I felt uglier than sin and to top it
off my gay dance had tried to trick me into
having unwanted sex. If anyone knew
how badly I needed a break, it was God and
look how God had treated me. Right now
I felt totally abandoned by God.
Torrents of tears burst from my eyes, a
veritable waterfall. In a sense, I had
invested practically all my remaining
courage in this wild goose chase only to be
humiliated in ways I never thought possible.
I had never felt more defeated in my entire
life.
So what happened next?
After the tears cleared, to my surprise I
realized I still wanted to learn to dance.
Why? I had just received firm evidence
that I was clumsier than I ever imagined.
Where did this crazy idea come from? Oddly enough, it was the presence
of the River Oaks Seven that made me wish to
continue. These women had a strange,
almost overpowering hold on me.
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Following my first dance class, I had a lot to process.
The Mistress Book, the Stalled Car, and now the Dance Class
from Hell. I felt like I was riding a Supernatural
rollercoaster. I evaluated everything using my
four criterion: Probability, Timing, Impact, Weirdness.
Yolanda could not have picked a worse time in my life to play her nasty
rejection games with me. Timing.
My car had stalled at the worst possible moment only to work
fine in the days thereafter.
Probability.
The mysterious Mistress Book had appeared out
of nowhere only to set me up for the worst idea in history. Impact.
As for Weirdness, I assumed nothing could top being
picked up by a Drag Queen who, by the way, had a message
from God. However, I was wrong.
The Dance Class from Hell and the ensuing Parking Lot
Inferno was Weird beyond Weird. In fact, maybe a
little Too Weird.
I
did not like how my dance class had turned out, but given
that God prefers to remain invisible, this crazy dance class
had God's fingerprints all over it. To me, it was like
God had tipped His Hand. Trying to make sense of what had
taken place, one thought in particular caught my
attention. "It was like
all the cards had been deliberately stacked against me."
Indeed, my startling First Dance
Class had the earmarks of a definite Supernatural
Event.
The more I thought about it, I wondered if all these
problems had been arranged as a way to get my
attention. If that was the case, this was
no mere dance class, this was Fate in action. I
gasped. This
day had been Karma!
I was certain of it.
Perhaps the Reader assumes all dance classes are this
action-packed. Actually, that is not so. Most
dance classes are fun, full of laughter, short on drama.
The Dance Class from Hell was a major exception. Drawing on
my
40 years of experience
in the dance business, let me compare what is
considered Normal
to what is Abnormal.
First, I had no
business going to that class in the first place.
Under
Normal circumstances, people who know they lack
an
aptitude for dance do not typically take dance
classes. Knowing the odds are against
them, unless there
is a compelling reason to learn to dance, they
usually stick to things they are
good at.
Second, I
should have quit during that dance class.
Most people who suspect that dancing is not in
their skill set choose to avoid dance lessons.
However, there are a few people like me who take
a dance class even
though they suspect they are not very good at
it. Typically a friend or loved one such
as a wife, boyfriend, brother, etc, has
encouraged them to at least give it a try.
Some people discover
they are better at dancing than they
previously
imagined. They stick with it and go on to
develop a new hobby. However,
more often the news is not quite so wonderful.
When new students experience great difficulty in
their first dance class, if they came alone, they
usually leave when no one is looking. If by chance
they stick it out till the end of class, they rarely come back
for the second class.
Putting things into
perspective, yes, dancing is fun, but it is
still just
a hobby. No big deal. If things go wrong, it is hardly worth the stress. If
the first dance class is too frustrating, a
sensible person
typically decides this is going to require a lot
more work than it is worth, so why bother? Under
Normal circumstances,
they quit and find something easier to do.
Third, an Ordinary
Dance Class does not consist of seven extremely wealthy
women.
There are two kinds
of dance classes. Private lessons and Group
lessons. If these women wanted privacy, all they
had to do was pay David for a private lesson. Hey,
they could afford it! Here again, what are the
odds? During my 40 year dance career, I never saw
a single incident even remotely as absurd as seven high
and mighty women bent out of shape quite like they were.
