Zero

Of course, for every one of the good days you have another day when you feel like a zero.  Invisible and insignificant.  Those are the days you couldn't sleep, you found the cat had been sick in your shoes, and the trains were delayed.  You got to the milonga late, stressed and with only your second-favourite pair of shoes to comfort you.

On those days, you can feel the don't-dance-with-me emanating from you in waves.  And, because life's like that, people don't dance with you.  You don't get asked.  Your invitations are refused.  The tandas you do manage to dance by hook, by crook, or by calling in favours are grudging and a drudge.  You get trodden on and kicked.  You feel elegant as a baby giraffe.

Don't remember those days.

Well, remember enough to learn from them what you can.

Don't leave shoes and cats together.
Don't drink too much coffee before going to bed.
Take an earlier train.

But the things you can't learn from, let them go.  Remember the good days, or minutes, or seconds.