Maybe Life Needs a Little More of This & That

Last week, a friend dragged me to a K-pop dance class.

I say dragged because loving K-pop and actually attempting K-pop choreography are two very different things.

I am not a dancer. I have never taken this kind of dance class before. And our song for the day was “This & That” by Stray Kids, which meant there was absolutely no easing into it with a gentle little two-step.

There were arms going one way, feet going another, counts I was desperately trying to remember, and several moments where my body seemed to have received completely different instructions than my brain.

I messed up. A lot.

And I had so much fun.

Not “I am glad I exercised” fun.

Actual fun.

The kind where you are laughing, trying again, celebrating when you finally get four seconds of choreography right, and completely forgetting about everything waiting for you outside that room.

At some point during the class, I realized something I do not experience nearly enough anymore.

For those 90 minutes, I was not thinking about work. I was not thinking about cybersecurity, AI, a deadline, an email I needed to answer, something happening in the world, or the ten other things quietly sitting in the back of my mind.

I was thinking about where my foot was supposed to go next.

That was it.

And there was something incredibly freeing about that.

When did everything become something we have to be good at?

Adulthood has a funny way of pushing us toward the things we already know how to do.

We build expertise. We develop careers. We learn how to navigate our worlds. Eventually, we become the person other people come to for answers.

And there is comfort in that.

But I wonder if there is also a cost.

Because the better we get at being competent, the harder it can become to willingly walk into a room where we have absolutely no idea what we are doing.

We don't want to look silly.

We tell ourselves something isn't really “our thing.”

We decide we aren't coordinated enough, athletic enough, creative enough, young enough, experienced enough, or whatever else we need to tell ourselves to stay safely inside the things we already know.

In that room, there was no pretending I knew what I was doing.

I was unquestionably a beginner.

And weirdly, that felt great.

Nobody needed me to have an answer.

Nobody needed me to lead.

Nobody cared whether I had mastered anything.

I just had to listen, move, laugh when I got it wrong, and try again.

There is something healthy about occasionally being in a room where you are not the expert.

Maybe movement can be this and that

I have been trying to be more intentional about movement and taking care of myself lately.

And like so many things in adulthood, movement can very quickly become another set of numbers.

Steps.

Calories.

Minutes.

Miles.

Reps.

Goals.

We measure it. Track it. Optimize it.

There is nothing inherently wrong with that. Goals can help us take care of ourselves.

But that class reminded me that movement can be something else too.

It can be play.

I moved for an hour and a half without constantly thinking about the fact that I was exercising.

I wasn't trying to beat a number.

I was trying to remember choreography.

I was laughing with my friend.

I was listening to music I enjoy.

I was moving because I was having fun.

Movement can be good for us and joyful.

Health can require discipline and still leave room for play.

Maybe those things were never supposed to be mutually exclusive.

Sometimes community is just someone saying, “Come with me.”

I probably would not have walked into that class by myself.

My friend asked me to go with her.

Such a tiny thing.

But because she did, I ended up having an experience I loved enough that I already know I want to go back.

We often talk about community as something big.

And it can be.

But I think some of the most important forms of community can look incredibly ordinary.

The friend who asks you to come along.

The person who makes an unfamiliar room less intimidating.

Someone cheering when you finally get the move you have been struggling with.

A group of strangers laughing because everyone just lost the choreography at exactly the same time.

Human connection lives in those moments too.

Sometimes the people around us expand our lives simply by inviting us into theirs. They pull us out of routines we did not even realize we had settled into.

Sometimes all it takes is, “Come with me.”

And sometimes, we should probably say yes.

Because not every new experience has to become something bigger. Sometimes it simply makes us feel a little more alive.

Maybe life needs a little more this & that

I went to class thinking “This & That” was simply the name of the Stray Kids song I was about to very enthusiastically butcher.

But somewhere between trying to coordinate my arms and feet, laughing at myself, and walking out happier than I walked in, the phrase started to feel strangely fitting.

We spend a lot of time defining ourselves in one direction.

Serious or silly.

Expert or beginner.

Ambitious or present.

Disciplined or playful.

Productive or just having fun.

But why does everything have to be one or the other?

Maybe we can be this and that.

We can care deeply about our work and have parts of our lives that have absolutely nothing to do with it.

We can be experts in one room and complete beginners in another.

We can work toward our health and find movement that feels like fun.

We can be driven and still protect space for play.

We can take ourselves seriously without taking ourselves seriously all the time.

Maybe a full life was never supposed to fit neatly into one box.

Maybe it needs a little bit of this.

And a little bit of that.

And plenty of things we are willing to be terrible at simply because they make us happy.

I am still terrible at the choreography, by the way

To be very clear, this story does not end with me discovering a hidden talent for dance.

I did not.

There is no dramatic transformation here.

I still have a lot of “wait... which foot?” happening.

But I walked out sweaty, happy, laughing, and already thinking about when I could do it again.

I walked away thinking: That was fun. I want to do it again.

Sometimes, that really is enough.

Maliha

Disclaimer: The content on this blog and website reflects a combination of my personal experiences, perspectives, and insights, as well as interviews and contributions from other individuals. It does not represent the opinions, policies, or strategies of any organization I am currently affiliated with or have been affiliated with in the past. This platform serves as a personal space for sharing ideas, lessons learned, and meaningful reflections.