I started taking a tap class in September because I simply wanted to.

I’d been thinking about doing this for years, even before I moved back to Charlotte in 2023, but had trouble finding places that had programs for hobbyist adults.

I stumbled across this particular program by accident when I was registering for my free Tai Chi class in the park. Now that I’m living closer to the suburbs, I’ve made a habit of checking out the local parks & rec website for classes that interest me.

I was nervous to show up to that first session…I hadn’t taken a tap class since I was about 5 years old. But I reminded myself there was no pressure to be good. I was doing this for fun, because there was some sort of metaphysical pull to partake.

We meet mid-morning on a weekday, so most of my classmates are retirees and other folks like me with flexible schedules. Many of the women in my class have been doing this together for years, and are lightyears ahead of me in terms of skill (and rhythm, tbh—do not underestimate a 60-something white woman’s ability to boogie).

I took a 3-week hiatus in October due to travel and my first couple of iron infusions. In those three weeks I hadn’t practiced at all, and I was nervous to come back to class.

I continued to remind myself about the purpose of this class for me: It’s supposed to be fun. I did it because I wanted to, not because I had to. And, to my friends’ disappointment, there is no recital to prepare for; no end goal, no grades.

Tap requires a good bit of looseness in the legs and ankles. One of the first things I learned was to keep my knees bent at all times. Stiffness won’t take you far, neither will overthinking. My most successful practice sessions have been when I’m watching TV, because I don’t have the capacity to think about what my feet are doing; the repetition and rhythmic tapping sounds reassure my brain that we are safe, and are doing these bizarre movements on purpose.

Despite my lack of practice/attendance, last week my teacher told me I was improving—and I agree! Not that it really matters, but I’m definitely getting better. I think that’s partly because I stopped trying to get better and just kept going. The pressure to be good keeps me stiff.

Right now, as I write this, I’m supposed to be at tap class. But I’m not. I’m bleeding this week and my body needed to rest.

My knee-jerk reaction when I woke up this morning was to push through. I’d already missed three sessions and just started getting back into the swing of things. I started to feel guilty for even thinking about skipping, and then started to question why.

I wrote a post last year about being a quitter that y’all really seemed to resonate with:

Confessions of a Quitter - by Andrea Reeves

Give yourself permission to quit

I stand by what I wrote, but I do feel the need to add to it.

I feel like I would quit a lot less things if I just gave myself permission to pause, to be imperfect, to not push through. Sometimes the shame of being inconsistent makes me want to quit altogether.

I’ve missed four out of seven tap classes, so I should stop going completely.

I haven’t written in my dated planner in 3 months, so I should just throw it away.

I haven’t participated in this course/program the way I wanted to so I should just disengage entirely.

And that’s why my instinct is to push through, even when my body is telling me not to. Even when my intuition tells me I need to press pause for a bit. Even when I know there is always time to begin again.

Despite the discomfort of being inconsistent, I chose to listen to my body today. And despite the discomfort of being imperfect, I’m going to try to go back to class again next week—even if I don’t practice my steps.

I want to remind you that it’s okay to quit. And, pausing and quitting are two different things. You are allowed to show up imperfectly, or not show up at all. You are allowed to re-engage when the time feels right.

You don’t always have to push through.

Peace, love and step-ball-change,

Andrea