THE FIRST DANCE

I wonder about the first dance.  Think about it for a moment.  In an “Adam danced when he saw Eve for the first time” sort of way.  Someplace, somewhere, there was a first dance. 

It might have very well been a solo dance. Perhaps a hunter dancing after he kills a buffalo; because he knows his family won’t starve.  But then he gets home with his bounty and his wife steps out to greet her returning hunter and she spontaneously dances a twirl in celebration.  And then… it happens… two lone dancers realize that their celebration would be better with a partner.  And the husband reaches out with his hand with invitation and the first couple’s dance happens.

All dances since then are related to that first dance.  At some point in history, a man naturally, intuitively, in response to some inner song… in response to joy and passion… he raised his hand and a woman without hesitation moved into the opening and did the first underarm turn… the first… ever.  From that moment on there was no turning back.  Dance had begun.

A few days later, a neighbor happened to be walking by and saw the man and his wife dancing.  They briefly noted that their neighbor was watching, but they didn’t care.  They didn’t let it interrupt their dance.

Intrigued the neighbor later inquired, “What was that I saw you and your wife doing the other day?”

“Oh, that… we call it dancing.  Why?”

“Well… it looked like fun.”

“It is.”  And then he suggested to his neighbor that he should learn how.  The neighbor said that he didn’t know how.  The dancer said, “No problem.  I’ll teach you.  You and your partner can come to my place tomorrow afternoon at 5 o’clock.”  

And… here we are today.

THE SURGE

The surge of learning is a phenomenon.  I wish it was a learning curve, but for me, it doesn’t seem to work that way.  It is not a curve that travels in only one direction.  It is a surge… that comes and goes.  It seems to advance and then recedes.  The hope is that it ultimately advances more than it recedes, but it is not one directional.  “Two steps forward, one step backwards”, comes to mind.

However, it is not that simple.  It is unseen tidal surges.  One moment unfelt and undetectable.  The next moment frightening, crashing, breaking waves. It is dangerous rip currents.  It is even the doldrums, when the prevailing winds have disappeared, trapping a student for days, even weeks, seemingly stranded… going nowhere.  It is all of these, and more.  It is a phenomenon.

Tonight learning was a pleasure.  It was work that wasn’t work.  It was fun.  It was frustrating.  It was building, growing larger.  It was a magical mystery.  The ability to learn is linked to a willingness to admit that one needs to learn… more than that; it is that one wants to learn.  Still greater, all of this is eclipsed by the knowing that one is supposed to learn.  We are created to learn.  When I stop learning, I stop living; and living is a phenomenon.

Many adventures in life are momentary.  We must capture the moments.  If we want not to miss living, we must live in the moment.  This is not to say that we do not look where we are going.  But we feel the moment.   It is the moments that we truly experience.   There is a truth that I have learned in many of my life pursuits; it is vitally important that we look where we are going.  However, we must sense the moment.  When I am slalom skiing, my legs feel the water beneath me, but my eyes are always looking beyond the wake.  I am coming to understand that this is true of all learning.  We need to see the distant goal, but we must feel the moment.  And… when we get this right… is it awesome.  It is remarkable living.

Dancing, for me, really brings this into perspective.  I don’t have enough lifetime remaining to learn all the dances I want to learn.  Let me restate that: I don’t have enough lifetime remaining to learn all the dances I want to dance well.  But I can experience the moment of a specific dance.  And then when the wave of learning carries me along, I comprehend the connection.  New steps no longer seem so strange and foreign.  Dances are not a collection of separate pieces.   Steps become sequences, which in turn relate to other sequences, which relate to other dances.  Learning becomes more intuitive… more spontaneous.  The “I get it” moments come more frequently.

AT THE BRIDGE

Have you ever had the experience of someone saying something which you hear, but you don’t hear?  Sure you have.  Someone says something to you, and you listen, and you understand.   And then… days later… it hits you again.  Only this time in a different or more significant way.  You hear it again, differently, in the recesses of your mind, and a greater good…a  greater truth begins to develop…  Yes? 

Well that is what happened to me recently.  I was listening to Glenn explain the timing for a certain sequence of steps.  I don’t remember what the dance was… it might have been the West Coast Swing… it doesn’t matter.  It was something about a particular dance having a 6-count basic, and then something about if a particular song had “x” number of counts, then he said something about choreographing…   I was listening, and though at this moment I don’t remember all the details, I understood then the lesson point he was making.  However the significance wouldn’t hit me until days later.

 

I should point out that Joni and I have only been dancing (taking lessons) for about 1 1/2 years.   We are very much novices.  The best way I can describe our present level of dancing is that we can fool those who know very little about dancing.  I am in absolutely no position to be offering “choreography” advise.  But it was this “idea”… the “choreography” idea… that awakened the “dance” part of my brain several days later.

