Chapter Seventeen: Paso adelante

Step forward. One. Two. Three. Four.

You can imagine my dance class as something like that. My instructor calling out the beats for the rest of us to follow along with the steps. This has now been my second class. Fun. Exciting. Memorable. However, this story looks at the "before" or the "behind scenes" of my attempt at a dance class in Spain.

Step forward.

My first class made me a nervous wreck before going. I had called ahead of time to check that the times were current and that there was room available. But after hanging up the phone, I realized my next task: presenting myself to the dance studio. What do I wear? Do I need certain shoes? Why did I not ask these questions before over the phone? Madre mia.

Step forward.

Eventually I pulled myself out the house for the class even with my doubts about it all. And the walk to the studio went a little like this in my head:
I'm going, I'm going, I'm going.
Why am I going?
Yes, yes, yes, I have to go.
But why again?
What an idiot I am.

Step forward.

These thoughts did not stop my legs from carrying me to the studio though. And upon arriving, I realized there were two entrances. One at the front. One at the back. Shoot. Which do I go into? Or do I turn back?

Step forward.

I walked around the building a few times contemplating it all. Do I go in? Do I turn around? Those who know me best know that when I am deep in thought, I tend to speak to myself. A trait that I am not real proud of. However, in the meantime of this all, I lost track of how many times I had walked around the building. And after awhile I was conscious of a man smoking a cigarette who was watching me curiously as I battled through my thoughts.

Step forward.

I knew I looked crazy. So there was only one choice to make. I walked in. But in the wrong entrance. Fortunately, the man at the counter directed me to go back to the other entrance. Unfortunately, the man smoking the cigarette was still outside. So pulling my scarf tighter around my face to cover my blushing cheeks, I suffered the humiliation of a few questioning eyes as I walked back to the other entrance.

Step forward.

So what if that man thought I was crazy. At least I came. I did not back down on my embarrassment. I know I could have. The opportunity was there to back away. To turn around. To step back.

Step forward.

I opened the door and since I arrived a few minutes late, I was greeted with several stares. However, amidst the music, I could hear the instructor's voice ringing out:
paso adelante, 1, 2, 3, 4...

That's when I knew I made the right choice. Come whatever would come after that, the salsa, the merengue, the cha-cha-cha, I stepped forward.

Chapter Sixteen: Where are you from?

Where are you from? It is an honest and yet simple question to ask someone. And since I am dark blond, pale, and have an accent, I tend to stick out sometimes in my small city. Thus, the reason why I get asked a lot where I am from.

Sometimes, though, people do not come straight out to ask me where I am from, they will merely guess at where I am from. So far I have had people ask me if I am from England. Which makes sense considering I am teaching English and England is geographically the closest country to Spain. So in a way I understand their train of thought.

However, other people have also asked me if I am from France, Norway, Germany, and even Portugal. Don't worry. I didn't understand that last one either. But I think my favorite that tops the cake was this weekend when someone thought I was from Russia.

Yes. Russia. Why? Allow me to retell the conversation from that night.

I was already out with some people that I had known before and also that I had just met. Towards the beginning of the night there was apparently a debate among the Spaniards as to where I was from. The majority knew and figured I was American. However, one person swore that I had to be Russian because of my facial characteristics.

Now, I have never considered my characteristics to be very Russian, but apparently they are for some people. And unfortunately I was not a part of the debate with the Spaniards so I have no clue how much persuasion they had to do in order to convince the last person. All I know is that towards the end of the night when I was talking about home in Wisconsin (USA not Russia), the conversation struck up again how I looked Russian.

And no, I am not Russian. The closest I get to Russian is Slovenian from my father's side. Which I did tell to that one solo believer. Which he responded with something like, "You see! At least I was right with her being part eastern European."

In a way, I am actually flattered by him thinking I were Russian. I do try hard to not appear like a tourist. I avoid the tennis shoes at all costs and have adapted into wearing boots. I also refused to bring my big heavy Columbia jacket and brought my pea coat instead and made a special purchase of a leather jacket. However, in the end, I am still me. Despite my purchases and attempts to "spanishize" myself. I am still American. Born and raised in Wisconsin. 100% There is no doubt about it. So whether or not people think I am European, I am still proud to answer the question as to where I am from.

I am from Wisconsin, USA.

Chapter Fifteen: Dear 2011

Dear 2011,
You were a full year. A good year. Student teaching, filling out job applications, working at summer camps, organizing visa requirements to Spain, finding a place to live to call home, and meeting people who now are good friends.

2011, what can I say? There were tears. There were smiles. But you taught how to take advantage of every moment; to see the good through the bad; to never doubt.

With these good lessons, we are now back to a new beginning. A new year. A year that is sure to be full of both tears and smiles. But a year to grow. A year to make choices and not second guess. And a year to not worry but to stand firm with what one wants.

And what one wants is at times hard to say. But when one isolates him or herself on a mountain top for three days, wishes are not exactly granted but create themselves into a plan of action so that they may eventually come true.

Montserrat, Spain showed this to me. Hiking along the rocky paths surrounding the Spanish monastery can be and was insightful. So early in the new year, just a week in, I know these next months will prove to be just as rewarding or maybe even more so than the months of 2011.

So 2011, it was fun and great when it was your turn. But now it is time to move aside and make room. A new year is here along with so many other new things yet to come.

Sincerely,

2012