Blues Garden.

Last weekend was one of the most wonderful, magical, and loving blues weekends I’ve attended in many years, called Blues Garden, which takes place in Gothenburg, Sweden. The organizing team, “the gardeners,” infuse their warm character into the event and sprinkle magic everywhere. Here were some highlights...

The Prelude.

Not part of the actual event, I arrived in Gothenburg a couple days early to help adjust to jet lag and not roll into the event super exhausted. On Friday, I joined a dear friend for a jaunt about a nearby wilderness park, where we had the pleasure of seeing all sorts of Nordic wildlife.

I've never seen a penguin in real life before.

Hipster goat.

On to the dancing!

The Musicians.

Listening to Christoffer Johansson perform. He’s without question my favorite living Blues musician. I turn to putty every time I hear him on stage. He captivates the audience, puts them under a spell, so that people can be at a dance event and spent part of his act just listening and swaying gently, transported to another dimension. I’ve never heard anyone quite like him. Part of his power is the genuine emotion with which he shares his music. Even when they’re classics from a century ago, he connects with him in a heartfelt manner and sings the songs as authentically as when they were probably first formed.

Photo credit: Joel Höglund. Link.

You can’t help but empathize with him and feel your own wellspring of emotion stir in response. It actually came to a point of comic climax during one of his songs. He just finished a long, sustained note/wail in the middle of a song, a note filled with such anguish the room was utterly silent in its aftermath. I, feeling a surge of feeling in response, couldn’t help but groan/growl/grunt (some weird mixture of the three, probably) in response, but it came out way louder than I anticipated, so that everyone in the entire ballroom heard me. In the microseconds that followed, which felt like minutes, I wanted desperately wished for the ability to retract my primal utterance, but it was too late, and I feared the worst. To my astonishment, the floor of over 200 dancers erupted into gales of laughter that lasted at least a minute, completely derailing everything; even Christoffer broke his stage character, cracked a smile, and laughed. Happily, my dancing partner took it in stride and found it equally amusing rather than mortifying. 

The attendees of Blues Garden were also treated to repeat performances of the exceptionally talented Gothenburgers Mattias and Hannah. Mattias is a freaking wizard on the piano, able to improvise the most incredible Blues songs with a musical deftness that rivals (in my opinion) Gordon Webster or Josh Fialkoff. Meanwhile, Hannah treated us to her dulcet singing voice that never failed to delight. She also sings a convincing muted trumpet, complete with a handy (hah!) pantomime. They put together a 30-minute set in roughly 10 minutes, and it was nothing short of fantastic. The attendees relentlessly tried to keep them on stage with ovations. 

The decorations.

Their venue was transformed into an enchanted wonderland at night. Flowers adorned all the staircases and door frames. There was a space for communally crafted poetry. All the fixtures were properly dressed to cast warm, diffuse light. Inside the main ballroom, the space was converted into the Enchanted Forest straight out of Narnia, complete with the lamppost in the middle of the dance floor. The brought in real trees from the forest and decorated them with flowers and fake birds. The only thing missing was a snow-dusted wardrobe. I’ve never seen decorations before in all the events I’ve attended; Blues Garden is simply unprecedented.

Note those are flowers that were manually affixed to the tree. 

The food.

My god, the food. It’s a Swedish tradition called “fika,” and I think it’s the best tradition ever. It involves making delicious food and serving it with coffee/tea at dances for a nominal fee. And by “delicious food,” I mean “hand-made just-cooked-in-the-kitchen” food. Salads with myriad toppings, all sorts of gourmet breads and cheeses, more desserts than I could bear to sample. It makes such a difference to maintain a steady blood sugar level, especially as the hours wear on. 

I didn't capture any photos of the fika, but as a case in point about Swedes and their food, here's a "simple breakfast" according to them.

The people.

No dance would be worth attending without the dancers. Blues Garden manages to attract like-minded people: warm, friendly, open-hearted. And so many of them are fantastic dancers. I had more quality dances than I can remember to count, on par with some of the largest Blues events in the world, except experienced in a quaint and homey regional event in Sweden. While at some events I find myself being placed on a pedestal as a teacher and everyone wants something from me, here I felt like one of the crowd, and people wanted nothing more than to connect with me as human beings, to share recognition of one another. 

This is something where I always wish I was taking more photos. When I reflect upon my travels, I often think of the people that were a part of it, yet so rarely I photograph them, or me with them. Mostly because it's awkward, it kind of takes me out of the moment. But then, I look back and see a woeful dearth of ways to remember all the lovely people I spent time with. Sometimes I quietly wish that I had a full-time photographer following me around at these events, surreptitiously candid photos of me so I can remember later. My memory is a sad thing, generally spotty and quick to log moments into archival storage, not indexed, and only retrievable when someone asks specifically for that memory. Photos serve as the way to jog my memory.

My words cannot capture the love and positive energy that coursed through this event. It felt like a huge family reunion, minus the uncomfortable family interactions. Nothing but smiles and laughter and heartful conversations. I cherish these kinds of events, the ones where everyone comes ready to participate, to give rather than consume. It creates an incredible atmosphere, a gift economy of love, where everyone is constantly giving and thus also constantly receiving, but in gratitude and humility rather than expectation. The Gardeners clearly set a pathos for the event, one that attracts like-minded people who want to grow together and celebrate this brief shining moment. I was so floored by the energy at Blues Garden, it is without question the most vulnerability-encouraging event I have ever attended in Europe.

The teachers.

Gas and Alba, Vicci and Adamo, and Annette. (And me.) I respect each of these teachers for myriad reasons, and I think we formed an excellent teaching team. We all brought something different to the table, but always presented with humility and love for dance and respect for the event. There were no egos here, nothing but eagerness to share and inspire.

The leggings.

Knowing about the enchanted theme of the weekend, I came prepared to dress up in a different way on Saturday night: leggings and a collared shirt reminiscent of a pirate’s costume. What I didn’t realize was that no one else would dress up in masquerade. Everyone dressed super nicely, but in the traditional sense. I was the only person to look fanciful. The moment I stepped into the dance space, eyes were falling upon me. I felt out of place, dressed garishly and vulnerably, form-fitted and with little to hide behind. I had gone all-in, dove head first, but as I jumped I realized I was diving into an empty pool. People would be overtaken with laughter upon seeing my leggings and teased that I looked like Peter Pan — not maliciously, but due to my rapidly developing insecurity it impacted me harshly. Immediately the waves of embarrassment began to crash over me.

You’re dressing outlandishly to get attention.

You couldn’t pull off those tights anyway, joker.

You’re being inappropriate.

You’re making people uncomfortable. 

You should change yourself. No, not just your clothes.

I knew there was a showcase that night that I was to do with Annette, and suddenly I felt terrible for dressing this way, thinking I would make us look bad. I had been irresponsible and unprofessional. There were multiple times that I wanted to run away, to go back to my host’s place to change into more traditional clothing. But it was too late, I had already committed, I might as well stick with it. So I swallowed my pride, tried to ignore the countless comments and stares received, and performed the showcase (a medley of seven different songs and styles).