 

It is very easy when taking lessons to think of dance as steps.  We have all seen those charts that show numbered sole-of-a-shoe outlines which depict the sequence and placement of the feet which should produce a particular dance step.  Slow, slow, quick, quick.  Or… slow, slow, quick, quick, slow, quick, quick, slow.   Truth be told, for dancers like me, there is so much that has to take place to make this very simple 3 / 6 counts-turned-into-placements-of-the-feet happen without falling over, or dropping your partner, or any number of other embarassments, that little thought… let me correct that… absolutely no thought is given to the bigger picture of what will become a dance.  Something that happens to music… and not just to random notes, but to a song… with a beginning, a middle, and an end. 

 

All of this came to me as I was listening to Michael Buble sing “A Foggy Day”, which has to be one of the greatest Foxtrot songs ever, as I was trying to drive down I-75 in Detroit.  In a vehicle which was not equipped with cruise-control, I was taking my right foot off the accelerator just enough to try to join my left foot as I danced one of my favorite dances, all the while trying to keep my speed up with the flow of traffic.  It was at the bridge, and I don’t mean on the highway, I mean in the song, that I thought, “this would be a perfect place for a grapevine”.  So…  I was attempting to do that on the floor mat beneath my feet.  Thank God I was alone…

 

My point here is not whether or not I was right about the placement of this particular sequence of steps, I’m sure that other way more qualified individuals would make very different recommendations as to what might be more appropriate at this particular moment in this particular song.  My point is simply that for a very brief moment I envisioned the dance as a whole.  Not even as a collection of several separate parts.  No… I was imagining the greater dance.  The union of a dance and a song.   Unique… 

 

It’s at moments like this that I just don’t understand why everyone doesn’t love to dance….

I AM A DANCER

 
I am a dancer.  However, not in the way that you think.  As a matter of fact, not in the way that anyone would think when they hear someone say, “I’m a dancer”.  Most would interpret my confession to mean that I can dance.  However, that is NOT what I said.  What I said is that I “am” a dancer.   I would insist that there is a very large ballroom of difference between “am” and “can”.   Yet, with that difference clearly established, I will admit that I am a dancer.

How does one know this?  Well, it is not easy; but neither is it difficult.  It is not easy because it takes a bit of awkward personal awareness to recognize it.  This is the type of personal awareness that most of us work to avoid.  It is the type of awareness that can be a bit disconcerting.  It can be as if we are on the outside looking in… at a stranger.  And then we are shocked to discover that the person we are looking at is ourselves.   

It is not difficult; at least not in the “I think I’ll climb Mt. Everest” sort of way.  The only difficulty we have to overcome is ourselves.  We only have to be vulnerable to our true self.  The only requirement is honesty.  It is like the person who loves to sing… in the shower.  Stop and think about that for a few moments.  Singing… IN THE SHOWER!!!

Singers sing.  That’s what they do.  Singers can’t NOT sing.  (I realize the double negative, but you understand the point.)   But singing in the shower…  That means that they are exposed twice!  They are both singing and naked… at the same time.  Take a moment and grasp the significance of this.  Now transfer this significance to dancing.

One can be a dancer and have never had a formal lesson.  It is probably a fact that most dancers have never stepped into a dance studio.  One can be dancer and not know the difference between an East Coast Swing and a Viennese Waltz.  But that lack of knowledge doesn’t matter.. Dancers dance.  That’s what they do.  Their toes tap.  Their feet move.  They sway.  Sitting at their desk at work, they feel their shoulders move… almost imperceptibly.  A co-worker sitting 6 ft. away wouldn’t even notice.  But the dancer can feel it. 

Dancers experience rhythm in a thousand ways every day.  Dancers hear music everywhere. Truth be told, dancers don't even need music.  It helps, but it is not required.  A dancer could be surrounded with complete silence and yet still hear dance in their head.  Most dancers, I suppose, love music.  But... they don't just love it.  Dancers move.  Dancers dance.  One can love music, but not be a dancer.  Dancers cannot sit still.  Dancers cannot stand still.

If a dancer is lucky enough to have even an ounce of Latin blood in their veins, their hips will move… don’t ask me how they do it.  In ways that it takes the rest of us years of concentrated effort and practice, Latin dancers just dance it.  Sometimes… the world is not fair.

However… and this is the point I would like to make: I feel that it is my obligation to warn all dancers…  Dancers everywhere LISTEN TO ME…. Know that the moment you take your first dance lesson… the moment you give your hard earned money to an Instructor… LISTEN TO ME… I’m begging you…  I must forewarn you.  You will have crossed a threshold and there is no going back.  You will not only have embraced your inner dancer, you will have made the decision to expose yourself to the public.  You will have stepped out of the shower.  And though (hopefully) you show up at the studio with your clothes on, you will nonetheless feel very naked.  But it will no longer matter…

You will be hooked.  Dance will be your drug of choice… and you will not be able to live without satisfying your addiction.  “Hi.  My name is K.C. (you can feel free to insert your name here), and I am a dancer.”  Your “I am” will be the first step to becoming an “I can”, and your need to dance will never be less than what it is at this moment ever again.

The truth is that “what we are” is “what we are” when we think no one else is watching.  The greatest personal victories come when we are able and willing to be “what we are” in public.  

The first step will be in a dance studio. This is the place where it will be easiest.  You will try and fail over and over again… and no one will think you the lesser for it.  The dance studio is where dancers go to quench their thirst.  

