It’s two in the morning, and I’m in Houston at Lindyfest, the swing dance event I’ve been working with for the last two months. I left Arkansas this afternoon around twelve-thirty, and it took nine hours to get here. On the way I listened to several lectures (on the internet as well as in my head), then music, music, music. For the last week I’ve had a song called “The Middle” in my earphones on repeat, so today was a lot of that. I don’t know, something about it makes me happy. Plus, something about being on the road with Tom Collins. It was a great drive.

If you’re new here, Tom Collins is my car. (Try to keep up.)

But going back to The Middle. One of the lectures I listened to was by Joseph Campbell and was about King Arthur, the Knights of the Round Table, and the Grail Legends. Since I was focused on driving, several of the details Campbell spoke about went in one ear and out the other, but what stuck was a story about one of the knights, Percival. Google says that the name Percival means “to pierce the valley,” but Campbell says it means, “through the middle.” To me, both interpretations are close enough to the same thing, but I’m going to stick with Campbell’s (mostly) from here on out.

Another lecture I listened to (by a different speaker) was about changing tribal beliefs. Tribal beliefs reside in your first chakra (at the base of your spine), are often related to safety or being “grounded,” and are inherited. Usually unconscious, they are the beliefs we have that were taught to us as children that we don’t question, things like “You have to work hard to get ahead in this world” or “People won’t accept me for who I really am.” And here’s where we get back to Campbell, Percival, and The Middle. The speaker said that we usually think of our beliefs as being in black and white. The world is either this way or that way. However, when we think of our beliefs in black and white, they are difficult to change. But the speaker said, “What if you just changed one of your beliefs by ten percent? What if you asked yourself, ‘Isn’t it reasonable to think that someone–anyone–could accept me for who I am?'”

Isn’t that reasonable?

Since I have a strong tendency to think in black and white, I love this suggestion about making slight changes in my beliefs because it introduces an element of gray. It sounds like a more gentle way of being. It invites me to walk down The Middle instead of staying on one side all the time. I don’t know, it sounds more–balanced.

Leading up to this dance event, I’ve had a thousand thoughts running around my head. I haven’t been to Lindyfest in five years, and you know how you imagine how things will go. If they say this, I’m going to say this. Of course, it never happens the way you think it will, but I still do it. Since I’m the marketing director for this year’s event, I’ve mostly imagined myself being “super friendly” with people–talking to as many folks as possible. How are you, where are you from, what do you like or dislike about the event? You know, excited, like a damn puppy. I’m just so happy to be here!

Never mind that even though I love talking to people, it can wear me out. I mean, in conversation there has to be a give and take, which obviously can’t happen with five hundred people at a dance event. (Dancers are weird and awkward–like most humans.) Maybe some people can talk to a wall, but I’m not one of them. Anyway, I quickly remembered that I’m simply not Guy Smiley. After getting checked into my room, I went to the ballroom and said hello to a few folks, but I immediately felt outside my comfort zone. I thought, I’m here all by myself. Where are my friends? What if I don’t make it into the upper-level classes?

Apparently I forgot to leave my insecurities back in Arkansas. Shit. I thought my suitcase felt a little heavy.

For a moment, I thought about completely withdrawing, spending the weekend in my room or “just watching.” But then I decided to Get a damn grip, Nancy. So instead of jumping right into dancing, instead of forcing myself to be social when I didn’t feel like it, I took myself to the bar and ordered a beer and something for dinner. Like, Let’s eat something first, Alice. (Gay guys sometimes call each other, or themselves, by girls’ names, Mom.) This ended up being the best thing. Not only did it give me a minute to get acclimated and meet the event on my terms, but also the food was great and I ended up chatting with both a bartender and the lady next to me (who was here for the dance).

When I finished eating, I went back to the ballroom. I found a friend, then found a couple more. I danced a few dances, but my lung capacity is seriously down lately. So I introduced myself to a few strangers (but not the whole room), then ended up in two really long, lovely conversations with people I knew, but didn’t know that well. And here’s what I’m proud about–I didn’t go all Walmart Greeter on everyone’s ass, but I also didn’t hide out in a corner all evening. I found The Middle. In the process, I got out of my comfort zone–enough–and also challenged some of my tribal beliefs, things like “I can’t strike up a conversation with someone I don’t know.”

Isn’t it reasonable to think that others feel insecure too, that it’s not just me? Isn’t it reasonable to think that someone would respond well to a friendly face, my friendly face?

My hope is that I’ll start hanging out in The Middle more often, challenging my limiting tribal beliefs a little at a time. With any luck, I too will be able to pierce the valley, where I imagine there is a lot more gray.