Photo credit: Joel Höglund. Link.

Photo credit: Joel Höglund. Link.

Photo credit: Joel Höglund. Link.

Photo credit: Joel Höglund. Link.

Photo credit: Joel Höglund. Link.

Even though the night went off without a hitch, even though I slowly overcame my crushing embarrassment, even though people were on the whole very nice and a few genuinely complimented my costume, my physique, and my willingness to just go for it, my heart sank to my toes when I saw this photo for the first time. I look like an idiot, I thought to myself. 

Shakespearean fool or no, I left quite the impression. People were talking about it constantly. During a panel discussion on Blues dancing the following day, one person asked, “Are tights the new trousers?” The room exploded into raucous laughter and applause.

Photo credit: Joel Höglund. Link.

As part of the feedback form for the event, one question asks “What was your favorite part of the event?” A few people put down “Andrew’s leggings.”

At the end of the day, I am able to laugh about it, but I went through an unexpected range of emotions to get there. I have a curious relationship with being in the spotlight. All my life, I tend to exist on the outskirts. I’m not the life of the party, I’m not able to hold the attention of large groups of people, I don’t like to draw attention to myself. In fact, I can be a bit judgmental of those who I deem to be “acting out” for the sake of receiving attention. Dressing up in this way, I subjected myself to that same criticism.

The irony is not lost on me that I, a person who habitually avoids the limelight, fell into a profession where I exist in that light constantly.  Perhaps it has to do with the “teacher cap” I put on, the metaphysical costume I drape over myself when I step into the role of Teacher and beneath which I can hide. I, Andrew Smith, am not occupying the center of attention, this is Teacher Andrew. But that’s not entirely true anymore, that I protect myself in this way: over the course of the past several years I have learned to more often remove that guise and just be Andrew Smith, a person who is also a Teacher. Northwest Blues Recess in 2014 was a pivotal moment to that end, where I was unabashedly myself and also the recipient of a lot of focus and awareness. Still, it’s a learning process, and it can be downright scary to share in this way. (Yes, I realize I do the same through my blog, but for some reason it feels even more real when I do it among people in real life.)

There was one quote I recently encountered while reading The Art of Asking, by Amanda Palmer, which has given me valuable food for thought:

        There’s a difference between wanting to be looked at and wanting to be seen.

        When you are looked at, your eyes can stay blissfully closed. You suck energy, you steal the spotlight. When you are seen, your eyes must be open, as you are seeing and recognizing your witness. You accept energy and you generate energy. You create light.

        One is exhibitionism, the other is connection.

        Not everybody wants to be looked at.

        Everybody wants to be seen.

I think it has helped frame my thinking about people giving me the gift of their attention and awareness. I always feel undeserving of it, yet I am so humbled and grateful to receive it. It is simply being seen, but by a lot of people. And that can be quite unnerving. But I’m kind of a connection junkie.

Into the Land Down Under.

Oh, hello there, Blog. Seems we haven’t spoken in quite some time. Sorry about that. It turns out that I don’t usually write about relationships or professional endeavors; because that’s pretty much been my entire life over the fall, I’ve not had much space to write about anything.

But times are changing (for good and for bad). I’m now in Australia for the whole month of February, partially for dance events but primarily for vacationing and recovering from the heartbreak that has been the past several months. My tour of Australia was booked over a year in advance — the first time any event had booked me so far into the future — and would be my first trip to the land Down Under. In preparation for my trip, I managed to have the presence of mind to purchase a Lonely Planet book and order In A Sunburned Country, by Bill Bryson, as a way of introducing me to this peculiar continent. Aside from these two actions, I departed from the US decidedly unprepared and having spent very little time planning, I’ve just been so busy. 

The day after my arrival in Melbourne, I was whisked away to the magical setting for Cider House Blues, at which I taught this past weekend. Before departing, I came across this delightful little road sign, which I wanted to share as a brief aside before diving into the weekend festivities...

 

Belonging to the parents of one of the organizers, CHB takes place on a farm outside of Melbourne, about an hour’s drive away. The trip out there was quite pleasant, and featured interesting road art along the way. Evidently, there’s been a big push by the Australian government to beautify the country highways with large-scale art projects. My favorite is the de-scaled hotel that’s not a hotel. 

 

Aside from the pleasing road art and conversations in the car, we were treated to an decidedly beautiful sunset. Coming from Seattle, where it was recently 40ºF recently, I appreciated this resplendent display of Summer.

The farm is stunningly beautiful. The pictures don’t quite capture the serenity that is this place, but they offer a starting point. This panorama was taken from their porch that doubles as an outdoor dining room.

After a leisurely morning spent sunning myself and sipping tea, I got to work tying up some loose ends for work and eventually around to lesson planning for the weekend. At some point, I took a break to exercise (Insanity all the way!), which elicited bemused commentary from others. I find it interesting how people often feel driven to comment when observing others exercising outside the context of a gym. 

The day passed quickly in the way productive days so often do -- i.e. quickly -- leaving me unprepared mentally and emotionally for the arrival of CHB participants by the evening. As the crowd grew, I found myself increasingly shy and overwhelmed by the prospect of being social with a huge group of people whom I’ve never met. It made me appreciate the long-growing friendships I’ve developed with scenes throughout North America and Europe, that I can find familiar faces almost anywhere, but here I found myself in a completely new spot and only familiar with the organizing team. Making matters worse, my internal monologue took a turn for the worse and began to dwell on depressing events of the past couple months, further stripping me of my usual confidence summoned by being a dance teacher at a dance weekend. I felt utterly incapable of putting on my amiable teacher hat, of bringing the party, of opening my heart chakra and sharing joy and love of dance with everyone. While I couldn’t do it authentically, I forced myself to go out and dance and put on a happy face because it was the right thing to do — not only in a professional sense, but also to drag myself (begrudgingly) out of my blues. Those psychological studies that show that facial expressions can influence your mood can’t all be wrong. I had some pleasant dances and people were categorically kind and friendly, but it still felt like a slog and I was incapable of genuinely connecting. 

Friday was challenging, but Saturday and Sunday saw a marked improvement for me. The classes went splendidly, for one. I love teaching abroad, particularly because the students are so often more keen to learn. I was able to teach one of my classes outside in the sunshine on their outdoor dance floor, which delighted me to be out in the sun (with sunscreen, of course). I find that classes are a great way for me to connect with large groups of people, it’s effective at breaking the ice. Where I couldn’t find the right spirit to interact with them on Friday, by Saturday afternoon I felt relaxed and confident and able to make small talk with people. People saw in me the goofy, slightly awkward person that I actually am, not some scary intimidating teacher who looks down my nose at people, and I think that let them open up more as well. Throughout the rest of the weekend I had the pleasure of connecting with a number of kind-hearted, engaging locals, either in receiving earnest compliments about a class or over sharing a scrumptious meal, all of which were communal. 