But.. there is nothing quite like when you take your first “slow, slow, quick, quick” on a public dance floor in front of non-dancers, or perhaps shower-dancers.  And I’m not talking about a dance party at your local studio.  Oh, no…  I’m talking about a small patch of hardwood found in a public venue.  If the only public place you dance is your local dance studio, then you are a still a pretender.  However, if you have ever danced in a true public sense, you understand... you know the freedom.   But even more than that…

On a recent cruise, Joni and I were approached by total strangers as we strolled the cobblestone streets of some nameless-you’ve-seen-one-you’ve-seen-them-all Caribbean port city, and they said stuff like, “You are the two that I saw dancing last night on the ship.  You were great… We really enjoyed watching you.”   I’m here to tell you… that kind of unsolicited affirmation will be your highest reward; perhaps more so than the “well done” from your instructor, although that means a lot as well.  The personal courage to be “who you are” in front of others, joined with the knowledge that “who you are” brought joy to someone else…  Friend, there is nothing else in all of life quite like the feeling that will bring.

THE FOXTROT

There are reasons to like the Foxtrot; I suppose several.  The graceful movements.  The ease with which one can learn some very basic footwork for the dance.  I would think novice dancers should very much enjoy the Foxtrot.  The historic popularity of the Foxtrot here in America would be yet another reason to appreciate it.  All of these, and many more, are reasons to like this great dance.

However, I have come to understand that I do not just like the Foxtrot; I love it.  The reason?  The answer is, quite simply, the music.  I have a very diverse musical palate.   I find myself gravitating from one style to another in a “whatever mood I happen to be in” sort of way.   My appreciation of various styles wax and wane.  I can like the Southern Rock style of ZZ Top one week, and the dramatic scope of Sergei Rachmaninoff’s “Rhrapsody on a Theme of Paganini” the next.  Southern Gospel music moves me in a way that can be very deeply spiritual, but, I know of no other music that gets inside of me in the same way that Foxtrot music does.   I listen to other styles, but what I do with Foxtrot music cannot best be described as listening.

It is not the rhythm?  There are other rhythms that are more intoxicating than the Foxtrot.   Salsa comes to mind.  Maybe even Tango rhythms.  It is not the lyrics, although Foxtrot songs arguably features some great lines.

No… I think that, for me, the thing that Foxtrot music has that no other dance features is a fluidity.  It is an effortless fluidity of motion that I feel… really.  Swirling around inside of me all the time is a Foxtrot just waiting for an opportunity… looking for a patch of hardwood.  I can already hear those who are much more experienced than am I saying, “The Waltz! What about the Waltz?”  I’ve already, in a previous post, addressed my thoughts about the Waltz.  It is true that opinions are like armpits; everyone has a couple… and some of them stink.  But… in my opinion, the Waltz cannot compete with the superiority of the Foxtrot.

I have never experienced what it is to be blind, so I can’t know for certain, but I would think that a blind man could dance the Foxtrot even if he found other dances difficult or even impossible.  And I don’t mean that he may simply dance the dance, but rather, love dancing it.  You don’t have to see, you just have to be able to move… to flow.

The Foxtrot is a sway… a glide… it is as if I am an airplane that is flying effortlessly from one cloud to the next, yet I have never left the ground.  However… I don’t fly alone.  I don’t dance alone.  It is not a lone ballerina’s adagio.  The Foxtrot is a couple’s dance.  It is not one, but two airplanes locked in an aerial embrace.  Matching turn for turn, power for power, hesitation for hesitation.  Those that are afraid to fly should not dance the Foxtrot.

I find it easier to lead the Foxtrot than the rest.  I don’t find myself having to “think” about it as much.  Other dances are like a game of chess; I’m always planning several moves ahead… strategizing.  I don’t feel like that with the Foxtrot.   The decision making required for leading seems much less stressful.  I’m not mentally dancing so far ahead.

Finally, I don’t even realize that I’m breathing until I’m finished and only then am I aware that I am out of breath.  While I’m dancing the Foxtrot, the dance itself is my air.  I cannot help but smile when I dance the Foxtrot.  It is not exactly happiness that I feel… it is not joy… it is… freedom.  It is no restraints.  

There are many reasons to enjoy the Foxtrot, but for me, the connection that the intrinsic musicality of a good Foxtrot song makes with some natural, inherent place within me is my greatest reason of all.

SOMETHING DANCE-UAL

What a refreshing way to take a break… work on something else.  

 

We made a decision many months ago to concentrate our dance efforts upon only two dances; the Tango and the Rumba.   I had many reasons for that decision, and I believe it has proven to have been a good one.  We have made, IMHO, a lot of progress.  We are still not where I would like to be - full bronze -  but we are certainly not where we were.

 

Recently, as we were nearing the end of our scheduled lesson time, our heads and our bodies were pretty much exhausted.   The lesson had been very productive.  Much had been achieved.  However…  Why is there always a “however”?

