Last week, I got a spot in the new aerial hoop class at the gym.

I signed up expecting sore muscles but I wasn’t overly concerned about bruising my ego—I suspected I wasn’t going to be a natural at aerial hoop, whatever it involved, and I know first times are always challenging.

As a rule, I’ll try pretty much anything once. So far, it’s been working for me—it got me into Zumba, for instance, and two years later, I’m actually a half-decent dancer.

Maybe deep down I do feel self-conscious when I’m new, clueless or inexperienced but I’m old enough to know it’s part of the learning process. I find it interesting to be the least experienced person in the room—it’s inspiring and you’ve got to start somewhere, right?

So I showed up to the 5:30 p.m. class and it turned out that I was the newbie.

And also, aerial hoop turned out to be pretty fucking hard.

The metal hoops are higher than it seems and it takes both strength and balance to do just about anything, starting with getting on the hoop. And by the way, it hurts like hell because most bodies—at least mine—aren’t designed to be wrapped around giant metal hoops.

Never mind. I collect bruises and calluses all week during my workouts, from boxing to weight lifting.

I managed to sit on the hoop.

It took me a good 15 minutes.

I laughed when the instructor suggested advanced moves for experienced participants. “I think I’m challenged enough for today!” I said.

“But close your eyes and just imagine how GREAT you will be tomorrow!”

I smiled but my inner voice automatically informed me it would probably take about a million tomorrows to accomplish anything graceful on the hoop.

Forgive my inner voice—I grew up in France where sarcasm and irony rule. Positivity and praise aren’t exactly a thing on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.

At least I didn’t grow up in China where hard truths are delivered bluntly, often with the genuine intention to be helpful. “You suck, why don’t you try harder and get better?” This is how it goes in China, a country mixing exquisite politeness and complicated “kèqi” rules it took me years to master with unsolicited, well-meaning comments I could definitely live without. I can’t tell you how many times I heard “I thought French women were thinner!” when meeting perfect strangers…

As a result, neither Feng nor I are into the North American praise and positive-thinking culture. At least, it doesn’t come naturally to us.

You’ll never hear a French person go “gOoOoOoOd MoRnInG LoOOvEly peOOple!!! How are you doing on this beautiful day?”–“Salut” and a nod are more likely, and get used to hearing “ouais, pas mal” instead of “OMG, so awesome!” The French don’t randomly hug, jump around screaming with excitement or get “so excited!” and “super psyched” about mundane things. I mean, the French aren’t even cheerful when they’re drunk.

Part of me admires the North American positive-thinking culture. The can-do attitude is quite contagious and sometimes, it does work. For instance, I don’t think I would have had the guts to go freelance in France, where I’m sure I would have been informed that most self-employed people fail to make a decent living off their work.

But another side of me finds constant positivity fake, annoying and counterproductive. Potential employers are “super excited!” about your resume and experience but they have no problem ghosting you. Kids are told they are “awesome!” even though getting a “C” isn’t exactly an achievement. Sometimes, a reality check is better than false reassurances.

At the end of the class, I somehow managed to do the required hoop move.

I was so focused on balancing on the hoop that it took me a second to realize everybody was looking at me and cheering. “OMG, you did!” “This is awesome!” “That is a-ma-zing!”

I smiled and immediately realized I was actually very talented and probably meant for circus arts.

Positivity can be contagious.

Or maybe I’m just being sarcastic, who knows.

(If you’re curious about the hoop move, here is my second attempt, without the praise this time.)