Don’t Get Caught Marching In Place

“The great tragedy in America is not the destruction of our natural resources, though that tragedy is great. The truly great tragedy is the destruction of our human resources by our failure to fully utilize our abilities, which means most men and women go to their graves with their music still in them.”

Oliver Wendell Holmes

I’ve Been Thinking . . . about that “music’ still in them” phrase.

I understand a little bit about this “music still in them” thing. For thirteen years my wife tried to talk me into taking ballroom dance lessons. For those same thirteen years I declined to go, believing that if we ever attended a dance, we could just watch how others were doing it and go out and duplicate it. Besides, I dislike taking lessons that reveal my ignorance, and in this case, my lack of rhythm and coordination.

Many years ago, I returned home from a speaking trip on a Thursday evening. Marty (my wife) met me at the door and without so much as a welcome home kiss, or “it’s good to have you back,” she made a dreaded announcement. “Guess what Glenn, starting next week Monday we’re going to take ten weeks of ballroom dance lessons.”

I immediately protested. “Yes, but...” (with those two words you know you’re in trouble). Marty passionately responded, “While you were gone, our friends got together and decided it would be fun to take the dance lessons as a group.” I learned later that our friends didn’t all get together to make this decision. The wives of all our friends decided to trick their husbands into taking lessons by using the same line. It worked. We all showed up the next Monday evening to begin our dancing instruction.

The instructor announced we would be learning four dance steps: jitterbug, waltz, fox-trot and polka (I do have a petition started to outlaw the polka. No one should be required to move their feet and body that fast. My mind can’t keep up). The first night our instructor taught us the fox-trot and waltz. I was relatively impressed with myself and my ability to move my feet to the beat of the music but I could think of a hundred other things I would rather be doing.

Twenty minutes before the first lesson ended, the instructor asked the entire class to get in a large circle. Men were asked to stand with their partner on the left. He then made a statement that made my jaw drop in fear. “Students,” he said, “If you really want to be a great dancer, you need to learn how to dance with people other than your spouse.” I had no desire to be that good. “We’re going to turn on the music,” he proceeded, “and I want the men to turn to the women on your right and begin dancing.” He had to be kidding, I thought. At this point, I don’t even enjoy dancing with my wife, let alone a stranger.

I turned to the lady on my right. She seemed like a nice enough person and I wanted to warn her that I had no idea how this was going to go. There wasn’t time. The music began and much to my relief, I recognized the beat as a fox-trot.

My partner had a different understanding of how the four beats went than I did. She ‘marched’ up and down, standing in place for four beats and then repeated the regimen. One...two...three...four. One...two...three...four. We marched in a three foot square replicating a two-person band marching in place. (You get the picture).

I was relieved and worn out when the music concluded and immediately looked for the comfort of my wife.

“Wait, wait,” the instructor broke in. “Let’s try another song with your same partner.” “You have got to be kidding,” I thought, but I smiled and grabbed my partner’s hands pretending to be excited about the opportunity to share another dance with her.

Although the beat of the music had changed, my partner’s obsession with marching carried over to the Waltz. This normally beautiful three step turned into her regimented one...two...three.... As we’re dancing in our little world, I watch my wife float around the dance floor with her partner. Her laughter as well as the laughter of my friends indicated they were well aware of my frustration. “Just wait,” I thought, “your day will come.”

For ten solid weeks, at least once every night I would turn to my left and there she was; the marcher. Dancing with her every week was just a repeat of the week before. We did move into a little bigger square but the marching continued.

Toward the end of our final lesson, the instructor asked us to get into our large circle. I made sure I was a good distance from my magnetic partner. Instead of asking to dance with a stranger, he made these comments: “Folks, some of you have not caught the beauty of ballroom dance.” I was secretly hoping his words were penetrating the marcher’s ears. She was a danger to other dancers. “Listen,” he continued. “I can teach you the steps but you have to feel the music.”

I thought about his final comments all the way home. This one statement was worth whatever we paid for the dance lessons. “I can teach you the steps but you have to feel the music.” Some people could take lessons for the rest of their lives but they’ll never improve. Why? Until you can feel the beat of the music, marching in place is about as good as it gets.

The same can be said of life. You can read all the books, attend inspirational seminars, and even seek out helpful advice or counseling. But until you feel a compelling internal desire to go beyond where you are, to get into the flow of living, your life will remain pretty much the way it is . . . marching in place.

You can dance or live for 20, 40, or 80 years, but unless you can feel the music, your life will consist of marching in place. Choose to live each day to the fullest. Choose to maximize your potential. Choose to make your life an adventure. Choose to live to the beat of life’s music.

“Life is what we make it, always has been, always will be.”

Grandma Moses