 

If I may, I would like to try to explain what happens as I am advancing my dance skills / knowledge.  It seems as if there is a wall that stands firm between my head and my body.  That wall keeps warring factions separated.  The two enemies are my brain and my body, and trust me, they are at war with each other.  Cuban Motion is a common battlefield for these two enemies.

 

Glen gives a piece of instruction or advice, I listen.  My mind comprehends.  And then… my body tries to respond.  Tries.  I didn’t say my body executes the movement as instructed.  Oh, no.  I “try”.   Only “try”.   

 

Why won’t my feet do what is expected?  Oh, crap… now my posture is bad.  So I fix my posture and then my feet are wrong.  Don’t forget, heel lead!  That “wall” is keeping me from truly dancing.  Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow.  Unless I am leading a Rock to Corte / Double Corte, and then it is quick, quick, slow….   It seems like I can dance in my brain, or I can dance in my feet.  But… I can’t do both.  This is exactly where I was and I suspect Glenn knew it.

 

“We’ve got a few minutes, what else would you like to work on?”  

 

Seriously?  It was going to be “work” just to get my shoes changed and walk out the studio door.  

 

“How about some Hustle?” 

 

A completely different dance… really?

 

That suggestion, though at time I didn’t know it, was perfect.  As we began to dance the Hustle, the connection between head and feet was almost instantly made.  Wait… that’s not correct.  It was not as if some long distance connection was made.  No… it was as if the wall had been torn down and my head and feet were now one.  It was now in my heart.  Oh… I don’t mean that “Jesus lives in my heart” place.  It wasn’t spiritual.  It was dance-ual.  I know; that’s not a word.  But it should be.  

 

Dance-ual is the condition a person experiences when the body and the mind are joined together and become the unified heart.  The music is no longer external.  It isn’t moving from someplace outside the body into the mind, which then instructs the feet.  Instead, the rhythm becomes internal, it becomes natural… intuitive… as if we are doing something that we were born to do.  

 

Some would suggest that it is just “muscle memory”.  But I would suggest that it is much, much more… much more primal than just muscle memory.  It is as if you were able to return to a place stripped of doubt and worry… a place where confidence and joy lives… It is returning to Mom’s kitchen… to her meat loaf.  It is swimming in that farm pond, the summer you learned to swim, where you first felt the joy and the freedom of lazily backstroking yourself from one side to the other beneath the summer sun.   It is returning to that first dance with a lover.

 

Last night it happened for a second time.  With just minutes remaining and both of us mentally and physically exhausted…  “How about some East Coast Swing?”  

 

“Is Glenn nuts?”  I didn’t say it out loud, but I was thinkin’ it.   At least last week I could say that Joni and I both like the Hustle.  But, East Coast Swing…  Triple Time Swing!!!!   No way!!!  Neither of us really like this dance.  Oh, it’s fun to watch, but not to dance.  Is he crazy???  We had tried many times before.  Let’s face it, there is a bunch of music to which East Coast Swing is a natural fit.  To not be able to Swing is almost the same as not being able to dance.  So, we really need to be able to East Coast Swing.  But… for the two of us, we had not yet gotten the “swing” of the Swing.  It always felt to me like I was Fred Flintstone at the bowling alley when I tried to Triple Step.  My triples seemed more like octiples (again a new word, but you get the idea – there’s waaay too much going on down there!).

 

Again… even though it felt in some ways like our very first dance lesson, all of that concentrated work on two other dances was now magically paying off.  Anyone observing would not have been able to see it, but the “wall” was being torn down.  Heart, head, and body were coming together.  Somehow, and I don’t know how, it seemed easier than I had remembered.  Somehow, all that Tango and Rumba concentration was being converted into something else.  Music was happening. Something dance-ual was happening.

 

Stay tuned…

ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY BEATS PER MINUTE

One hundred and twenty beats per minute; that’s what I saw on the heart monitor as I rode the elliptical machine at the fitness center.  I was about 10 minutes into my workout and glanced down to the information / control panel to check my stats.  My heart rate was 120 beats per minute.  For my age and weight that was perfect.  I was in the zone… a little fast for fat burn, a little slow for cardio.  In another 10 minutes I would be drenched in sweat.  In another 20 I would be gliding along almost effortlessly as the endorphins would begin to kick in.

One hundred and twenty beats per minute is a good place to be.  I feel alive.  I feel strong.  I feel somehow connected to a very deep corporeal place.  Some people mistakenly identify this feeling as spiritual.  However, I would suggest that to do so diminishes the strength of what this feeling really is. This hundred and twenty beats connects us with the rhythm of the earth… with the air… breathing… moving… sweating… a cadence of passion…  the pulse of life…   This tempo is not worship, it is a dance.  One hundred and twenty beats is the heartbeat of the Tango.

It was not at a dance studio that I became aware of this.  It was not as a moved my feet… my body… myself… holding my wife in frame on a dance floor.   No… it was at a fitness center.  It was there that this notion occurred to me.  The Tango rhythm is the rhythm of fitness.  Fitness is the rhythm of health.  Health is the rhythm of the body.  The body is the rhythm of passion.  Passion is the rhythm of love.  Love is the rhythm of Tango. 

