Hop Hip

Somehow I let myself get talked into trying a hip hop class this Saturday. How somebody with two left feet will survive a hip hop class is beyond me, but in my old age I've lost a lot of inhibitions, so what the heck.

Years ago, I tried a step aerobics class. I was mortified, as I stared into the wall of mirrors in front of me, to see that as everybody else was traveling to the left, I was going right. Everybody else would step up, I'd step down. And so on. But forcing yourself to do things you suck at is good for the soul, I think, character building at the very least. And I like to think of myself as a character, so I'm not going to back down on the hip hop thing.

I do draw the line, however, at activities that are excessively humiliating or demoralizing. A friend recently gave me a book (a signed copy, no less) written by an attorney turned career counselor outlining how to land a great job in the legal field. The book targets people like me -- middle aged, woefully out of practice, pathologically insecure. I thought maybe it would offer up a magic formula, one that involves sitting alone in my sweats by the computer waiting for a fantastic job to fall in my crumb filled lap.

Unfortunately, that chapter seems to have been edited out. The book was all about positive mental attitude (shit) and persistence (oy, I was exhausted just reading it). Hip hop is within the realm of possibility. Pounding the pavement and looking confident while I turn blue in a suit that fit a lot better before I took to spending evenings on the couch with Ben and Jerry is not. I have my limits; like I said, I know where to draw the line.

On Saturday, I may "hip" while everyone else "hops," but I'll just laugh it off. My soul will thank me.