I want to give huge props to the kitchen team, for their hard efforts to fit a diverse range of dietary restrictions and still have everyone feel nourished. I ate super well this weekend, always with an excellent balance of greens, grains, and protein. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the presence of mind to photograph any of the spreads — probably because I was in such a ravenous state that I could think of nothing else than to stuff my face with delicious food. 

Shortly after Saturday dinner, we convened for a Blues dancing competition, but with a special twist: it took place on a bouncy castle. It was Australia’s — nay, I daresay the World’s — inaugural Bouncy Castle Blues competition. And oh, what a glorious sight it was to behold. I had the special honor of judging said competition, which I can assure you put a lot of pressure upon me to carefully weigh the balance if Blues aesthetic with bouncy castle awesomeness -- not a feat suitable for an inexperienced judge. Being able to say that I professionally judged a bouncy castle Blues competition is perhaps one of my greatest achievements in my career to date.

I captured one of the preliminary rounds on video. I did a terrible job maintaining the dancers in the frame, because I was scribbling down notes at the same time (I was judging, remember, and that’s a very serious business). 

Saturday night was particularly magical. It began with dancing outside under a crystal-clear starry night sky. Here’s the dance floor (I couldn’t get a good photo during the night):

Being so far away from civilization and with the porch lights dimmed, one could easily see the Milky Way while dancing. Another reminder of us being quite remote was the wonderful background din of crickets, frogs, and who knows what else that provided a gentle hum to the entire night.

 

The live band that played that night rocked my socks off. The duo, Wilson & White, play a fine pre-war Blues set, I was transported to an era when Delta Blues was alive and well. I danced so hard that night, never missing a single song from the band. I was grateful for the band breaks, because it meant I could take a break as well to water and feed myself. During those breaks, I had the pleasure of chatting with locals and getting to know them better. After their second-to-last set, the entire party was given makeshift lanterns and we made a little procession off to a shack about a hundred yards away, where the band was set up for their final set. I returned the next morning to take pictures, so just imagine it being dark and lit with tea lights. Someone was set up inside the shack handing out cocktails.

Here’s where the band played.

I haven’t danced this hard in a long time, it was a real gift to receive. The musicians had a great time interacting with the dancers, and the dancers were clearly eating up everything they were being offered. The whole night was filled with so much win. Once the live band wrapped up, I took a wonderfully long break from dancing to recover my energy, then headed back out for dancing until 5:30am. Along the way, I enjoyed some hilarious conversations that probably wouldn’t make much sense when not deliriously tired and riding high on dance.

Sunday glided along in the usual fashion of days that follow staying up all night dancing and then teaching the following morning: filled with a lot of tea and stumbling over my words. Students were still keen to learn, though. I taught a two-part series on turning technique, which was astonishingly popular. People here clearly want to dive into the nitty-gritty details of dance mechanics, and I’m very happy to oblige. While they’re all business sometimes when working on their dancing, they also appreciate the importance of community and having a good time. We wrapped up the weekend classes with a heart-warming, community-focused class that involved a lot of student discussions and massage circles. 

The event formally concluded on Sunday evening, with no party that night, primarily because we were reasonably far from the city and people had to work the next day. I was perfectly happy with this arrangement, because it meant I could go to bed at a reasonable hour. After dinner among a smaller core group of people (primarily organizers), we went out to meet and feed the alpacas and pony on the farm.

The alpacas had been freshly shorn a week ago.

Monday was a perfect recuperation day, primarily spent lazing about in the sun. I wandered about the farm, taking photos, sipping tea, and chatting with people. By midday, we departed to briefly visit a winery (so delicious) and then stopped by a nearby beach for a couple hours. After the intensely packed weekend, I was all too happy to let the hours slip by without my eventfulness.

With the increased peacefulness, I did find myself returning to more somber thoughts of life back in the US, of current struggles, losses, and sorrows. The contrast between the beauty and joy of the weekend and the emotions I was presently feeling was stark and uncomfortable. I’ve come to expect these sort of post-event depressions, even if they’re brief, it’s a natural way of my body balancing for all the endorphins I’d been creating through the weekend. Not to discount the reality of my thoughts, but at least I could acknowledge the context of them feeling particularly painful in the moment, because of me recovering from the weekend. Still, I appreciated the wonderful company shared with a few friends whom I trust. Walking along the beach, I tried to open my heart to the world in some hopes the sun’s summery rays would penetrate all the way through and light me from the inside. It helped, just a little.

 

 

 

 

Competitions and good times at PBEx.

Last weekend over the 4th of July, I attended the Portland Blues Experience, a perennial favorite event. Unlike standard dance events, PBEx is an experience unto itself (thus making it aptly named — it is not an “exchange” per se).

PBEx differentiates itself by taking focus away from the dancing and placing it on the music. The event is run in parallel with the Waterfront Blues Festival, the second largest Blues music festival in the country. PBEx only runs late nights and always features more live bands. It breaks the standard form of 3 nights of evening + late night dances. Without the focal point of evening dances, attendees are given free reign to make each day and evening what they will. It’s more about the musical, social, and cultural experience of Portland, shared with dancers. I love it. 

PBEx was a very special time for me this year. One of the reasons were the competitions on Sunday.

Rachel Stirling and I decided to join forces for both competitions this year. We didn’t really prepare at all — as would be expected when living in different cities — but have always relished dancing with each other. We went in with the expectation that we’d have a load of fun goofing around. And we did exactly that.

I think it’s always best to approach comps with the mission to have fun. It certainly worked out well this time: for the second year in a row, I took 1st place in both the Jazz and Blues dance competitions.

We were even featured in an article about the dance competition in The Oregonian.

I am so happily surprised and grateful and overwhelmed by this result. I never dare allow myself to believe that I’m  worthy of pulling off something like this. Yet here it is. (And for those who are long-time readers, you’re already familiar with my opinions about competitions and the kind of (limited) insight they can give you about dancing.) I recognize that competing is an extremely specific skill set, but it’s one I want to cultivate because it helps me get hired as a dance instructor. The results from PBEx are reassuring to me that I haven’t lost my edge despite my recent heavier focus on software engineering. It was a powerful moment of external validation: not necessary, but so freaking awesome to receive it.

Also, it is just so much fun to bring that energy and magic to the dance floor to inspire other people. We both received praise from non-dancer spectators, saying how wonderful it was to watch us dance together and how in sync we looked. I also received a number of touching and humbling compliments from fellow dancers and judges, all of which make me feel deeply grateful.