As a result of a decision to concentrate all of our efforts on only the Rumba and the Tango, my observations about a hundred and twenty beats did not materialize within the isolation of a single dance.  With that in mind, it becomes appropriate for me to compare 120 beats with 100 beats.

I suppose there are some more knowledgeable than me about the meter of various dances, and they might argue the specifics of beats per minute for any given dance.  It is my understanding that typically the Rumba and the Tango are danced at approximately 100 and 120 beats per minute respectively. However, for the moment, I would like to think of this in a more non-numeric sort of way.

One hundred beats per minute is two people connected.  It might be a touch from a lover.  It might be a kiss.  It may be nothing more than a thought… that causes our body to react.  

However, the two people do not have to be lovers.  It could be yourself and a stranger walking behind you on a lonely sidewalk at night.   You hear footsteps and you wonder if the stranger is a threat.  Your body begins to send out those primal hormones, and your pulse quickens.  You are getting ready for a flight or fight response.

This is the rhythm of the Rumba.  One hundred beats per minute.  It is getting ready… it is anticipation.   It is being suspended… tantalized…   Dictated by the unwavering laws of mathematics that regulate the music, the dance of the Rumba, the tantalizing, tormenting, tease of the Rumba constrains us.  It gets us close, but then pulls us back.   We want to go faster, but can't.   I personally think this is one of the Rumba’s greatest attractions.

One hundred and twenty beats per minute is a completely different rhythm.  It is no longer a tease, but a pursuit.  The fight or flight reaction has moved from ready to release.  It has gone from thinking about it to doing it.  Whether it is running away from that stranger behind you on a dark sidewalk at night, or turning to attack and eliminate the threat; action has commenced.  Raw, primal, animalistic survival has taken over. 

It is here that the most basic of human responses become reality.  There is, in fact, very little difference between what drives us to defend ourselves when threatened, and that which motivates us to engage our lover.  One hundred and twenty beats is no longer teasing foreplay, it is love’s journey begun.  It is love’s battlefield,  where two people are engaged in a struggle.  It is give and take; take and give.  It is breath and sweat.  It is not quitting.  It is endorphins.  It is pleasure... and if I'm doing it right, when my pulse matches the music, one hundred and twenty beats is Tango… and as they say, “It takes two to Tango.”
 

LEARNING TO KISS - Jigsaw Puzzles Part II

The second thing I’ve learned is that I do better when I am frustrated with one puzzle, one dance, not five.  Imagine putting 4 or 5 jigsaw puzzles on the table at one time, and then trying to figure out which pieces belong to which puzzle.  

For example: I’ve learned that the “cross body lead” is a common pattern in several dances, and there may come a time when I understand how this pattern fits within the context of a larger “group” of dances.  However… right now, if I’m learning the Rumba, I do not want to be thinking about the universe of Ballroom dances.  I want to learn the cross body lead within a single dance; the Rumba.  

How shall I put this…?   It is somewhat like when a man meets a woman.  He better have learned “how” to kiss, if he wants to “know” the woman.  And then, only after he really “knows” the woman, should he then be introduced to the rest of her family.  I don't want to be like a stupid teenager that fumbles a kiss.  I want to get past that.  I want to "want" it.  I want the nervousness.  I want the anticipation.  I want to feel it.  I want the confidence that a man feels when he finds someone who is worth his best, and he is certain he can deliver.  I want to learn the patterns so that I can know the dance... really know it... feel it...   Then after I know the dance, I can meet the relatives.

JIGSAW PUZZLES

I grew up putting together jigsaw puzzles.  In the days when there were only 3 channels on the TV, jigsaw puzzles were an inexpensive and enjoyable family activity.  I remember those huge puzzles with 1500 pieces or more.  For many years, I would search for the most unusual or difficult puzzles to give my parents as Christmas gifts.  Those were the days of a long time ago… a simpler time.  Little did I realize, however, that I would find myself in these middle years of my life once again doing jigsaw puzzles.

That’s how I felt at my last my dance lesson.  I was working a puzzle.  Fitting the pieces of a Tango together. Arms as wide as possible.  Chest high and out.  Gaze at 10 o’clock.  Knees bent.   And on, and on… and on.  Piece by intricate piece.  Heel lead.  Timing… Music…  ARRRGH!!!  Lead!!!  Lead early!!!!

The thing that makes this so very different, and I suppose it is what makes it such a challenge, is that while I’m putting the pieces together in one place, an invisible foe is taking them apart in another.  I suppose I could blame the instructor.  I could blame the studio.  I could blame the only other couple on the dance floor.  I suppose I could blame George Bush.  But… I know that there is no one to blame but the dance demons that fight against anyone one who has ever laced up a pair of suede soled ballroom shoes. 

Just about the time I get my arms in the correct position, my feet are wrong.  Just when I think I’ve got my spine in the correct place, my hips are incorrect.  And my knees… they are never where they should be.

Glenn asks if music would help.  My simple response is, “No.”  But what I am thinking is: A resurrected Carlos Di Sarli playing Bahia Blanco over in the corner of the studio probably wouldn’t help.  The Tango demons were tearing up my puzzle.  Each time I put a couple of pieces together, other pieces fell apart.  Was the puzzle beginning to look like a Tango?  Perhaps… only briefly.  Or did it look like a pile of pieces that didn’t even begin to represent the picture on the front of the box?  More likely.

