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.

More thinking, and a peer.

I intended to write about my discoveries in class each day while riding the BART. I've run into two problems. 

1. The BART is surprisingly crowded, even at 7:10am. No seating room means no computer work. 

2. I haven't learned anything truly novel yet. Wa wa wa. 

The latter should be expected. Prior graduates with backgrounds in CS say the first week is mostly review. Looking at the schedule, I'll expect it to be more like 2-3 weeks. But there you go. 

How funny, that my diligent self-study has landed me into this quandary, has somehow been "a disadvantage" for me. Not that it truly is, but blast it I don't enjoy making tough decisions. 

Each day is a roller coaster, but not for the material leaving me dazed. Instead, gusts of sentiment sideline me every hour, every half-hour, sometimes every quarter-hour. One minute I'm totally convinced that I'm staying -- and the next, I have no idea why I'm paying to attend a school (and tutor?) when I could do the same learning in a real job. 

Here's more assessment. 

1. New material. ~60% of material I'll be lacking proficiency in and would benefit from practice. This practice could easily be replicated on my own, indeed I was going to before all this happened. Further, I'd get the same learning on the job. 

2. Sustainability / construction opportunities. This one is nebulous. Ideally I'd still like to work in the sustainable construction sector, to leverage my background. The current job is not that. Some opportunities may open up in 3-6 months, which I'd miss if I were in the new position. Through HR I'd have the skillet to work professionally without being beholden to my first company. 

3. Earning potential. Again, unclear. Joining now would land me a lower salary. I've asked about whether that is renegotiable after 6 months. Even with that, I'd guess my salary would be lower than if I joined post HR. 

4. Excitement and fun projects. A wash. HR I'd choose my projects, but at work I'd do real projects. 

5. Hiring community. Advantage HR, hands down. Is it something I don't already have, with my dancer connections? Maybe. But can a wider network do anything but improve opportunities?

---

5pm.

We are learning about data structures now: stack and queue, and their implementation through different instantiation styles. I've learned about data structures through my C++ class, and instantiation styles through personal research in JavaScript.

For this session, we are paired with someone of equal experience. I met a fellow whom actually did the same Stanford online courses that I did (except for Algorithms). It was amazingly fun to breeze through the material. We engaged in meaningful discussions of the pros and cons of different approaches. We coded quickly and felt on an equal footing.

We bumped into a bug in the testing suite provided by Hack Reactor. We fixed the bug and made the test even better and more precise, then loaded our fix to be integrated by the school. (Accompanied by proper documentation of the bug, naturally.)

It was… fun. Exhilarating. And sadly, this is the first time I've experienced this emotion. It was the first time I've been genuinely challenged in the program.

We're now having good conversations about our present shared dilemma: whether to quit and forge ahead on our own. It's nice to have someone else in the same boat. Camaraderie and all that.

Still debating my decision.

 

 

---

10pm

Another long day. 13 hrs in the building. Technically 2 hrs of break/meal time, yet much of those times are spent coding or talking about code. I took half of my lunch to help a fellow on a particular concept. The student was absolutely thrilled for the one-on-one time. 

My programming pair and I continued to rock our assignment on data structures. Ahead of everyone else as far as I can tell, and that is with a couple extra challenges we included for our own edification. (For those in the know, we used `reduce` to functionally implement `contains` for a tree. We could've done it iteratively, but what would be the fun in that?)

We have an excellent rapport. I think it's exciting for both of us, the way we push each other to new levels of mastery. ("Ok, that works, now make your constructor new-agnostic.") It does feel a lot like play: how can we take the assignment and up the difficulty level?

Fortunately many great challenges await, such as red-black trees and bloom filters. I actually know about both of those, but my grasp is tenuous. 

The program is surprisingly devoid of lectures. Aside from the first week, which is quite heavy to bring everyone more up-to-speed, there's only 2 hrs of lecture every two days (could be slightly off, but around there). I thought HR would provide the materials to master this material quickly, but instead they're teaching people how to teach themselves. I've been doing that for 1.5 years now, I think I've got the concept, that's why I was paying all that money to join and have things presented. Probably for the best ultimately: learn by doing and all. But it further makes apparent how HR will not give me a technical mastery that could not be achieved solo. 

I keep returning to the community. The network I will be a part of. And the fact that my job search will doubtless be more productive with the coaching of HR than on my own. These do add real value. I will have more offers to choose from, which will in turn lead to better economic situation and career opportunity. 