Fourth, a Dance
Class should not become a Life Crisis.
As I write,
I have taught dance for 40 years. I do not
recall a single student who ever said
their first dance class was a
life-defining moment. Sure, lots of people
have to overcome jitters and cold feet to show
up, but no one has ever described their first
dance class
as a Twilight Zone experience or a Karmic Test of
Fire. Only me.
In an Ordinary
World, taking a dance class should carry no more impact
than a ho-hum gardening class or basket weaving. In an Ordinary World, one does
not have ten gay men stare daggers as if they are
from another planet. In an Ordinary World,
one would not expect to be confronted with seven scornful
women straight out of one's tormented
past. In an Ordinary World, one does not look in the mirror and realize he
resembles a mass murderer. In an Ordinary
World, one does not contemplate hari-kari over a
poor performance on Step-Ball-Change. In an Ordinary World, one does not get
rudely propositioned at the
end of class. In an
Ordinary World, a man does not sit in 100
degree
heat for nearly an hour because he is too shaken to
leave.
In other
words, most people would have left in the middle of class.
And if they did stay till the end, they would never return.
Why did I
stay? The River Oaks Seven.
And why did I
return? The Leap of Faith.
To be
perfectly honest, I probably would not have returned
to the dance class the following week. I was
angry at Disco Dave and I despised those women. Why
should I subject myself to further ridicule?
Besides, given how badly things turned out,
obviously I had misinterpreted God's Will.
This whole 'Omen' stuff was clearly the
misguided thinking of my mental illness.
I painfully compared myself to people who sell their home and
sit on the mountain top to face the end of
the world. Good grief, I am just as
delusional as them. Feeling foolish, I
decided Phobia was right. This dance idea
was stupid beyond belief. I must have been out
of my mind to do this.
But
then something very weird happened. The key
moment took place when I heard a whisper on my way
home... "Go get a mirror!"
By chance, a hardware store just happened to be
right across the street. Startled, I did what
the Voice suggested. As I stood in line to pay
for the decorative tiles, I instantly recognized the
wisdom involved. If I could practice, then I
would have a fighting chance to redeem myself the
following week. Sure enough, the improvement
was immediate. Now that I was not quite so
nervous anymore, the footwork that had given me so much
trouble was starting to click. Practicing
every night for seven days, I could feel a sense of
confidence pour into me. Yes, I had a
long way to go, but for the first time I felt HOPE.
I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that if I stayed
with this Dance Project, eventually I would get the
hang of it. That's all I needed to know.
I vowed to return.
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I was able to meditate on my problems as I practiced.
More than anything else,
I became obsessed with the
River Oaks Seven.
Why were those women there?
As far as I
was concerned, seeing those seven socialites in my first dance class was
even Weirder than being seduced by a drag queen or propositioned by a
horny gay dance instructor. Although I knew some of the reason why
those women bothered me so much, there was something I could not put my
finger on. Fortunately, the Magic Mirror helped. As I
practiced to music, staring into that mirror induced a trance state of
sorts. It took a while, but one night the answer came to me.
My Intuition
suggested I had been placed
in this situation specifically to face my demons.
Although
my Rejection Phobia is the villain of my saga, Fear is
not necessarily a bad thing. Fear protects us from
danger. We all understand that. However, in my
case, my Fear had become over-protective to the point of
inhibiting normal behavior. If a Fear becomes too
severe, it often refuses
to leave of its own accord. Once Fear enters your
mind, it does not leave
willingly, especially if it is allowed to hang around too
long.
Fear must be conquered. For example, I once had a car
accident on the freeway. A giant truck came speeding
by on my left at 75 mph. Since I am blind in my left
eye, I had no idea the massive vehicle was there. The
truck came so close that its right side mirror clipped my
left side mirror and broke it loose. I was not hurt,
but I was terrified by the close call. For a month I
was too nervous to get back on the freeway.
One day I was so late to an important job interview, I
decided I had no choice but take the freeway. I was
very scared! However, by the time I arrived, the
problem was gone.