A few weeks ago while examining the next year of my life, I set an intention to affirm my presence as a dance teacher in the US. While extremely grateful for my success in Europe, it has come at the unfortunate cost of having lost a lot of awareness about me stateside. The phrase “out of sight, out of mind” definitely applies in the dance scene. Right now, I may be well loved and recognized by fellow instructors and friends, but I don’t have the kind of presence that gets organizers to reach out and hire me. With my new job allowing me to work remotely and providing an income stream to support participating in events without teaching, I see this next year as a great opportunity to train and compete. 

I’d say my mission is off to an excellent start. Next up: Nocturne Blues.

Recovered at last.

[This is a backdated post, one I never got around to publishing.]

Two weeks ago, I finished Hack Reactor. Six days a week, 14 hrs a day, I lived and breathed code for a long, long time. I did little else -- feel behind on emails, on exercise, on reading, on journaling, on spending time with lovely people. I chose willingly to live out of balance for a period of time in order to grow immensely as a software engineer.

I'd say the gamble paid off. I'm able to build real stuff now. My job search starts in a month, but recruiters and contacts are already bookmarking the opportunity to interview. It's humbling and I'm deeply grateful for the positive job market -- such a shocking difference from my search as a construction engineer. I feel confident in my talents and ability, while equally excited for all the things I have yet to learn, the vast ways in which I can grow. 

Immediately after graduation, I departed to Europe for another teaching tour. But before hitting the road in earnest, I spent a relaxing two weeks in Scotland with a dear partner. The time was exactly what I needed -- respite from my breakneck pace of life.

Even before HR, I was on the move constantly. I had been on a six-week tour of Europe right before heading to HR. The tour came on the coattails of a particularly inspiring (and consuming) internship with Carbon Lighthouse. Immediately before that, I had been on a three-month tour of Europe. My transitions from one life phase to another, as you can see, are generally non-existent. 

While grateful for the fullness of my life, it does wear me down, particularly these past 6 months. Just no time to relax, to read a book, to have an entirely open schedule. This is mostly by design -- too much of the above makes me feel uninspired, even depressed. Like a shark, I have to keep swimming, even when asleep. 

Happily, I got the perfect dose of rest in the past couple weeks. I read books, ate nothing but home-cooked meals (after three months of eating out twice a day), played badminton (a surprisingly popular sport in the UK), slept a lot, practiced yoga, did programming when I felt like it, cleaned out my inbox, and completed a slew of tasks that had been neglected for a long while. 

I feel restored, reset, grounded once more. Clean and refreshed, I'm ready to take on the world. Good thing, too, because life is about to resume its usual intensity. 

There was one tragic casualty during my time in Aberdeen. My travel mug broke from thermal shock (despite never having trouble before), the bottom popping cleanly off as I poured in boiling water. 

My mug, a memento from a particularly meaningful event called the Chautauqua Retreat, has been with me on my adventures around the world. It has seen me become a full-time international dance instructor, caffeinated me through late nights of dancing and programming. It has been my wake-me-up black tea mug, my breathe-deeply jasmine green mug, my lets-get-silly whisky mug, my all-purpose water mug. But most importantly, it was a mug that reminded me of home, the home created by me existing in the hearts of wonderful people, my family, my tribe. 

It is merely a Thing, and I've grown quite good at letting go of Things -- a necessity when you live in a suitcase -- but the few Things you always have with you gain even greater significance. They go with you through a lot. So the death of my mug was sad, even heart-breaking. 

Happily, I can still carry Home with me, even without a focus symbol. So I move forward, on in my journey in life, walking along a path not frequented, designing my own life and loving the adventures I find myself on. And now, with my spirit fully restored and my body on the recovery, I am ready. 

The calm before the storm.

Roughly five weeks to go. Life continues to move at a breakneck speed. Over the past two weeks I have build two full-stack webapps, learned a ton about project automation, practiced using tools that improve collaboration on a project, and cut my teeth on testing techniques. I've traveled to Portland and back, visiting friends and family. I've made a new résumé for the programming world and customized my website's template to include extra links about me. And those are just the high points.

The second half of the course is far less structured; as seniors we're mostly left to our own devices while the attention of staff shifts to the new crop of juniors. We're not totally abandoned, of course -- access to guidance and technical mentors remains the same -- but we don't have the same relentless pace of learning some specific new technology every two days. Our learning is now largely guided by our own choosing. The world is our oyster. 

I've been thinking long and hard about ideas for the thesis project, the project that will occupy our attention and drive for the next four weeks. I want to do something innovative and useful, to solve a meaningful problem. (Then again, who doesn't?) I think it would be amazing to find a project at the interesting of building design and programming -- somehow incorporating Revit (the industry's de facto software for building modeling) perhaps. Or maybe take a more frivolous route and create an integration with my Myo armband, build an entirely new curated experience of interacting with the web. 

We learn about our project teams for the first time today, we'll meet and begin hashing out project ideas. The choices of this week will weigh significantly on the direction and -- possibly -- success of our team. It will chart the course by which we will sprint for the next four weeks.

Right in the middle of it, I'll skip off to Seattle for the weekend to teach at Rain City Blues. I'm excited for the event -- had a wonderful time last year. It'll be a lot of work, as I'm skipping an entire day of HR, working through the weekend, and taking a redeye flight to make it back in time for Monday. For all the work it'll be, I have high hopes it will prove grounding as well, since I will be back in my community. Through the course of Hack Reactor, though it has been a mere 1.5 months, I am already feeling degrees of disconnect from the world of dance. It's surprising how quickly it seems possible to fade out from the scene.

After graduation from HR, I immediately return to Europe for another tour of six weeks. Copenhagen, Spain, and Stockholm. It'll be less intensive by design -- squeezing in a few weeks of break (which will likely still include a healthy dose of solo programming) will be a welcome restoration. I look forward to actually being a tourist for a bit.

Then it's back to the US to initiate my job search. The whole world is open to me. Maybe I'll find a dream job doing programming in the sustainability sector. Possibly I'll search along the west coast to find a gig that lets me work remotely. Maybe I'll broaden my search to include Europe. Right now there's a whole lot of unknowns that will dramatically shape my next (at least) couple years of life. That seems to be par for the course with my life, though. 

A lovely time in Oxford (yet again).

Last weekend was my workshop in Oxford. One day, two tracks, six hours of class, six hours of partying. A packed experience, to say the least.

I am always thrilled to visit Oxford, it's been my favorite city in Europe since two years ago, when I passed through in August 2012. That experience left a powerful impression. My first introduction was through Nancy, a (now) dear friend whom I met in London originally from the states. She ensured I got all the classic Oxford experiences, which has included (over the course of a few visits) tea & crumpets, a bicycle ride along the river and cycling on the wrong side of the road, museum visits, and strolling college grounds finding areas shot in the Harry Potter films. 