Plus, I might get lucky enough to angle for a sustainability-related job. Hack Reactor would add some credibility, and perhaps their network has some connections to offer. 

I'm a little stuck on the nostalgia(?) of my "by my own bootstraps" story, it smacks of the American dream, the universal belief that diligence and effort will bring you success. That story is diminished somewhat by attending HR. I am then "another bootcamp grad," the product of an emerging market capitalizing upon the industry's desperate need for programmers. I am no longer self-defined and hard-won, I am tidily and easily following a path blazed for me, a carpet rolled out with neon lights illuminating the way. I am successful because I have the liquid capital to not earn money for three months and exist in San Francisco. That doesn't feel nearly as good. 

I spoke with a senior whom entered with prior experience. I asked about the pace of learning among his peers. Do the students become fluent and quick-thinking? The beginning can be quite slow, as people struggle with everything from programming concepts to problem solving to keyboard shortcuts. Everything operates at ~60% efficiency. The senior said students do become versed rapidly, which leads me to believe that sprints later in the program (focused on my least familiar topics in backend) will have me mostly on par with any peer. I found this testament encouraging. 

Fellow students are already beginning to peg me as an experienced programmer, a resource, and a mentor. It's only been three days. 

Time dilation is happening like something fierce. I can hardly believe it's only been three days. So much has happened, it might as well have been a week. Life moves fast here.

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. 

Bears, beers, and Bern.

On Wednesday, I traveled to Bern, Switzerland, to meet up with some friends, teach private lessons, and explore the city.

My friend and tour guide took me to her university. I am always impressed by and a little envious of the university buildings seen in Europe. 

I mean, come on. This looks like a palace by American standards. The interior was no less breathtaking. Walking in the halls, I could imagine being a researcher there, having deep, philosophical, academic thoughts.

The city featured many delightful facets. An old clock tower, so often a centerpiece of European cities.

Evidently there is a man whose job it is to wind up the clock every day. I wonder what he does with the rest of his day. Is he considered a full-time employee by the city?

Here was an abandoned building, made particularly striking by the reflection of the sky in its windows.

I love language humor. This bar plays off the word "wunderbar," meaning "wonderful."

Many stores along the main drag were below ground. Their entrances were reminiscent of cellar entryways. Naturally, they would do a lot to mitigate the look and appear less spooky.

We found some nice spots to get broader views of the city…

At one point, my friend told me the legend of how Bern got its name. The founder of Bern was lacking creativity, so he instructed his hunter to enter the nearby forest and shoot the first animal he saw, which would then become the namesake of the city. As you might figure, the hunter found a bear; thus, why the flag of Bern has a bear on it.

She related this story to me, which I found quite interesting, and then we stood for a while in silence. Eventually, she pointed to into the distance at a large building with flags on it. "See there? They have beers there. We'll go see them." Neat, I thought. Bern also crafts its own beer. I'm a fan of seeing craft breweries.

We walked for a while, crossed a bridge, and I looked down. "Aiya! There's a bear down there!" I exclaimed.

"Yes," she responded, with a sentiment of Obviously in her voice. "I told you, we would go to see the beers."

"Wait… I thought you were talking about that building where they craft beers, and we would go have some to drink."

We laughed a long time over this language confusion. "Well, they do serve beers there, I suppose you could go have one," she offered. I demurred, opting to get closer to the bears. From then on, we would always get a chuckle out of each other as she continued to pronounce the animal as "beers." Interestingly, the German word for bear is pronounced almost the same as the English word, but for some reason she couldn't shake the pronunciation that was embedded in her mind.

One of the bears was taking a nap. I envied him, as I was myself in the mood for one.

We concluded the tour with a visit to the rose garden, which featured a stellar view of the city. 

We sat there for an hour or so, chatting and snacking on food. It gave me a chance to reflect upon the weekend and my present course in life. We had first met back in November, and even then I was in a rather different place in my life. 

She commented that I felt a lot different from the last time. My usual confidence, my energy, my outgoing spirit was missing. This made sense. I was currently passing through a phase of introversion, and felt it keenly at Forwards, where I wasn't actually a teacher but everyone treated me equivalently. The group was keenly aware of my presence. Without the benefit of my teacher hat to put on and inhabit the extroverted side of my character, this level of attention withered my introverted side. (The jet lag no doubt made it worse.) Flowing into Sideways, I was still unable to find my stride as I struggled to sync of up with my teaching partner. Facing a mounting set of issues, I never peaked and shared my usual, spirited self with the group.

(As this post is written retrospectively over a month later, I'm pleased to say that this problem fell away within a week.)

