I always seem to come back to this point. It's a love hate relationship, this thing with dancing. I love it. I love the freedom that it brings me. I love the joy and the kind of deep satisfaction that a good night of dancing leaves in my belly.
But yet, I hated it. I hated how it all had to end. I hated how dance would end up distracting me. I hate how sometimes, in the middle of a good dance, I would end up wondering why the heck I was doing this and whether it was even worth my commitment and time in the first place.
Dancing used to be my life.
Dancing was my life.
For many periods of time in my life, I would put dancing aside. During my university days, during my holidays, during my working days, I would place dance aside and I would forget about it for a little while. And then I would hear some good music on the radio or in the bar and my feet will start tapping and my hips, swaying. I was bitten. Again. Down for the count. (Pardon the pun)
Dancing was the first thing I did in the morning in the shower. The only thing that got me out of bed was knowing that I had dance class or I had practice or I had a social to go to over the weekend.
Even now at this point in time, I sometimes have second thoughts. Is this me? Is this what I am? Is this what makes me happy? And the answer will vary between "yes", "no", and "I'm not sure."
At that point in time, the year 2009 - 2010 was one low, low period of time in my professional working life. Having escaped physiotherapy school with my skin barely intact, I thought I had jumped from the pan into the proverbial fire when I moved to WangaVegas. With constant bullying from my then boss and literally no support system around me, I was ready to crash and burn. Tag on my short, torrid, love affair with a divorcee of two kids, I was ready to leave the stupid city. I had given up on me, myself, my profession, and my life. Games weren't enough to distract me. I played them until the wee hours in the morning and then called in sick, not wanting to have to deal with work or the Bitch that I called my boss. I sat down the weekend after the breakup, willingly taking on work and the on-call weekend roster because I did not want to have to think of returning home to that bed, that room, that house. Too many dark, unwanted memories. I was ready to abandon all that and run home, my tail between my legs, begging for mercy.
So far, I have see-sawed a few times between quitting and starting again. Last week, I got my first dance paycheck. I felt rich. I felt like it was good money earned. I felt like I could easily do this again and again and I would know that I will enjoy every second of it.
At that time, I was not doing too much dancing. Sure, I had ballroom and halfway through the year, I had already been awarded the most improved student at a ceremony I did not turn up at. It was fun but there was nothing more to it than that.
I was ready for new beginnings, as they say.
And then some of my hospital mates told me, "Hey, I think you'll enjoy salsa. We're having heaps of fun at it. If you take ballroom, you'l definitely enjoy salsa."
That was it.
For many people, especially if you are not me, you probably can see the answer pretty clearly. Me? I may or may not be trying to consciously ignore it. Why? 'Cos I'm chicken.
This post is not exactly a blog post that I would call pleasant to type. I think, for me anyway, even though I tend to make this blog like the blunt end of my soul, I hide a lot of it. I am paranoid enough to think that the world is out there to get me and yet, I do this. Sometimes, I think I bring it upon myself. But the idea of dancing and the idea of the whole love/hate thing is something I don't think I'll ever get over. The Redhead used to tell me that for her, she's either "all in or all out." And at the end of the day, I think I'm kinda like that too. All or nothing mentality. In some cultures, that's actually a bad thing.
Have you ever had something influence you so much that the rest of the world became a blur, even for a moment? Some people call it falling in love with someone/something. For me, I felt like I had been hit by lightning and I was still experiencing the aftershocks 11 months later. My feet kept moving and I kept running the rhythms through my brain. I was addicted in the worst sense of the word. I could not, would not let it go.
I did beginners cuban. Then intermediate. After the breakup, I acted on a whim and plonked down 500 bucks to attend the New Zealand Pacific Salsa Congress where I met all sorts of people that me, introverted me, would never have bothered to meet. I took advanced cuban. I picked up Brazilian zouk. I literally self taught myself merengue/bachata with the help of the Redhead who guided me through the movements.
I started teaching. I took a picture of myself with the salsa brochure that had my name on it as a teacher. I danced and danced and danced my way into oblivion, if you could even call it that. I drowned myself in the beats of the son, the clave, and the quattro. Was it because of the breakup? I think not. But it was about everything, which is what probably made it worse.
Dancing was my drug, my way of escaping the chaos that is my way of life.
Even now, that I am gingerly stepping my way back into a dancing kind of life, my feet still itch. I hear good music and I wonder why I am not dancing to it. I am starting to play rhythms in my head again. I improvise moves, steps, and then I tell myself to let it go and let the music take me and make me move. I want to start slow but my body urges me to get in one more dance. One more night.
I wonder how these dancers only cope with one dance night a week. If I wasn't a dance teacher myself, I would have signed up for private lessons years ago.
Next thing I knew, I had agreed to dance for Salsa Nationals. My partner and I came in second place, to loud whoops and cheers. For the only couple doing cuban salsa in a flood of aspiring L.A. style dancers, it was magic. A semi judge I talked to told me out loud, "You shouldn't be dancing in Beginners. You need to be in the intermediate category." A mere 10 months after picking up salsa? My head was lost in the clouds.
My video games on my big screen computer became less and less of a thing for me. I danced a good 4-5 nights a week, with regular ceroc practice and ballroom on the dance floor at Retired Servicemen's Association (RSA) or St John's club, where entry at the price of a drink was spare change for me to lose and intoxicate myself with endorphins, music, and dance moves.
I often kid nowadays when I tell people that I used to dance as a part time job. That was true, though. I got through at least 15 hours minimum or more per week from dancing, just that I wasn't paid for my passion.
And even now that I am getting paid for my passion, I don't know...it's just kinda. That. Not sure if you'll ever fully understand. But it's hard to explain.
Maybe I've painted too nice a picture for myself. You know, imagine the whole really cool scenario thing. I mean, it might not even be that at the end of the day. And that scares me. It really does.
Good heavens, that's hard to type. But imagine. Just stop for a moment and imagine. What if your passion...dies? What if your passion does not end up being what it is supposed to be? What if after all that you've done just ends up curling up into a puff of smoke when the sun rises?
I've had it happen to me before. Enough that I ended up not touching a guitar or keys for years. My wonderful dream of wanting to play and entertain a crowd ended up being pushed through my sternum via the long reaching arm of disappointment that is reality. I'm probably just harping on long standing issues that I never got over (some might even overanalyze and say that my mother didn't love me enough, whatever) and for those of you who can probably see that, yeah.
I'm trying to move on, though. I'm keeping it out of my hair and trying to be as cool as I can about it. I'm a bunch of nerves and excitement when it comes to dancing and I know my organisational skills are monkeys in the forest (whatever the heck that is supposed to mean) but in the mean time, I'm breathing, and I'm moving, and I hope I find the exit out of this forest as soon as I can.
Like super real soon.
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