Oxford was also the first place where I really felt like "kind of a big deal." I use that term very loosely, and I don't let it get to my head. Still, it was on my first tour of Europe, and I felt so welcomed and people were excited even though only a few knew of me. (My status as a US instructor probably helped: by this point, Europe was ravenous for more high-quality Blues instruction, and saw US-based teachers as the crème de la crème. Timing and luck counts for a non-trivial portion of my success in Europe.) On that visit, I taught a class at the weekly venue that drew a huge crowd, and in one night lined up seven hours of private lessons for the following day. I had never felt so in demand, and to this day have not surpassed that many privates in a single day.

Since then, I always make a concerted effort to pass through Oxford during each European tour. I have been successful thus far, bringing my total number of trips to this lovely town up to five. Five!

I love every aspect of Oxford. The old buildings with breath-taking architecture, the wealth of museums and libraries, the feel of its downtown, the river on which you can go punting in the summer, and of course the people.

This picture summarizes how I feel about Oxford. What could be better than lazily floating along a river with verdant banks, drinking ginger beer in the sunshine, and laughing about everything in life? I have developed many meaningful connections with others that I cherish. Something about Oxford makes it feel comfortable, like a home away from home in Europe.

Oxford comes with a certain old-world quality, intellectualism, and pageantry to boot. You wander through a graveyard and see dates with only three digits, and it's not because the "1" has worn away. Buildings and chapels are breathtaking. There is a gigantic library that extends underground. Students wear academic gowns to their exams, and formal wear underneath; they were a designated flower to identify where they are in the process of their exams. There are formal dinners for students at the halls. There are even bizarre and hilarious traditions at schools, such as at Merton where, every November, students walk backwards for an hour at the quad drinking and being merry, in order to generate enough counter-clockwise momentum to slow down the Earth's rotation and correct for the disruption caused by Daylight Savings Time in the space-time continuum.

I'm just glad that Oxford loves me back. This was the flyer created for the most recent workshop.

"American Legend?" Who might that be? I don't know anyone that qualifies as such.

I realize it's self-aware hyperbole, but I have been recently the subject of such flattery and kind words in advertising that leaves me a little astonished and bashful. I have been described also as "the nicest guy in Blues," and my upcoming workshop in Bristol proclaims that I am known for my "international Blues stardom, as well as being a lovely guy."

I don't know what I do to deserve such praise, but I sure do like it, and I'm glad people think it. It reminds me that I'm doing at least something right, and that people like my classes and like me as a human being and want to keep learning with me. As a dance teacher, you're more than selling a teaching product: you're selling yourself, the unique classroom experience you create, the environment you form in the classes and at the dances, and that has a lot to do with you as a person. 

After the workshop, I had the great pleasure of joining the students for bangers and mash. (For all you 'mericans, that means sausages, mashed potatoes, and vegetables.) I have actually avoided such a dish for many years, since the name "bangers and mash" has a certain repulsive sound to it (possibly because "bangers" means something very different in the US?), but I'm glad I was roped into it this time. The food was delicious and high quality, much more than your average pork sausage: I was dining on pidgeon and peri peri chicken and spicy venison sausages. Not at all the unappetizing, unidentifiable meat product accompanied by bland potatoes and over-steamed peas that I envisioned. Amazing. 

A belly full of food, I managed to squeeze in a 1.5 hour nap at the pub before joining the group for more dancing and partying. We rolled along until 3am with a cozy house party, a wonderful atmosphere for socializing and dancing. 

There were a few moments when I would be saying something to one person, and I'd realize that everyone else in the room was listening to me. This happens from time to time in scenes, with no particular consistency, where I am the center of attention and people unabashedly give it. For a person whom is at home in front of a classroom of 70 students, I am bizarrely shy in social settings. Deep down inside, I'm an introvert, and I don't usually speak up in group environments, often because my comm lag is so long I never have the chance to get in a word edgewise. So these moments, when I realize everyone is looking at me and paying close attention to my every word, sends a flash of embarrassment and an urge to stop talking immediately and once again fade into the background. I need to get used to it. There should be workshops where people can practice not being shy in a structured way, but without the usual crutch of dance. 

The next day, I was treated to even more dancing -- three hours of fantastic Balboa dancing, as I happened to visit during their monthly dance. The level of their dancing is fantastic, and especially surprising given the small community size. After 1.5 hours of walking to and fro, plus three hours of furious footwork, my dogs were barkin'. Of course, Oxford is a real delight to walk through in the summertime, and I was treated to an amusing sight along the way home.

(In case it's unclear due to the low contrast, look closely at the statues.)

I bumped into a former dance student from Stanford, whom is coincidentally studying at Oxford for the semester. It was fantastic to catch up. I am always interested to talk with people who know me from specific and different phases of life -- such as graduate school -- because they serve as an excellent reference point. I can see the crazy amount I have changed over the course of one or two years. Also, we had amazing Thai food and followed it up with ice cream. I treated myself to a brownie sundae with in-house oreo ice cream. Such decadence! It was fun in the moment, though my body was quite cranky with the sugar rush that followed. 

Although it's been a full week, the time has gone quickly. Tomorrow I depart for Bristol. It's been a lovely time here in Oxford, yet again. Thanks for everything.

No, Really, It's Not *That* Great.

People often exclaim with wonder when I tell them I'm a full-time, traveling dance instructor. What a mythical life I must lead, they seem to think. Visiting new cities, connecting with people around the world, embarking on wild adventures, dancing in different communities all the time constantly, following your passion, doing what you love all the time, living a healthful and full life. It must be light-years better than working an office job in engineering.

No, really, it's not *that* great.

The life of dance instructors can be decidedly mundane, not containing the luster others would presume. For this post, I won't even focus on many other aspects of giving up a traditional job, such as issues with money, health insurance, job security, or stability, to name a few. 

Today, Saturday, is the day before my workshop with Nicole in Delft. A day off, and decidedly sunny outside. You might think these are the moments where it pays off to live as a vagrant, eschewing the traditional work environment to go with the flow and explore cities around the world. Spend the day meandering through the city center, or lounging in the grass, or discussing the finer points of good dance technique, right?

No, really, it's not *that* great. 

The morning started off with an hour or two of working through communication issues that invariably crop up in any traveling partnership. If you're sharing a space continuously for five weeks, you really have to learn how to communicate openly and work through problems as they appear, or you get a lot of crazy problems as symptoms to deeper issues not being addressed. Processing becomes part of your standard work demands when traveling with a partner. 

Following that, it was a quick breakfast, some daily morning routine stuff. Then, working for several hours on class planning and administrative emails. A favorite of every dance teacher. Yaaaay.

By 3pm, it was time for another snack, then off for grocery shopping -- my one opportunity to catch some daylight. The walk was quite pleasant. We crossed a pretty canal. 



Finding the grocery store became its own adventure, as Google Maps reset itself mid trip and lost the marker for the store. Working off the map and some intuition, it was found eventually. But this sort of thing happens all the time: programs fail, directions are obscure, and you're left to your own devices to navigate as best you can without a data connection. It's amazing how dependent we become on always having access to data. In a world of traveling constantly and navigating new and unfamiliar towns, one has to become fluid and more accepting of the inevitable screw-ups, missed connections, lost maps, and incorrect directions, because they will definitely happen with greater frequency. 