But this one thing I have learned.  The prizes are always awarded to those who never give up… to those who don’t quit.  Working alone; then with a partner.  Listening.  Learning.  Watching. Failing, and then trying it again.  Fitting the pieces together.  Never quitting.  Reaching that point of frustration, then saturation.  Having someone who can tell when I have had enough, and when I can take more… this is essential.  Having a coach that can guide me through this process is a gift.

I have to constantly remind myself, puzzles are only completed by those with patience and perseverance.  I have to remember that what I see today is not the complete picture.

MICHIGAN DANCE CHALLENGE: PART II

If I could make one suggestion, it would be that there should be a way for such an event to be more “neophyte friendly” on a couple of different levels.   Ballroom Dancing would bloom with fresh new faces if this could be done.  Please understand that these are not criticisms.  My comments are more about how I “felt” than about “reality”. And… I must admit that I saw only a couple of hours of an event that lasted several days, so I’m probably not in any position to make any suggestions for improvement whatsoever.   I’m sure that those that work so hard to put together such a spectacular event, might not appreciate someone as insignificant as me offering my “2 cents”.   But… I will take that risk, hoping that no offense will be taken.

I realize that this event was a competitive event and we were not competitors, and I’m not sure how to fix this, but Joni and I felt really out of place.  As much as I love to dance, I still strangely felt like I didn’t fit.   Now I’m not one of those prissy types that needs someone to hold my hand, and coddle me.  I’m a big boy and I can take care of myself… but… Joni and I both felt like we had just gotten thrown into the deep end of the pool.    

I mean… Holy Tango, Batman… I thought I was a being a really great guy when several months ago I ordered online a dance skirt for Joni that cost $89.   Last night as she was looking at dresses she said, “Oh, I like this one.”  Then she saw the price!   “Does this say $3600?”  “No, sweetie… it says $3800!!!!  It was becoming obvious that we were Little Leaguers at a Major League event.

Perhaps it was this perceived distance between ourselves and people who have spent 6 figures annually on dance instruction that I was feeling.  One of the contestants, I was told, was the #1 Dancer in the world several years running.  So I suppose it is not possible to have an event that “feels” right for both he and I.  

I’m a businessman and I have a basic understanding of the enormous budget that is required to hold such an event in such a beautiful place as “The Henry”.   But I wish there was a way that I could afford to have seen more of the great dancing.   Just as a spectator it would have cost nearly $200 a person for the entire multi-day event; for the both of us, just under $400!  I realize that each person’s personal economic situation is different, and for some that may not seem like a lot.  But… for me, it seems a bit much. 

Dancing is a recreational hobby for Joni and me.  It is one of many leisure activities that we enjoy; along side of spending time relaxing on our boat, or water skiing at the lake, or riding our motorcycle down a twisty 2 lane highway.  We have to stretch our discretionary dollars a long way.  So… I suppose that this is what I was “feeling”:  We were discretionary dancers in the midst of those for whom dancing is mandatory.

MICHIGAN DANCE CHALLENGE: OBSERVATIONS OF A NEOPHYTE

Last night Joni and I attended the 2013 Michigan Dance Challenge.  This event is sanctioned by the NDCA (National Dance Council of America) and is a part of the World Pro-Am DanceSport Series.  In a word…  WOW!  Or perhaps… INCREDIBLE!  I forgot INSPIRING.   That’s three words isn’t it?  It really was a wonderful evening as we watched Pro-Am couples dance their way across the floor. 

I was fascinated by the technical expertise demonstrated.  With each dance, I found my attention drawn to particular couples.  It seemed impossible to take my eyes off of them.  I know that it is absurd to think this, but along with the Professional Judges, each of them with long and envied Dance Resumes, the event organizers should include one judge that knows very little about the intricacies of the Tango, or the Foxtrot, or any other of the Standard dances.  They should include a judge whose only interest is, “Which couple is so much fun to “watch” that you can’t “not” watch them.  That couple should get extra points!   Call them “Spectator Points”.  Or… “A Pleasure to Watch Points”.

Among my many observations, however, there is one that I would like to note above the rest.  But first a little background info…

Over the years I have had the opportunity to work as a Music / Drama / Speech Coach.  Some of our students have advanced to National Competitions.   We have spent hours and hours working with students as young as 7 yrs old (he won “Best is Michigan” in his event), to High School Seniors (some of which likewise won “Best in Michigan”).  One of the things that is hardest to accomplish is perfecting a speech or dramatic presentation and then delivering it during a competition without it looking rehearsed.  

This is what I noticed most among the many dancers.  They were all great.  It was obvious that they had spent many long hard hours in the Dance Studio.   They had all paid the obligatory dues necessary to compete at this level. I’m sure that they had the tired sore muscles to prove their worthiness.  I’m very sure that their wallets were much lighter, their bank accounts much less, as a result of the hours of lessons provided by some of the finest instructors.  However, some were able to make it look “unrehearsed”.