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On the other hand, I know a woman who refuses to get on the
freeway. I do not know why, but this has turned into a
lifelong condition. That is the problem with
irrational fears. If you let them sink in too deep,
you will have a devil of a time getting rid of it.
Everyone knows when you get thrown by a horse, you must get
right back in the saddle. The longer you wait, the
harder it will be. The only way to conquer the fear of
flying is to get on the airplane and fly. Easier said
than done. One day the plane goes through a dangerous
storm and plummets several thousand feet before it rights
itself. It is nearly impossible to get on the next
plane after that, but don't let Fear get settled in your
mind. Once fear takes hold,
it is nearly impossible to get rid of.
My Rejection Phobia first took hold following
the acne attack in high school. At the time I had a crush on
three different girls, all of whom had smiled at me.
After the acne attack, they never looked again. Who
could blame them? I was so hideous that I
gave up all hope. When the acne went away a year
later, it was replaced by deep facial scars. Deciding
the St. John's girls were too big a challenge to pursue
given my disfigurement and well-known low social status, I never had a
single date in high school. I preferred to start anew
in college. Three painful rejections in a row shut
me down for the remainder of college. Then came Vanessa's treachery
at Colorado State.
After Vanessa left town, my graduate school friend Jason was aghast to
discover my Fear of Rejection was
ten years old.
Convinced this problem had a near-fatal stranglehold on my
confidence, Jason persuaded me
to initiate a Dating Project. During the next three
months, I managed to engage 50 girls in conversation.
I even dated a few. Not once did I click with a single woman. Poor Jason was so perplexed. He
could not figure out what I was doing wrong. That is
because I did not tell him the truth. If I saw a girl
who reminded me of the best and beautiful St. John's girls,
I stayed as far away as possible. I preferred to talk
with girls who were safe, less threatening. Nothing
ventured, nothing gained. Unfortunately, these women
could sense something was wrong with me. They were not
mean about it, but they turned their backs nonetheless. Every time I
struck out,
my fear of rejection just kept getting worse.
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Sad to say, by
the time I returned to Houston, my confidence was at the
breaking point. Just my luck, I met Yolanda, the sexy
Hispanic girl who more or less demanded I ask her out. Little did I
know Yolanda had honed the Art of Rejection to perfection.
That did it. Given my condition, I could not have
possibly asked out someone worse than her. I snapped and went into a serious
tailspin. Once Yolanda elevated my Rejection Phobia to
crisis level, I shut down completely. No more women
for a while!
I was in serious trouble. Back when
this same thing happened in high school, I gave up for four
years. Back when this same thing happened in
college, I gave up for four years. If I gave up now,
who knows how long it would take to bounce back this time.
Maybe never! How would I ever cure this Phobia if I
could not make myself try again? At the moment, only
one door presented itself. Dance lessons.
Here is my
point. So far, in TEN YEARS nothing I had tried to conquer my fear
had worked. That is because I avoided doing the exact
thing that would cure my problem... I refused to approach any
woman who excited me. I could not make myself so it.
It was easier to feel sorry for myself and avoid the
anxiety by hiding in my apartment. Lamenting my sad
state on a nightly basis, I was
reminded of something my therapist had told me (after my
problems with Vanessa and Fujimoto in graduate school, I had gone into
therapy). One day I asked Dr. Hilton
how to cure a deep-seated fear. Dr. Hilton's words echoed in my
mind... "It is very difficult to conquer fear. Most people find it easier just
to avoid the problem and work around it." Truer words
were never spoken. Except that I was going insane with
loneliness! Unable to leave my apartment and search
for some way to meet girls, a drag queen of all
people suggested I try dance lessons.
This would be the longest of long shots,
but I had to do something. Dance lessons
seemed like the only choice at
the time.
So who did I
meet? The River Oaks Seven. There were a lot of things
that went wrong during my Dance Class from Hell, but nothing upset me
more than the presence of the seven socialites.