In the grocery store, I found a "prize" waiting for me in my carton of eggs. What I did to deserve it, I'll never know. Perhaps they come standard, like Cracker-Jacks?



Purchasing cheese is always an adventure. You might recognize some words, like "Gouda," or identify the blue cheese and Brie on sight, but beyond that its a bit of a crapshoot to pick out something you'll like. And with such a huge selection (the Dutch love their cheese), it seems even more like a random process. 

As with navigation, in food you have to surrender a lot of control over what goes into your body, particularly in a country where you don't speak the language. It may be impossible to find peanut butter that is not "American style" (i.e. loaded with sugar). You may have no idea if your ham has sodium nitrates in it. You may not know what kind of cheese you're getting, you just hope it tastes good. You may not always have access to a kitchen with decent cooking supplies, or even have the time to cook your own meals, requiring you to eat out with far greater frequency. Because you're only in one place for six days at best, you are faced with either buying only stuff you'll eat in a day, or lugging everything around. And if you think it's a chore to go through a grocery store you're familiar with, try doing it with a different store every single time and the layout is always different.

On checkout, Nicole accidentally chose the one checkout line (out of six) that did not take cash; they did credit only. Which is totally backwards from what you normally see. I've known the Dutch do this, but I forgot to caution Nicole about this pitfall. After involving the manager, another cashier station, and much apologizing, we made it out with our groceries. Phew. Please forgive us woefully ignorant American travelers...

A quiet walk back home, and lunch. 

... And then it gets exciting, right?! This is when we train for hours in the afternoon to make the next breakthrough in our dance? We have the time, we have the space, and we have a fantastic dance chemistry and ability to train together and work as peers and push each other in dance in a constructive and healthy way. And we're in the same place! Which only happens once every several months...

No, really, it's not *that* great. 

The remainder of our day until dinner time was spent doing more computer work. What exactly does that entail? Here's a short list:
- Emails to organizers about confirmed events, which includes: discussing class ideas, writing class descriptions, negotiating rates, working out travel logistics
- Emails to organizers pitching for new gigs
- Connecting with teaching partners about these various events for all the necessary coordination, including approval of drafts to organizers, agreeing on what to pitch to an event, etc.
- Processing friend requests on Facebook from students, which includes sorting them into geographical categories and writing a small note to them to reach out and connect
- More emails to organizers just sent back to you in response to your earlier emails
- Pinging email conversations that have stagnated
- Researching and booking flights or other travel arrangements
- Registering for events
- Updating your website -- which is never up to date -- to reflect new competition wins and teaching experiences
- Going through photos on Facebook, picking out ones that might be good promo photos for later (such as these)
- Maintaining a presence on Facebook so people don't forget about you
- Composing, editing, and publishing blog entries so people can connect with you (and you can connect with them in a broadcasting sort of way)
- Making decisions about when to go where, what events to try to teach at, what weekends are available to possibly teach with which partner in what area, etc.
- Reading Facebook announcements or websites to tell of other instructors getting hired for other events you wanted to teach at and maybe even applied for, but weren't accepted, and processing the feelings of envy, comparison, and insecurity that so often crop up from these experiences
- Watching dance videos of yourself and others, analyzing how things can go better
- Editing new dance videos of yourself to publication on YouTube
- Promoting those videos on Facebook so people know they exist, watch them, and hopefully (hopefully) like them and get inspired to have you there as a dancer and teacher

I could go on, but I think you're getting the idea. There's a lot to do, and so much of it involves a computer. It's a common misconception that dance teachers spend most of their time teaching or dancing. Unless you work at a studio as an employee or independent contractor, you are in charge of running your own business, and there's a ton of work involved with such an endeavor.

During this 5-week teaching block in Europe, I was logging 40-60 hours of work each week. Your weekend is fully booked with an event. Even though you only technically teach 4-5 hours per day, you're actually working the whole time by being present as a teacher, by being a positive presence in the space and by not having much control over what you're doing with your weekend. Monday is typically a rest day to refill your spent dopamine reserves and creative well. I also often use it as a day to connect with my partner on a personal level, since working together doesn't actually count as "quality time." Tuesday is more of the same, though typically with a 2-4 hour block of work in there somewhere to knock out urgent tasks. Wednesday is a day of travel, and somehow no matter how much time you actually spend in transit, it feels like you lose most of the day when you hop from one country to the next, or within the same country, or even within the same city. Thursday is spent preparing for the next event, and Friday is the start of the next event. Rinse and repeat. Before you know it, you're looking at 60 hours of work logged, but it doesn't feel like it because it is accounted more largely in all the nooks and crannies, and disguised as "fun" through attendance as dances and parties. I have been careful to identify work as work, even if I'm having fun with it, because if I don't I get rather depressed to see I've only worked 8 hours (my billable teaching hours) while feeling totally exhausted and spent from the week.

Being a traveling dance instructor does afford you certain upsides, but you must keep an eye out for them. You must cherish them, hold them close to your heart, and appreciate them. Lean on them as experiences to remind you of why you've chosen an alternate, counter-cultural lifestyle. You must use them partly as justification for why you weather the storm of all the things that suck terribly about being a homeless dance teacher, you present them as evidence to the defense of your path when your logical, practical mind takes your decision-making to court and asks, "Why the hell are you doing this?!"

Dinner with hosts and friends, where we eat good home-cooked food and share stories laugh about language quirks. Some of my favorites, all of these pertaining to Dutch…
- The phrase literally translated as "old whoring" means "to gossip a lot."
- "Poope," in Dutch, means "to take a crap." (Yes, there's a surprising amount of Dutch similar to English.) In Belgium, "poope" means to have sex. This hilarious difference creates great deals of confusion in Dutch-Belgium interactions, particularly among couples.
- They have a common phrase, "cuddle someone to death."
- A "kok" (pronounced "cock") is a cook, or chef.
- The phrase translated as "the monkey is coming out of the sleeve" means that "the truth is finally coming out."
- Dick (pronounced like usual) and Cock (pronounced "coke") are common names. In fact, there was a TV detective series quite popular in Holland in the 90s, called "De Cock," translated "The Cock." The protagonist's name was The Cock. No, not Cock; The Cock. He introduced himself as such: "My name is The Cock. That is, C-O-C-K." He had an assistant name Dick. Oh, yes: Cock and Dick, crime solvers extraordinaire. For many, this is a fond childhood memory of a television series, which naturally leads to jokes about "seeing the cock every week as a 10-year-old," or "your family showing you the cock once a week," and so on.

Naturally, there is no end to the amusement to be had in dinner conversations. Fortunately, the Dutch do not deem any subject too improper for meals.



