The first spin I ever learned on the pole is what the studio calls a butterfly. Your outside leg hooks the pole at the ankle, inside leg comes up behind the pole, sit your booty back and let it propel you around. The key to the spin, Iʻve been told, is the booty. And to get the booty to do its thing, you gotta sit back. You gotta lean back. You gotta let your body fall away from the pole.
But thatʻs scary. Why? I donʻt know, really. Youʻre not so far off the ground, youʻre upright, both hands are right where you can see them. Yet the impulse is to hug the pole, to go in closer. Grip it, tighten your body.
Doing that might make you feel safer, yes, but you wonʻt spin. Not like you want to.
When you learn to let go, to trust your body, trust in your strength and training, things change. New sensations can lead to improved technique and greater confidence. And that feedback loop? Iʻm scared → I tried I tried I tried I tried (over the course of one class or many) → I improved, even if only by one degree, even if I havenʻt improved but am now less scared. Rinse and repeat. Thatʻs how you build a new narrative. Iʻm still scared, yo, but now I have a history that directly contradicts my fear and maybe I can try again. Holy shit, thatʻs powerful stuff!
Thatʻs what confidence has become for me. Accepting that I will not be perfect, I may not even be good at it, but through practice, I will get better and feel better. It is the work I put into it that makes the success so much fucking sweeter.
And thus it is in life.
When I get scared, when I feel threatened, I want to close up. I want to pull in. My shoulders hunch over, I hang my head, I slouch like crazy. Every part of me wants to turn inward because it feels safe. I consider not going to class or camp or texting friends. This is how I have long protected myself and itʻs also what fucks me up.
Not only do I have people who care about me and want to help me succeed, there are tons of experiences I might miss if I donʻt ever give myself the chance. Open up to people and open up to the world, release whatʻs "safe," and pursue what makes me better, happier.
Fear keeps me in my comfort zone and prevents me from learning, challenging myself, growing. Iʻve told my pole sisters that I think some nights we cycle through our fear into our learning zones in a matter of minutes, sometimes it takes the whole night, sometimes we stay stuck in our heads for weeks. The glorious thing about pole is that the entire class will shake our heads and say, "Fuuuuuuck, thatʻs scary," or maybe just me. And yet I never get the sense that judgment exists in the confession, only understanding. And that understanding allows me to accept my fear and move with it.
When I have to face a Hard Task in life, I think about this hip pull that allows me to do so much in pole. And when I despair about this Hard Task, I imagine myself scrunched up on the pole, tense, with no momentum to spin. Eventually, I begin to envision myself as I want to be-- loose, spinning one-handed with a bonus hair whip, with all this space between me and the pole-- and thatʻs my reminder to stop clenching so tightly to what I think is safe so I can open myself up to the fullness of life.
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