I am on the dance floor and doing the swing for the very first time. He is a pretty good dancer but so am I. Or so I think at that time. A few minutes into the dance and the boy whispers to me, “Stop leading.”
I am taken aback. I am completely unaware of what I am doing. I don’t even know there is such a thing in dancing. No wonder the dance is going nowhere. We are both leading as well as resisting each other—at the same time.
It is a defining moment in my life—I realize I lead even without knowing it. It’s only a dance but my dance moves, somehow, reveal something significant to me.
Leading is second nature to me. Following is an acquired activity. Without suggestion or direction, I gravitate towards leading rather than following.
I do not demur because he seems to know what he is doing.
I stop leading. I stop anticipating. I stop trying to guess where the next step is going. I begin to trust. I begin to follow. Before long, the dance flows seamlessly. He is an amazing dancer. He actually knows what he is doing.
So this is how it’s done, I tell myself afterwards. I am 15.
One leads, the other follows. If both try to lead at the same time, discord results. So this is what it’s like to go with the flow. The lessons I learn on the dance floor that night, however, are quickly forgotten in the years that follow.
Before long, I revert to my super alpha self.
I lead. Others happily follow. In school, I do the work. Others happily add their names on the cover page of the report. At work, I slave. Others happily coast. In life, I huff and puff and run the extra mile. Others happily take a walk in the park.
On a kayak for two, I do all the rowing.
Over the years, I learn to depend on no one. Because there is a dearth of dependable someones. I stop partner dancing altogether. I happily retreat to my cave for one. I realize I can dance alone all I want. And better. No coordination required. Collaboration is hard.
I am on the dance floor and doing the swing for the very first time—after 40 years. He is a pretty good dancer but so am I. Oh yes, even after 40 years. A few minutes into the dance, I hear the all too familiar whisper, “Stop leading.”
And then, almost abruptly, he stops. “Do you want to lead?” he asks. I am taken aback. “Actually, no,” I tell him.
It is a defining moment in my life—I realize I do not want to lead—at least, not all the time. It’s only a dance but my dance moves somehow reveal something significant to me.
I am drained. To follow rather than to lead would be a welcome respite. Now.
I am not sure where we are going. But I do not demur. I stop leading. I stop anticipating. I stop trying to guess where the next step is going. I decide to trust him. Before long, the dance flows seamlessly—just like it did 40 years ago.
And then I wake up.