Traveling to a nearby town for a dance party. Realizing you're in the kitchen of a good friend in The Netherlands, dancing and having fun, and this sort of "Holy crap I'm in a different country and I know how to walk from the train station to the place of my friend, and here we're all dancing" happens on a regular basis. 

Driving for the first time in Europe (having already learned how to drive a manual -- thanks, Dad) and managing to not kill anyone or get too unnerved by seeing the speedometer read "100" (kmph, instead of mph).

Or, take the following day, teaching a workshop in Delft. Despite only two weeks of advertising, we drew in a crowd of ~24 students, completely filling the dance space. Students were excited to learn and sincerely engaged with the material. Most came from outside Delft, and quite a few were also at the Dansstage Balfolk event the previous weekend, where we evidently whetted their appetite for learning Blues. Our students' dancing transformed over the course of the day through focusing on fundamental concepts, creativity elements, and quality of movement. Standing in front of a group of people who trust you and go along with what you're saying even when you're asking them to be silly by playing a game. Seeing the "A-Ha!" moments, seeing bodies fall into better alignment, seeing people get more out of dancing with each other. Enjoying the rapport developed with your teaching partner in class, standing back and watching them command the room in turn, and trusting them equally to take care of the students and do what's best for the class. Receiving rounds of gratitude in the closing circle from students, even though we never prompt them for it. A student saying "It took a year to get me into Blues, but [Nicole and you] have done it. Thanks for that." 

Following the workshop, the majority of people went to a nearby restaurant for dinner and dancing. While we carefully managed their energy to maintain a high level in the workshop, people walked out exhausted. After a round of drinks, several succumbed to urges for a nap before dinner had arrived.



Delicious food -- a gargantuan burger to satisfy the body's demand for fat and protein -- and a wide range of desserts. My favorite: assorted handmade chocolates, one of which was presented to look like soil in a terra cotta pot (complete with a little sprout for verisimilitude).



More dancing that evening in a bar that was surprisingly pretty. They had these chandeliers made out of glass bottles and spoons.





Regularly receiving unexpected, unprompted compliments, words of praise, and gratitude with such sincerity about your teaching and dancing and personality. It is humbling and honoring.

We were approached by Tobie, a burly man with a soft spirit, who initiated conversation with me by saying, "So, are you the famous Andrew that I've heard so much about?" While I find such statements quite flattering -- it still baffles me that people speak about me, or think of me as "famous" (even in a subculture) -- I never quite know what to do with them.

After a bit of chatting, Tobie kindly offered to take Nicole and me on a tour of the city the following afternoon. Sounds like a great way to wrap up our time in Delft! It was quite surprising to be offered such a service.

At one point while jamming with Nicole to an uptempo electro-swing song, everyone cleared the floor to watch. What began as a simple dance together had somehow turned into a performance. I struggled to not go into to performer mode, to try to get everything right, and to keep messing around and play and try things out. At the end, we received applause. That kind of sharp attention, unexpected, can really catch you off guard, particularly when you're an introvert. It is in so many ways a very high compliment, and I strive to see it as such, but it's still unsettling in ways. When I remarked on not expected to perform that night to a Delft dancer, she responded, "It's not often we get such high quality of dancers in our city. We want to just watch and take notes and get ideas. And it's way better than watching a video of you two."

On our way home, we passed by a coffee shop. This is noteworthy only if you actually have been to The Netherlands, for they use the word "coffee shop" to mean something nothing to do with coffee: it is a place for people to purchase and smoke marijuana. I imagine this causes no end of confusion among English-speaking tourists, particularly from the U.S., who simply wish to sit down for a rejuvenating cup of coffee and perhaps work or read. I imagine said tourist asking for the location of a nearby coffee shop from a local, which the local dutifully provides (perhaps with a smug grin on his face). The travel-weary person arrives at the shop, steps in, and is greeted with the distinctive odor of weed wafting to their nostrils, leaving them bewildered and wondering if they followed the directions correctly. 

I suppose that's as good a place as any to conclude this entry. As far as proving a point goes, I have done myself a great disservice by ending on this note. Clearly, there are many wonderful aspects to being a traveling dance teacher. This post started off as me grumbling about how much work I had to do, but I do stand by my original assertion. No, really, it's not *that* great. Much of this life is like any other profession -- a lot of work, quite often at a computer. Your personal and professional worlds don't actually mix, you just learn how to make them coexist in the same space to maintain your sanity. Don't be fooled by the postings of instructors about their madcap adventures through exotic environs; we work hard like anyone else. If we don't, we won't last long. 

Reflections on Enter The Blues 2014.

The past several weeks have been, like always, a whirlwind experience. Back over Feb 14-16, I flew down to Atlanta for Enter The Blues. It served as a rare opportunity for Julie and I to compete together in the Strictly competition. While I did my Boston residency to teach and train with Julie, the opportunity to actually throw down was most welcome. The dancing, the people, the food were all so wonderful and memorable, but I must admit that the competitions were the highlight of the weekend for me.

In addition to the Strictly competition, Julie and I were paired for the Invitational Jack & Jill competition. I thought we danced well and had a great deal of fun. I was proud of what we shared with each other and the audience. There was a great moment when I was in a deep lunge and Julie cut across me and started climbing on my body. I could see it in her movement, she said with her whole body, "Here comes the competition monster -- I'm going to crawl on top of you and it's going to look amazing." Several audience members said that we had excellent dance chemistry and were shocked to learn that we rarely have the opportunity to dance or practice together. 



Lastly, it was a compliment to even be part of the Invitational. Most of the other competitors were other national or international instructors, some of whom were teaching at this weekend. All of them are dancers whom I admire.



The Strictly competition, by contrast, did not go so swimmingly. The all-skate felt fine, but I realized at the end that there were several elements I had been working on in my dance that completely fled my body in the rush of adrenaline upon stepping out onto the floor. The biggest piece was to make the dance look less flat, even if the music didn't have a big dynamic range. Much to my chagrin, our first spotlight felt way too short and did not go anywhere in particular. Missed opportunity #2. The second spotlight allowed us to redeem ourselves with a super strong entrance, middle, and finish. In my mind, we were batting 1 for 3.



The results left me feeling mixed, insecure. A strong finish is good, but we definitely did not dance our best on the first two rounds. Hanging over my head was the knowledge that I was working with the inimitable Julie Brown, a person whom I deeply respect and admire as a dancer (and teacher, and person, but those are beside the point here). Julie has that magic touch that when she competes, she wins -- or at least places consistently. I wanted very much to showcase Julie's talents, provide the base to make her shine, while still sharing my own dance. After that mixed performance, I thought perhaps I didn't pull it off this time. Which doesn't mean I'm a bad dancer, but it does mean that I squandered the opportunity. My language (viewed in retrospect) betrays a belief that I was accountable for the shortcomings of the dance. I realize this is unfair to myself, that it takes two to Tango -- err, Blues. I think this comes from a firm belief in Julie's talents as a competitor. It is not unreasonable to posit that Julie is a more experienced and capable competitor, making my performance the limiting reagent in the chemical process that we call dance competitions. But with some encouragement from Rachel (and also kudos to me for asking for support in the first place, which I normally don't do -- go learning!), I returned to good spirits for the last few hours of the late night and had a wonderful time dancing.