For the first time in my life, I am much more fully committing to teaching full time. I have, for the most part, let go of the idea of working as a construction engineer, of using my degrees from school, of having something resembling a traditional life. While I continue to apply for jobs and occasional envision myself settling down in the near future, the dearth of opportunities makes this scenario an unlikely one, so I am left to continue making the best of my present situation, which involves traveling the world to teach dance. 

What a meandering, unexpected path my life has taken! How was I to know what would come when I first signed that leave of absence form and departed from the university campus? And now here I am, touring yet again in Europe, this time for four months. I live on the road, surviving off my earnings as a dance teacher, following a path I never thought conceivable for someone like me. I remember back in 2008, when I won my first competition at Emerald City Blues Festival, I first contemplated the idea of being a real dance teacher. And talking with Lucky later that year, him regaling me with grand stories of his travels in Europe. How I would have laughed if I told myself I would be doing the same six years later. 

I have been grateful for the mixture of adventures and relaxation found in my weekdays between dance events. These moments of quiet help me gain perspective on my life: to see how far it has come, to theorize on where it is headed next, and to appreciate where I am currently.

A day of respite.

After a long, challenging weekend of teaching at Sideways, much of the teaching staff embarked on a trip to Mt. Rigi near Luzerne.

We enjoyed a beautiful boat trip…

The weather was quite clear, affording us stunning views of Luzerne's environs.

Along our way to the top, we got caught up in a snowball fight. It began with -topher and me lobbing snowballs from a really long distance, trying to hit each other. I won the contest. (Hah!) With the contest finished, we closed ground and descended into chaotic, closed-quarters snowball combat.

What a lovely gang! Once we summited (which wasn't particularly hard), we got to playing! Plastic shopping bags were brought along to serve as makeshift sleds. With the help of my scissors to split them open (again, you never know when you'll need a pair…), we started the races.

It didn't always go particularly well -- they were plastic bags, after all.

But, we all persevered.

A popular style was to go down two people at a time, in order to build momentum.

We eventually grew tired of that, and graduated to many other forms of sledding down the mountain. We got creative. Going down headfirst on your belly, holding your legs behind you. Going down on your back headfirst. Skiing down with a plastic bag under each foot. The group had tremendous fun coming up with new ways to slide down the mountainside.

We also made snow sculptures, such as an igloo.

Overall, a tremendously fun time. It was a relief to interact with people as friends, to play together, especially after spending so much time working together and being professional and serious all the time. 

On the road again.

My life has officially entered a new phase. As of Thursday, January 30, 2014, I am a permanent traveling dance instructor.

There is too much to cover in an omnibus entry to give a full picture of my life. There has been a staggering amount happening since I was last on top of blog posts. Taking 30 minutes a day for Morning Pages has barely allowed me to keep a handle on it all, to keep processing all the change, to keep breathing. To make the task of picking up my blog less daunting, I will cover one portion of it: making the road my new home.

Some backstory: my mom and dad still live in my childhood home in the suburbs of Portland. It's a wonderful house and was a great place to grow up. But it is very big, even more so when all the children have flown the coop. I moved back home in April 2013 and set it as my landing pad, the place to which I could return once a month to regenerate. It was the perfect base for a transient, which is unquestionably what I was: from April to January, I spent maybe a grand total of 6-8 weeks there. With free rent, a good work space, and a convenient excuse to see my parents on a quasi-regular basis and help them around the house, I was very happy with the arrangement. 

For some time, my parents have planned to sell the house some time on the horizon -- perhaps in 1-2 years. Meanwhile, I continued to book up my travel schedule. February would be Boston, then four continguous months spent in Europe.

Life shifted near the beginning of January, at the start of the post-DFX teacher's retreat with a phone call from my mom: they planned to put the house on the market in March of this year and it could potentially sell within months after. The home I grew up in was being sold, and I would need to get my belongings moved out in preparation for the move. Given that I was only going to be in Portland for a week before embarking on another five month journey of being on the road, I had a mere seven days to get everything ready. All the things. Get ready for the trip, decide what stuff to keep or toss, how to prepare myself to be permanently on the road or be able to get to my things within a month or two, somehow pack all of my stuff into boxes and get them to the storage locker, and say goodbye to the home that saw me grow into a man.

Anticipating the raging mess that would be my life, I recruited the help of Ted, a dear friend whom I trust very deeply and know can get stuff done fast. Ted is a doer, and more than that he knows how to take care of others with impressive clarity. His schedule happened to be free, and he was more than happy to be flown up to Portland to help out a "chosen family" member in need.

