A guide for self-improvement — minus the report cards, plus some bruises.
Think you’ve mastered adulthood? Think again. Smarten Up is a guide to doing life a little better — or at least, a lot more interestingly. From testing your comedic timing and sword-fighting finesse to weaving your way toward mindfulness, we’ve rounded up dozens of classes, workshops and weirdly satisfying ways to flex your brain.
Go on — learn something new, bruise your ego a little and come out smarter for it.
So much of adult life is drudgery, literally and figuratively eating our veggies. I may not live on junk food, but the last thing I want in my free time is more self-serious discipline. So when a friend asked me to join her in a roller dance class — that is, dance lessons on roller skates — I didn’t hesitate. Not even if there was a four-week commitment.
I’d never roller skated, and I’d never really danced, not since that one jazz class when I was a grungy sixth grader. Next to my glossy-lipped friend group — ferried there by dance moms since pre-school with a wardrobe of recital costumes at their disposal — I was bad. Embarrassingly bad. I quit after just a few classes, blaming it on the lame, cheesy music. I never admitted how much I actually loved to dance. It wasn’t until I walked into a roller rink that I gave it another try — this time on wheels at Rollers Roller Rink.
The young women working behind the skate counter dripped with retro cool. They effortlessly spun and bopped in sparkly custom skates and matching eyeshadow. I loved these roller queens immediately — they would be my teachers.
We headed to a fluorescent, mirrored practice room for our first set of lessons — basic “slides,” “turns,” “bubbles” and “crossovers.” Of course I fell a few times (that’s what the kneepads are for), but over the weeks I gained balance and worked up to iconic dance moves “The Chubby Checker” (a.k.a. “the twist”), “The Downtown” (think: smooth, funky line dancing) and “The Breakfast Club” (ie: the iconic library dance scene from the movie).
After practice, we’d glide into the dim swirl of lights and bodies in the rink. As my confidence grew, I felt the delight of moving in sync with the music. My hair flying behind me, I circled happily beside determined kids clinging to the walls, power skaters, laughing teens and costume parties. I saw a few wipeouts, but the only people I ever felt sorry for were the ones missing out on the sidelines.
By week four, I’d gone from Bambi on ice to Bambi on skates. Even if I still fell short of the buttery rhythm of my instructor, I was having such a great time skating in my beautiful teal suede boots and vibing with deliciously cheesy tunes. I really forgot to hate being bad.
$100, four-weeks starting Jan. 6 and Feb. 4, rollersrollerrink.ca
