Last week, the Dennehy School of Irish Dance held its annual recital at Gaelic Park in Midlothian. While our dancers perform year round at shows of every sort (weddings, fish fries, retirement parties, etc.) our recital is a true celebration of every dancer in the school – beginner to champion.  I was helping to get dancers organized just before the show began when the owner of our school announced that it was time for the beginners to practice their number.  Intending to help corral our tiniest of dancers, I walked over to a group of little girls who were clustered together, giggling and talking about little girl things.  I leaned over to two of them, and said, “Girls, you need to go over by Maggie.  It’s time for the beginners to practice their dance.”  A tiny brunette looked up at me with enormous Precious Moments eyes, opened her perfect Cupie doll mouth and said “We’re not beginners.  We’re Irish dancers.”  Her friend looked at me like I was nuts, and confirmed, “Yeah, we’re Irish dancers.”  I laughed out loud, and said: “well that’s perfect because we need all the Irish dancers over here to practice.”  I took their hands, led them over to their practice area, and then proceeded to tell that endearing story to several people throughout the course of the night.

Shortly after the recital, I had the chance to teach those same two little Irish dancers.  I don’t normally teach beginner classes, but I was filling in for another teacher, and as I sat down to help those two little girls tie their shoes, I realized they had some lessons to teach me about talking to strangers.  They scrambled up onto the chairs next to me, looked earnestly into my eyes, told me their names and how old they were (both four, “but I’ll be five soon,” shared the one with the wispy blonde hair).   Just like that, they jumped down to show me how fast they could run, how they could close their eyes and walk backward, and how well they knew their Irish jig.  The blonde asked if she could start the music because that’s “her thing,” and then on her way out she asked if they could get a treat because they always get one when “they do a good job.”

From that moment at the recital, I was charmed by those two little girls, and I’ve been thinking lately about why – and what I can learn from them.  First, I think that what can easily be dismissed as an amusing example of the exceedingly literal nature of small children (“We’re not beginners.  We’re Irish dancers.”) actually holds a profound truth.  In calling them “beginners,” I labeled those two little girls in a way that was unfamiliar to them, and quite possibly incongruent with how they saw themselves.  They’re four, and this was a seemingly innocuous and even adorable exchange, but I’ve been thinking about how the substance of the situation applies to my life.

As humans we are labeled by others, we label one another, and we label ourselves.  Over time, we internalize those categorizations, and they become part of the fiber of our beings – subliminally affecting how we act and interact in our daily lives.  This is hardly groundbreaking news, but it is something so embedded in our psychological makeup and social existence that we rarely shine a light on it.  We rarely consider that we have the right, the privilege, or even the obligation to oppose labels that don’t fit who we are or who we are becoming – whether those labels come from an outside source or are self-imposed.  We can stand our ground as firmly as those pint-sized dancers, and say calmly, succinctly, and with total self-assuredness, “I’m not this.  I’m that.”

Ok, so what does all this have to do with my current path? Quite a bit.  So often we are held back from talking to others, from trying something new, or from even just smiling at a person on the street out of fear of how we will be labeled, or because of an erroneous and limiting label we have placed upon ourselves.  “I can’t take that painting class, I have no artistic talent,” “I can’t just go up and talk to those people, I’m shy,” or “I can’t say hello to him, what if he thinks I’m ________.”  Those two little girls didn’t care that I was an adult, a dance teacher, and to them – a relative stranger.  They didn’t worry about what I would think of them, or consider for even a second that I wasn’t completely wrong in how I had labeled them.  Instead, they looked me in the eye, stood their ground, and acted “as if” they were Irish dancers because of course they are Irish dancers.

What if, every day, we made the conscious effort to defy the labels that hold us back? What if, instead of saying that we can’t do “a” because we are “b,” we flipped the script and worked to change the way we talk about ourselves and others?  What if we all acted swiftly and assuredly with the poise and confidence of a four-year-old who is 100% sure that she is right about who she is, what she wants, and what she is capable of?

I’ve been spending a decent amount of time interrogating the underlying labels that hold me back, and also a decent amount of time acting like a four-year-old.  As I’ve shared on this blog- I’ve been smiling, looking new people in the eye, and asking for what I want.  Like a child, I’ve been attempting to act without worry or pretense – responding to each moment as it comes, taking risks as they present themselves.  I understand, of course, that this is a limited metaphor.  We can’t all go around truly acting infantile, or things will turn Lord of the Flies pretty rapidly.  I do, however, firmly believe that children have a whole lot to teach us about how we can better live our lives and connect with one another.  I have two little Irish dancers to thank for my most recent reminder.

Until next time….

Kath