Two Left Feet and a Flash Mob
What we carry forward in life is often not what we planned to learn.
What we carry forward in life is often not what we planned to learn. It is what we discover while trying something we never thought we would do.
Five years ago I never imagined I would be dancing, let alone performing in a public performance. Yet in October, I found myself among thirty-two dancers of all skill levels performing a choreographed foxtrot and swing flash mob at the Mall of America.
I started simply as someone with two left feet.
Learning to dance was a struggle. I carried the familiar weight of hesitation—fear of looking awkward, of missing the beat, of not belonging on the dance floor. One of my inspirations was a quote by Ted Hughes: The only calibration that counts is how much heart people invest, how much they ignore their fears of being hurt or caught out or humiliated. And the only thing people regret is that they didn’t live boldly enough, that they didn’t invest enough heart, didn’t love enough. Nothing else really counts at all.
I dreamed of letting go of that self-consciousness, of getting lost in the moment with my partner, our footsteps blending into something effortless and alive… until I stepped on her foot.
“Ouch… sorry… I think I need more dance lessons.”
That moment—and many like it—became part of the learning.
The journey from non-dancer to public performer required pushing myself far outside my comfort zone. There were lessons, repetition, frustration, and gradual improvement that only comes from showing up again and again.
Along the way, I met others on the same path. New friends from dance lessons and social dances helped me practice. With them, finding a flash mob partner became easy. What began as individual learning slowly became shared experience.
The flash mob itself required months of practice for just 2 minutes and 39 seconds of glory on the dance floor. Yet the real value was never in the performance. It was in the process—being present in the repetition, the learning, and the uncertainty.
As I became more involved, I began helping others: recruiting dancers, pairing partners, coaching steps, holding extra practice sessions in my condo yoga studio, and helping refine choreography. In dancing as in life, it is in giving that we often receive the most.
There were also many memorable moments. Moving kitchen furniture to practice while ducking a chandelier. Meeting a Nickelodeon character at the Mall of America who ended up joining the flash mob. Measuring the rotunda space days before the event while mall security arrived with questions.
Finally, on October 7th, we performed the flash mob as the opening number for a showcase of 25 performances promoting National Ballroom Week.
It was a fun and rewarding experience, but more than that, it became a reminder: growth rarely arrives as a finished product. It is built in repetition, awkwardness, laughter, and persistence.
So keep on dancing. Enjoy the journey. It is not about what you perform, or how perfectly you perform it, but who you share the moment with—and what you carry forward from it.
In the end, what we carry forward are the quiet transformations: the courage to begin, the willingness to look foolish while learning, the friendships formed in practice, and the realization that life itself is shaped in these shared moments.
I hope you continue to share the gift of the song in your heart as you dance to the rhythm of your life.
— D. Arthur Tsang