I stood in the hall in front of the mirror and tried to understand what my legs were doing. They did not obey. My shoulders, as it turned out, moved completely separately from the rest of my body. And the teacher, looking like a cross between a panther and a disaster, whispered with a grin: "Are you sure that jazz-funk is your thing?"

Sure. I was. Until this class.

I signed up for a dance school on a wave of inspiration after a show battle on YouTube. It seemed like the best way to awaken my energy. And anyway - why not try? It seemed.

For the first 20 minutes, I was breathing heavily. Not from the load - from trying to figure out where to put my hands. Everyone in the group was at least "cheerful former gymnasts." And I am a person who dances only in the kitchen.

But here's what's interesting: I didn't leave. I came back to the next class. Then again. I still forgot my combinations, got confused, blushed. But I began to feel alive.

Failure? Yes. I never danced a single number cleanly. But this is what shattered my perfectionism into dust. Sometimes it's worth doing something just because you want to. Not for success. But for yourself. For the thrill. For your inner self.