What were these High Society women doing in here? To me, it was like someone had put
them in this class specifically to irritate every nerve ending in my
body. I felt so inferior with them around. Here we go again with
the St. John's Caste System. They were the Brahmins and I
was the unwashed lowlife. The women made no attempt whatsoever to
disguise their contempt. Indeed,
several of those River Oaks women openly
grinned and
laughed at my dancing. During the hour we spent together,
those women managed to
awaken every demon in my troubled mind.
So the question is, why did those
women hold so much power over me?
Their beauty and wealth reminded me of the unattainable St.
John's girls who had been so far out of my league in high
school. That instantly triggered my feelings of
inferiority and
all my demons came out to haunt me anew. When the River Oaks
women grinned at my clumsy dancing and exchanged their snide
sideways glances, their rudeness made me
just as angry as I had been at Connie Kill Shot. Sick
to my stomach, I wanted to run out of
that room in the worst way.
However, there was one big difference
between the River Oaks Seven and Connie Kill Shot. With Connie, I
had the sense to leave, but with the River Oaks Seven I
remained and suffered mightily for my foolishness not to
leave when I had the chance. Can you guess why I did
not leave? I stayed because my problems at St. John's
had revived a long-lost desire to prove I was their equal.
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If it had been seven random women
who meant nothing to me, I would have left. But I
could not run away from these River Oaks women! In my mind,
the River Oaks Seven were substitute versions of the St.
John's mothers who had
insinuated over the years I did not belong at my school,
that I was not worthy of being
in their presence. Because the River Oaks Seven symbolized
all those years of
feeling inferior at St. John's, I contend they were the only women on earth who
could make me grow a spine and decide to stick around. To turn tail and run
before the scorn of these haughty women would let them know
I thought they were
superior to me. That was the hook that kept me from fleeing.
At the time, I assumed their malignant presence was just an
accident. However, then the Magic Mirror
appeared. Due to my increasing
conviction that Fate was orchestrating these recent events,
I began to interpret the River Oaks women from a
Mystical point of view. They say life is for learning.
When I viewed these women from a different perspective, it
felt like someone had forced me to face them for my own good!
That was a stunning thought.
Was it possible
those nasty women had been sent to help me?
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MIRROR MIRROR ON THE WALL
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As I practiced my dance steps in the Magic Mirror I recalled Dr. Hilton's 'Tie them to a
Tree' speech during a therapy session.
"Dr. Hilton,
given that most people will do anything to avoid facing their fears, how
would you cure them?"
"That,
my young friend, is a very tough question. A
Phobia is so severe that extreme measures are called
for.
If I
had my way, I would confiscate their free will and
tie them to a tree. I would do it for their own
good whether they liked it or not. If I could
tie my patients to a tree and force them to confront
their fears against their will, I think I could cure
a lot of people.
Free Will is the curse of
Mankind. Free Will is the main reason no one
ever gets any better. Progress is slow because
it is just too easy to avoid one's fears.
Since I cannot force a patient to take a risk for
their own good, I am forced to sit here and try to
persuade them to be brave. Unfortunately, if
the fear is too great, persuasion doesn't work very
well. When confronted by a fear that can
be avoided without much effort, it is human nature
to take the easy way out."
I winced
at those words. "I think you're right, Dr.
Hilton. That's
more or less what I do, I avoid the women who make me
nervous. How would you cure my fear of
rejection if you had total control?"
"That's
easy, Rick. If you wanted to be cured fast and gave me
permission, I would tie you to a tree and have one pretty girl after
another walk past you. I would tell them to yell "Scarface,
Pimple face, Clearasil Kid!" at you, then laugh in a
scornful, bitchy way. I would tell them to throw dirt at you,
cuss at you, make fun of you, maybe even spit into the ground at your feet.
I
would send women across your path to taunt you and call you
"Creepy Loser Kid"
for good measure. I would make sure that only the
best looking women participate and make them promise to
treat you with extreme
cruelty and contempt."
I gasped and
covered my mouth in shock. "Oh my God, Dr.
Hilton, I
would die if you did that to me!"