Sunday rolls around, with my time split between being with my computer work to chip away at my enormous work backlog and being with my friends and having a rollicking good time. I competed in the solo prelims and, thanks to a visit from the muse, got tapped for finals. This result was a big moment for me, as there were many dancers in the prelims whom I look to for inspiration in solo dancing. I bet I won over the judges when, while dancing to Brother Yusef's uptempo song where he references the Humpty Dumpty story, I acted it out the story, replete with a tumble to simulate the fall, followed by some dancing on my butt (a move I incidentally lifted from my Congolese dance teacher Goga). Definitely the winner right there. (At least the audience loved it, and I was having a good time.) For the finals, I managed to quiet my nerves enough to enjoy the dances and the movement. I felt good, I felt in my body, I felt confident. I did not feel like I ran out of material (which often happens in solo), nor that I dipped into other solo stylings that are not Blues (which also happens). My positive perception was reflected back by the praise lauded by friends, saying I looked like I was really embodying the music and dancing through the body.



By this point, I had let go of the competition results. I was happy with how the solo went, and I was proud to be in the invitational, and glad to make finals in the strictly. After one makes finals, getting placement can be a total crapshoot -- judges scoring can be all over the place. So I try not to worry about it as much. 

But once Megan begins announcing the winners for the Invitational Jack & Jill, my heart leaps into my throat with anticipation and my knees weaken.

3rd place goes to Shawn Hershey and Rachel Stirling. I am happy for them. I update my chances of placing to be lower, because I loved what they did.

"And in 2nd place…" I don't remember a thing after the word "Andrew" leaves Megan's mouth. I vaguely recall jumping up and down and being really excited. 

2nd place in the Invitational! Alright! Yes! An exciting moment, a high placement in a lineup of 8 couples most of whom are national-grade instructors -- including those teaching at Enter The Blues that weekend. I was beaming with pride.

They eventually get to the Strictly competition. I am fully amped. I have no idea what to expect. 3rd place goes to Brian and Laura. After 2nd place is awarded to John and Shoshi, I don't even hazard a breath. Dare I hope? It's all or nothing now. And first place goes to...

"Andrew Smith & Julie Brown!"

I think I screamed with excitement. I could not contain myself. Catching Julie in my arms, I spun her around in the air for several rotations, jumping up and down and laughing and yelling. I was shocked, humbled, honored, and at a complete and utter loss. It really happened! After a very long dry spell of no competition wins -- and as mentioned in previous posts, even not making it to finals (Enter The Blues 2013, Nocturne, Rose City Blues 2013) -- I had at long last taken the gold.

I was overwhelmed with joy, unable to stop smiling even though my face hurt.

After some intense but brief celebrations, Megan moves on to announce the Solo competition winners.

When my name got called for 2nd place, I couldn't bring myself to get to my feet. It was all too much. I placed?! I dragged my body out to the center, where Shawn (3rd place) greeted me with a hug down on the floor and then pulled me to my feet.

For the first time in my dance career, I received three placements in one weekend -- a Jack & Jill, Strictly, and Solo. To top that with taking first place in one and second in the others was just more than I could handle.



I simply couldn't dance. Ever person I greeted, I would start squealing and wiggling and jumping. Much of the rest of the night was spent in this fashion: up high on cloud nine.



Luckily I captured the Strictly and Solo on camera, and some of the J&J was covered.

Strictly: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NZEDthAd8go
Invitational Jack & Jill: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1KhNacQtbBs
Solo: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zl2XBHCcuvA

* * * * *

Two weeks after the fact, a stupid grin breaks across my face whenever I recall this event. The peer validation was certainly timely, even if it wasn't needed. Following Rose City Blues and my ego-crushing failure to make it to J&J finals, I spent a lot of time letting go of the outcome. I let go of my desire to be the best dancer out there. (Tess, if you ever read this I can already imagine you shaking your head and spouting objections as me as any good friend would.) Some people just have natural talent as dancers and performers. Rose City Blues was an indication to me that perhaps I was not one of those people. I was good, for sure, very good. But not at that stratospheric level of dance excellence occupied by (in my opinion) folks like Dan Repsch, Jenny Sowden, or Julie Brown. Here was a healthy dose of reality: my passion lies in teaching anyway, so why put so much focus on competition anyway? Put my energy and time into developing my teaching craft.

Still, I can't help but want to work on my dancing. I may never achieve the same dancer demi-god status of Dan and Jenny, but that should not stop me from striving to climb Mount Olympus. Regardless of the end state, the journey is worthwhile and prompts growth. And once I got back from Europe, I did a lot of work on my dancing craft. I wanted so much to push the envelope of my dancing. Concepts of conversational dance first developed with Nicole Trissell back in September were finally integrating deeply in my dance, coming naturally. I spent a week training with Barry & Catherine & -topher, danced my heart out for DFX, and spent weekends training with Julie and Flouer. I picked up Insanity again to regain whole-body strength. Watching practice videos of myself, I saw the result of my hard work, the incorporation of elements I've been training for many months. I remember how I was dancing back in September, and now my dancing has vastly grown and improved.



For all that effort, it is of course wonderful to receive positive reinforcement from your peers. Social acceptance is not far up the Maslow's hierarchy of needs; turns out it does a great deal of good for me. It's not desparately needed, but boy it sure does feel good. To have your respected colleagues say, "Yes, we like what you're doing." We all want to receive respect in our craft.

The timing of the boost was impeccable. Usually I am only proud of competition results if I feel like I've been working hard at it before then. This event came at the tail end of a long span of concerted training, and just before a long stretch of focusing on teaching (Boston workshop, Rain City Blues, then Europe) when I won't get to do more development. It reassured me that I am finding a balance between developing my dance and teaching, and the dancing seems to be going well.

I think we benefit from these bursts of support and affirmation. Art is a tricksy thing. As dance teachers, it's easy to fall into ruts where we feel stale, incapable of getting hired, imposters. Even while I'm about to embark on a such an epic tour of Europe filled mostly with teaching, I'm already looking to the late summer and fall, and concerned about not getting tapped for gigs. I worry that I am spending too much time in Europe and that I'm viewed as outdated, not on the circuit by US organizers and instructors. It's hard to not look at peers and ask, "What are they doing or bringing that I am not? Is that a gap that I can close?" (Yes, I realize it's silly. No one said insecurity was logical.) 



So these moments are diamonds that we stash away and hold in our hearts, to draw out and shine a light upon to combat the dark thoughts with a prismatic beam.



Progressing through the next four months, I will keep holding on to this diamond, use it to reinforce that I am on a good path and have it inspire me to always push forward.