Some had the ability to smile a smile that looked sincere, heart felt, genuine.  Some looked like they were having fun.  And… again and again I found myself unable to stop watching them.   They were simply a joy to watch.  Even in a dance like the Tango, the “intensity” of their expression, their Tango face, even though I knew that it was not, looked real.  I knew they were playing a part in a drama that had been rehearsed a thousand times before, yet they somehow made it look as if was the first time.  The “heel lead” pursuit… the “turn of the head” rejection… they made it feel real.   

I suppose the thing that made this really apparent was that among the many dancers, some were incapable of making this “fresh / unrehearsed” quality happen.  As a result, their inability made those that could pull it off really stand out.  Those who came out of their “game face” after their hurried “bow” at the end of a particular dance seemed in that moment to be all the more obvious.  Some looked perfect and perfunctory.  Others looked as though they were having fun.  And on my Judges Scorecard… Perfunctory = Minus Points.  Fun = Extra points!

DECISION MADE

It is the Rumba and the Tango...  And I feel very good with the decision.

TO TANGO OR NOT TO TANGO

I do not yet know what to do...   I suppose that we are at a hardwood crossroads.  Our goal in the beginning was to simply be able to do a little dancing on a cruise that was, at that time, about a year away.  Well, that cruise has come and gone, and that goal can be crossed off the list.  But now what do we do?  We need a goal. 

I suppose that we could continue to work on the "basics" of the Salsa.  We probably need to learn a little Country Two Step.  We should probably expand our catalog of "basic" dance steps.  But... that is not what I want to do.  I want to focus... I think on two dances.  Only two.  Not one; not three or four or five.  Just two... and I want to do them really well.  Oh, I don't mean "Dancing With the Stars" well.  I mean maybe "beginning Silver" well.

On our most recent cruise we "fooled" a lot of people.  Fellow cruisers seemed very impressed and they said nice things to us about our dancing.  To be honest, it was kinda cool to have total strangers come up to us and complement our dancing.  But I wasn't fooled.  And now... today... I don't want to fool anyone.  I want to "know" that we are as good as they thought we were.  I want their kind words to be somewhat deserved.  So... how do I get there?

We both like the Rumba, but I know that the Rumba we "like" and the "real" Rumba are probably not one in the same.  From what I know about the history and personality of the Rumba, we are a very long way from all that the Rumba can be.  Cuban Motion is not naturally suited to my Scots/Irish DNA.  Truth be told, it is probably the music that draws me to this dance.  It moves me.  But sadly, what my soul hears and what my body does in response are two very different things.  My natural movement is quite the opposite of the Latin movement that typifies the Rumba.  So...  we have a lot of work to do.

I personally very much like the music for the Foxtrot.  I love the fluidity of this dance.   I like the elegance of the Foxtrot in the same manner that I don't like the elegance of the Waltz.  They should call the Foxtrot the American Waltz.  The Waltz is a pretentious, snooty, European Royalty, sort of dance.  I always get the feeling that we fought the Revolution so we wouldn't have to dance the Waltz.  The Foxtrot is an elegant Fly Me to the Moon / I've Got You Under My Skin sort of dance.  The Waltz is Champagne.  The Foxtrot is Bourbon.  So... the Foxtrot has a lot of appeal. 

I also like the way the Foxtrot looks as it is being danced.  If I could compare the Foxtrot and the Rumba, I would think that this "spectator" perspective is perhaps the most significant difference.  One can enjoy the Foxtrot as much from watching as you might from dancing it.  But, the Rumba seems to me to be altogether different.  If it is done correctly, the enjoyment comes only as you "do it".   I could dance the Foxtrot with anyone.  But if the Rumba is truly a Rumba, I should probably reserve this dance exclusively for my wife.  The Rumba should be danced in such a way as to cause the spectator to feel a bit embarrassed by watching.  The spectator should feel a bit of voyeuristic guilty pleasure when they see it danced. 

And then there is the Tango...  The Tango is a dance which dares to be seen.  And I think in a much different manner than the Rumba, the Tango likewise is a dance that causes a spectator reaction.  The reaction to the Rumba is like, "I can't believe they're doing that in public, and though I probably shouldn't watch, I can resist doing so.  Shame on me."  The Tango reaction should be, "Oh, my God!  They are doing THAT in public!  Shame on them!" 

I like the Tango... It seems to me to be in stark contrast to the Foxtrot.  Whereas the Foxtrot is "liquid in motion", the Tango is sharp and severe.  The Tango is a dance that should frighten... perhaps even confuse the spectator.  It is as if the dancers are saying, "Watch this!,  I dare you..."  The Tango should take everyone's breath away.

So... today, I don't know.  Which two of these three will it be?  I do not know....  Stay tuned.

