Cameron Silvergate's Dance Class Experience
“Prepare a three-minute self-choreographed dance to the song of your choice. You will perform your dance in front of the class on the first day of finals week. Best of luck.” This was the final exam prompt for my Social Dance class. Weeks of practice culminated in a moment of nervous anticipation, my partner and I poised, not with calmness, but with a childlike readiness, like kids on Christmas Eve. After a few classmates showcased a lively shag, our names were called. Our song: Michael Bublé’s “Sway.” Our dance: a tango cha-cha fusion, a far cry from my ancestral Russian Horas or Irish jigs, yet infused with the Miami vibrancy of my upbringing, and perhaps a little Bublé-intoxicated confidence. My Colombian partner’s fiery spirit certainly amplified this confidence, though that’s beside the point. As the music began, a hardwood expanse separated us, punctuated by the expectant gazes of our classmates. We moved towards each other, slow, slow, quick-quick, slow, meeting in the center as Bublé crooned,
Other dancers may be on the floor
Dear, but my eyes will see only you
Only you have that magic technique
When we sway I go weak
Our turns were sharp, our promenades fluid, our swivels smooth. The dance built to a crescendo, timed with our grand finale: a slight split from me and an aerial flourish from my partner. Bublé’s voice soared, my partner leaped, and I descended until… rip. The sound echoed – my khaki trousers split from seam to seam, revealing a vast expanse of red plaid underwear. The room gasped, the energy deflated, my professor averted his eyes, and my college experience flashed before me.
The Choreographed Life vs. The Messy Dance
In that instant, I was transported back to the start of my college journey, the long drives from Miami to Winston-Salem. I arrived at Wake Forest with a meticulously planned vision. Confidence radiated from me; I was ready to conquer. No challenge seemed too daunting, no obstacle insurmountable. I felt like potential personified, eager to bloom. Somewhere between Georgia and South Carolina, my parents broke the silence of the car radio. They wanted to dedicate songs to me, a soundtrack for spreading my wings. Eighteen and eye-rolling, I reluctantly agreed. My father chose Coldplay’s “Fix You.” My mother selected “I Hope You Dance” by Lee Ann Womack. I was, to put it mildly, unimpressed.
All I heard in “I Hope You Dance” were lyrics like:
When the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can’t replace
Or
Don’t let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter,
When you come close to sellin’ out reconsider
Like many young adults on the cusp of independence, I wasn’t seeking songs about vulnerability. I craved strength, not humility. I didn’t want “Fix You”; I wanted William Henley’s “Invictus”: “I am the master of my fate, / I am the captain of my soul.” From day one, I aimed to choreograph my Wake Forest experience with precision. I envisioned the trendiest wardrobe, the most impressive resume, the most exotic study abroad destination. But as I set sail toward this imagined paradise, I encountered stormy seas. My ship sprung leaks – many leaks. Dating was a disaster. Fraternities weren’t interested. Even the archery team rejected me. And when I managed to patch the holes, the winds died down, and thick fog rolled in.
Unscripted Moments: Finding the Dance in the Fog
Perhaps the densest fog was the resurgence of my friend’s childhood Tourette’s Syndrome during a long-awaited dinner party. To cope, we drove, navigating his episode together. We screamed, we cried, we cursed, and then we laughed – that cathartic laughter born from battling an invisible foe, finding solace and joy in a friend’s presence in the trenches. Or maybe the thickest fog was the unexpected death of my grandfather. Heading home for spring break, excited for my birthday, I instead spent my 21st at his funeral. We wept, we prayed, we remembered, and then we laughed – the laughter that honors the sweetest parts of a life, however fleeting.
These moments were not in my script. But in retrospect, I wouldn’t trade them. They introduced me to life’s messy, unchoreographed dance. We are tempted to believe we can meticulously plan each step to success, that we are the masters of our destiny. But my college years taught me that life is brimming with the unexpected – sucker punches, detours, failures, and fumbles. Striving and achieving aren’t negative; they’re vital to a fulfilling life. But our response to stumbles is paramount. Character and grace are forged in the crucible of adversity, where joy and sorrow intertwine.
Making Stumbles Part of the Dance
So, when your best efforts fall short, when rejection stings, when coffee spills, when a cold lingers, when the honeymoon ends, when you miss the bus, even when your pants rip… make it part of the dance. Returning to DCE 124, as my classmates gasped and my professor recoiled, I… we… laughed. We chuckled, we grinned. Through tears of mirth, I grabbed my partner’s hand, and we embraced the final bars of music. We turned, swiveled, and chasséd. We danced on.
Like a flower bending in the breeze
Bend with me, sway with ease
When we dance you have a way with me
Stay with me, sway with me…
So, my fellow graduates, and the entire Wake Forest community, I hope you dance.