"No, actually you wouldn't. You would be in extreme
psychological pain for
a while, but you would eventually desensitize yourself to the
insults and get over it. No doubt
you would scream bloody murder for a while, but sooner or later you
would see that pretty girls who laugh at you and reject you are not worth
so much morbid preoccupation."
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Through the gift of Hindsight, I would like to share a
deeply personal story related to Curses, Free Will, and Tie
Me to a Tree. Given my endless tales of woe, it is
probably difficult to believe the day would come when women
started to like me. Yes, it is true. I even have
a picture or two to prove it. The point of this next
story is to demonstrate I am not the only person ever forced
to deal with obstacles in their life.
I
had a girlfriend at the dance studio named Nadia.
Beautiful girl. She had it all, education, a great
job, intelligence, outgoing nature, and exceptional dance
ability. In short, she fit my life like a glove.
Nadia was so superior I wanted to marry her.
Only one problem. Nadia was dealing with demons.
Nadia had met and married a man named Levi in college.
He was a former Olympic athlete. By coincidence, I
knew Levi. I had met him once during a night of pickup
basketball at the Jewish Community Center. In addition
to considerable athletic ability, Levi resembled a Greek
God. After Levi got his degree, he worked as a
physical education instructor at the University of Texas.
That is where he met Nadia. Soon after their marriage,
Nadia discovered the hard way that Levi brought girls he met
in Phys Ed back to their home for sex while she was at
class. We are not talking about a fling or two, we are
talking about women by the dozens. Furious and deeply
hurt, Nadia divorced the man.
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I
met Nadia in dance class while she was still on the rebound.
We quickly got serious, but then Nadia got cold feet.
She was very unhappy about my popularity because it reminded
her too much of the stunts Levi had pulled. It all
boiled down to trust. No matter how hard Nadia tried,
she could not bring herself to trust me. On my word, I
never did anything to violate her trust, but it didn't
matter. Once Nadia saw that I had the same easy access
to countless women as her cheating ex-husband, she assumed
it was just a matter of time before she got betrayed again.
Nothing I could say had the power to overcome her fears, so
Nadia hit the exit door. In a sense, Nadia had been
tied to a tree. Nadia saw in me the frightening
potential for a likely replay of Levi's betrayal.
Unfortunately, rather than stay and fight her fears, she
found it easier to hit the road and avoid the problem with
someone less threatening.
My point in telling this story is to offer a comparison.
I believe it is our Fate to have obstacles placed in our
path whether we like it or not. Some say this violates
our Free Will, but I think otherwise. Either our Soul
chooses these obstacles before birth or God chooses these
obstacles for us. Look at it this way. Your
father tells you improve your grades or expect to be
grounded. Is this a violation of your Free Will?
I say we all face obstacles and we have the Free Will to
react to those obstacles as we choose. Some choose to
overcome their obstacles, others choose to avoid them.
In Nadia's case, she decided to walk away. And you
want to know something? I was no different than Nadia.
I wanted to walk away from the Dance Class in Hell. So
what stopped me? The Magic Mirror.
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MIRROR MIRROR ON THE WALL
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In the case of the Dance Class from Hell, Dr. Hilton's words felt
eerily prophetic.
I had been lured into that room more or less against my
will. Forced to endure the contempt of the River Oaks Seven,
their
rough treatment was akin to tying me to a
tree. Dr. Hilton's
words echoed in my mind... "Most people find it easier just
to avoid the problem and work around it."
I thought about my friend Caroline who was so scared of
drowning she would not risk getting into the shallow
end of the family swimming pool. I wondered how Caroline would react if I
threw her into the
shallow end against her will. No doubt
Caroline would scream bloody murder. But she would also see
first-hand that a five foot
woman can survive in water that is three feet deep. Now the same
thing had happened to me. Someone had thrown
me into the swimming pool against my Will!
I was sure of it. And I had a funny feeling I knew who
was responsible.
Thanks to my
revelation, I was willing to face the River Oaks women again.
In fact, I began to relish the challenge. Someone had
done me a huge favor by placing those scornful women before
me.
So I asked the question...
Who set me up? Who tied me to a tree? Who threw me in the swimming pool against my
will? I had never been an overly-religious person. I never went to church and never prayed.