ONE YEAR LATER

Here I am one year later.  It was a little over a year ago that all this began.  Well... that might not be quite completely honest.  Let me start over.  Joni and I have been dancing since High School.  Our very first dance as a couple was as two teenagers at a party for the cast of one of the High School Drama productions.  I don't remember which it was,  Fiddler on the Roof... perhaps Brigadoon.  I don't remember and it doesn't matter.  What I do remember is how beautiful Joni was in her pink formal gown... and the song.  It was Chicago's "Colour My World".  "As time goes by, I realize... just what you mean to me..."  Oh... I almost forgot.  We also did some choreographed dancing in a Choral group that we were a part of.  But... Ballroom Dancing... that all started a little over a year ago.

We were on a cruise on the Carnival Dream.  Nightly we watched couple who "knew" how to dance, as they foxtrot-ed and cha-cha-ed themselves across the dance floor in the Atrium Lobby.  They looked awesome.  I thought to myself, Joni and I could do this.  But it was not those particular great dancers that ultimately inspired us.  They might have struck the match, but they were not the ones to light the wick.  That distinction goes to an elderly couple that was also on that cruise.

They had to be over 90 years old, or so I thought.  He was shorter than she was.  I would be surprised if he was over 5ft. 6in. tall.  His glasses were thick with dark plastic frames.  There were held securely in place by an elastic sport strap.  It all struck me as rather odd.  She just stayed attached to his arm and smiled... a lot.  He too smiled a lot.  And then the music would start...

Out on the dance floor then held each other and moved and swayed together.  When a faster song would begin they would bounce a little, twist a bit... and smile at each other... a lot.  I couldn't help but wonder about the conversation they must have had with their children.  "We're going on a cruise.  We're going dancing."   I imagined their 70 year old children worried about Mom and Dad...  Would they be safe?  Would they get hurt?  Or lost?   I laughed at the idea that this wrinkled old couple was having the time of the life dancing together, and worrying their children.

Late one night, well past what must have been their normal "bed time", they were gettin' their groove on... the dance floor was packed... and as the song ended there they were, right next to us.  Another couple nearby smiled and said, "I hope you don't mind me asking... but... your age??   Would you mind telling us?"  To which, with a huge smile, he didn't hesitate a response.

"I'm 85"... and then turning to his wife, he said, "She is 86."  She looked at him with eyes of romance and love, smiled, and put her head on his shoulder."  The look they shared together was priceless. 

The other couple said something else, like... "You both look great...", or something such as that, I don't remember exactly.  It was then that I caught the elderly man's attention, and I said to him... "You are my inspiration...  When I'm your age, I want to being doing exactly what you are doing."  They both smiled and returned back to their table to catch their breath before the next song began.

I watched them dance several times again during our week at sea.  I will never forget them.  Within 6 weeks after we returned home, Joni and I had enrolled in Ballroom dance classes at a nearby studio.

Here we are 1 year later.  I have lost 25 pounds.  I have better posture than I've ever had in my life.  I am more flexible and have less muscle aches and pains than I've had in the last 20 years.  Joni and I have enjoyed many, many hours of dancing together.  We've learned a lot, and yet need to learn so much more....  I just hope when I'm 85 yrs. old, and Joni is 86, that we will be seen dancing together somewhere out in the middle of the Caribbean... worrying our kids.

NOW IS OUR TIME TO DANCE

"This was written the last week of October, 2012"

Joni and I have very multi-dimensional lives. We have a lot of passions and pursue many different paths of adventure. For the last 25+ years, one of those adventures is that we have had the privilege to serve the community as a Pastor. An additional responsibility is that we serve as the Administrator of a Christian School. As you might imagine this has provided us with many unique opportunities to be with people in some of the very best and the very worst of times…

Friday morning we got a call at about 4am. A 38 yr. old father of a family in the School (4 daughters, ages 5-16) died unexpectedly of a heart attack. Joni and I immediately responded. At about 6 in the morning, with the youngest daughter sitting on my lap and her next older sister on Joni’s… I told the girls that their Daddy had died. This is a part of the job that never gets easier. There is no easy way, and I’m not sure I will ever get it completely right… How do you tell a 5 and 6 yr. old that their Daddy is gone? 

What I have learned is that Joni and I are often times just there to hold people in our arms while they cry… It is not our words that matter, but rather just the power of holding each other… the power of human touch. This is the “frame” of the dance of unspeakable grief which has no music… no rhythm. It is just stillness and tears. It’s only sound is the deep, ethereal cry of broken hearts.

A few hours later, I had to make the announcement in our School. It was a full day spent comforting the students… lots of tears… lots of hugs. After lunch, a first grader handed Joni a “card” that she had made. She said, “Miss Joni, you look sad. This is for you. I love you.” We are supposed to be comforting them and they turn it all upside down and comfort us… Life is so powerful and good…

You may be trying to figure out why I’m telling you all this. My reason is to let you know how much Joni and I needed to dance Friday night. We needed to love each other. We needed to live. We needed to dance… It was very hard to keep my “head” in mechanics of what we were doing, but my heart desperately needed to dance. We needed to hold each other and just dance… Life needs the dance. There is so much sadness and grief in the world. For many years Joni and I have seen so much of it very up-close, and raw, and unfiltered. For those of us that experience life as Joni and I do… For people that are unafraid to embrace the worst that life can deliver… We need to have an opportunity to embrace the dance. Now is our time to dance.

Life needs the dance.