All part of the dance.

Our toddler, now 3, LOVES to dance. Much of her dancing consists of impromptu, brief interludes around the house, but every couple of days she expects us to sit down on the sofa while she takes to her “stage” (really just the archway between the dining room and living room). We put on some music and she treats us to a performance, often complete with costumes and props.

Of course, because she has just turned 3, she is also prone to being what we affectionately call “stumbly.” When not dancing, she runs everywhere she goes. Several times a day we hear loud thumps as she faceplants en route to her next destination. So, when she is putting on her dance performances, she is very likely to fall down during the routine. Many, many times. 

What’s remarkable about this is that every time she falls, she gets up quick, recovers her composure, and says cheerfully: “That was part of my dance.” Then returns to dancing unphased. Sometimes she even repeats the blunder a few times to make sure that we, her audience, truly believe that the whole thing was planned all along.

I love this more than words can say.

Because I have an older daughter too, moving into her tween years, I know how easily the experiences of daily life can erode this confidence and resilience as girls get older. Doubt and worry creep in, self-esteem wavers, and soon the dancer (or the writer, or the artist, or the singer, or the soccer player) starts to close in on herself. To curb her own innate, glorious, unabashed creative spirit. To see each stumble as a symbol of inadequacy. To begin to think that when she falls, she fails.

Oh, my dear little dancers.

I hope that my little one her resilient nature. I want her to always spring up, ready to dance again. Yet, I know as the dance gets harder and the audience grows to include people other than her loving parents, she will falter sometimes. I hope she can keep, tucked away in the corner of her heart, the spirit of “That was part of my dance,” a reserve that she can tap back into when she needs it later.

I hope, also, that as my tween grows she can find that part of herself again and use it to fuel her own fire. And heck… I want to remember and relive the days where I was an intrepid dancer. I myself need to remember that a fall is not a failure, that a stumble is not a stopping point. 

Maybe you do, too.