But I definitely believed in God. In
fact, I still felt guilty for yelling at God during the Parking Lot
Inferno. I cringed at the memory of cursing God for what seemed like my neverending cycle of
bad luck. Now that I realized this shock therapy had been exactly what I needed, I owed God an apology. Interpreting the Magic Mirror as
Divine
Intervention, I began to see this dance class in a new light.
In Hindsight, I can attest the overall effect
of the Dance Class from Hell was fairly miraculous. It would
take several years, but road back to health started that
day. For the first time in ages, I
was willing to stand my ground and show some fight. Yes, those women
had intimidated me badly, but I had lived to fight another
day. If I could learn to Dance, maybe
I could cast off this Rejection Phobia in the process. This dance
class was a weird way to
slay my demons, but just maybe it would work. Sure enough, in classic Silver Lining
fashion, the River Oaks Seven turned out to be a blessing.
My Phobia would never have the same amount of power
over me again. The Phobia was still there, but reduced in
strength by 50%. I was still scared of
approaching attractive women, but at least now I could make
myself do it. Well, maybe not just yet, but soon.
I could see it happening, so I took that as a huge step forward.
Let's try to improve my dancing first.
From this experience, I developed the theory that God
deliberately throws obstacles at us. If everything was
easy, where would be the incentive to grow? I thought
of Nietzsche. "That
which doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
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 |
The importance of the Magic Mirror cannot be overlooked.
I had not been in my right mind ever since my return to
Houston following my disastrous year at Colorado State.
Indeed, I never left Couch Catatonia during my June stay at the Clark's
unless I was forced to. Nor was I close to mental health since moving
into my apartment in July.
I was barely able to hold a job and I would typically spend
every night wallowing in
self-pity. I had all the classic symptoms of a nervous
breakdown: sleeplessness, inability to concentrate, intense
loneliness, constant anxiety, a feeling of helplessness, a sense of
impending
doom.
In short, I was a giant mess saddled with a seemingly
unshakeable and quite debilitating fear of approaching an
attractive woman. That changed the
moment I began to practice nightly in the Magic Mirror.
The thought of one day visiting a dance club and asking a
pretty girl to dance was ever-present in my mind. The
Magic Mirror was so effective at cheering me up that I began
to see my Dance Project as a mystical journey.
There would be further events to bolster this
belief. In particular, the presence of the River Oaks Seven was the number one factor in
convincing me that my First Dance Class had been a
Supernatural Event. I no longer viewed this as an
Ordinary dance class, but rather as something to do with
Destiny.
There was no doubt in my mind. As crazy as
it sounds, a seemingly inconsequential beginner-level Dance
Class had turned into the answer to my prayers because it
gave me the chance to heal my mental illness.
It was very strange how the search for answers to my Phobia
had led to this bizarre showdown. Now that I was here,
something told me if I wanted my life to get back on track,
the smart choice was to continue with this dance class.
|
The Dance Class from Hell was a Test. Something very special
had just taken place. If so, then what was
the point of this ordeal? Why had the
cards been stacked against me? Surely there
was a purpose, but what? Given my mediocre dance ability, did I really
want to pursue this project?
Trust me, I knew the road ahead would be difficult.
The Universe had delivered a gut punch to see whether I could take it or not. I won't say I aced
my test, but I did manage to get off the ground and choose to try again. That
led to an interesting thought. If this Trial by Fire was
truly an act of
Fate, then Dancing must be important for
some reason. If the importance
was so great that I had been forced to undergo this ordeal, then I
vowed to take 'Dance'
seriously. Perhaps that was the
reason for my Karmic Test. The extraordinary
difficulty managed to awaken
my slumbering sense of Destiny. My ordeal made
such a deep impression on me, I vowed to continue dance lessons through thick and thin.
Even though I
was a terrible dancer, if this is what God wants me
to do, then I promised myself... and God...
that I would stick with it to the point of excellence.
That vow became my Leap of Faith.
I would stick to this promise as long as it took to become a
good dancer and see where it led me.
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