Packing was a whirlwind of activity. Ted was my professional get-stuff-done guy, but it meant I needed a steady stream of things for him to do. This kept me on task: I needed to be thinking constantly of tasks to delegate. It also meant I didn't have the luxury to linger on sentimental items, reliving experiences of my past. I needed to make snap judgments about whether it was worth keeping; and if not, how to keep some record of it if needed. Sometimes I resented the pressure, but other times I know it prevented me from descending into rabbit holes. Here was a beautiful excerpt from a book framed by Lauren, or a turkey vulture's feather found on the road with her, or a little handwritten note that simultaneous made my heart cry and sing at the same time back when were first in a relationship. Even ones that were bizarrely emotional, such as an old fan used at my house in SE to keep cool in the summer of 2010, the halcyon summer days stretching our relationship forever in time. My house was riddled with them, little trapdoors into an alternate life where I have made very different decisions in those crucial moments of July 2012. Of course, the trapdoors ran back much further than Lauren, to past relationships by way of photo albums, drawings, or other trinkets.



As a side note, those of you who know me probably raised an eyebrow at the idea of me making "snap judgments." I am the antithesis of snap judgments. True to my sign (Libra), I weigh any decision carefully and slowly, striving to account for all the angles and factors. You might imagine how this process of rapid-fire choices would tax me energetically. Fortunately, Ted was around to push me to a decision point at critical moments. While I may have spent an hour or two researching portable hard drives, Ted framed it in such a way that I could make a selection in ten minutes. Then, when I was utterly depleted, Ted would swoop in with a cup of jasmine green tea.

I enjoy this effect Ted has on me. It drives me to be decisive, developing a side of me that is woefully lacking. When I'm around Ted, the choices of life somehow become cleaner, clearer. Negative outcomes from a decision are merely the next step in a neverending road of challenges to be overcome, rather than a callback to a poor choice made earlier on and one that should prompt feelings of guilt and regret. Also, I spend money faster around him than anyone else I know. Ted is a frugal individual, but he also has a clear notion of what is needed or important to improve his quality of life, and such things are worth a good deal of money. It's clear to me what can improve my quality of life as well, but I get hung up on the question of "is it worth it to me?" Am I worth that investment? Am I worth spending money on? Do I deserve to have a nice new suitcase that actually is fully functional, or should I continue limping along with a tattered one over a decade old that has a number of dramatic downsides? My stubbornness unquestionably works to my disadvantage here. Yet in his presence, such questions are brushed away with a whisk of the hand. Purchases are not made frivolously, of course; only items of real import are considered. Perhaps in a way, he holds a deep trust of his gut judgment about things he wants, he can trust its discernment enough to go with whatever is identified as being something desired.

The example of purchasing a portable hard drive is perhaps not the perfect way to exemplify this situation. I very clearly needed one if I were to be able to survive on the road. Instead, I'll go with the last night in town, when we were in Portland. We made a spontaneous decision to visit the Icebreaker store, on account of it being right next to Cacao. (Side note: have you ever spent $150 at a chocolate store? I have. It's a weird feeling. Almost all of it is for eventual hosts on the road. It is important to me to be a good guest and offer a small gift of gratitude for their hospitality. And as both Ted and I have independently come to frame it: $150 is extremely cheap rent for many months on the road.) I entered the Icebreaker store intending to buy a couple pairs of underwear. I walked out with that… along with two shirts and two pairs of socks. While I certainly do have shirts and socks to last me, there is no denying the superiority of merino wool for travel. But I didn't agonize over the decision of whether it was worth buying -- I just knew it was worth it. (Well, I didn't agonize as much.) These were the things I needed, they would make life on the road way better, I would look far better in these clothes, so I would get them regardless of the price. 

Saying goodbye to my home was difficult. It's hard to know what to say or how to say it. Ted did a lot to aid me along the process, prompting me with the right questions. In the end, we went with a small group of good friends, celebrating with eats and drinks and general drunken revelry at my house. I did not do much reliving of old experiences, of the things I will miss. So I'll do a bit of that here.

Saying goodbye to my room where I spent my middle school and high school years. Every morning I would wake up to behold tall evergreens just outside my window. I have no doubt that living here had a powerful influence on making me so passionate about and drawing such nourishment from nature.



I'll miss Shelby, the family dog (a Shetland Sheepdog) from an earlier age, whom passed away when I was 18. She was buried in our backyard.

I'll miss the sun room, where so much of my work got done. I had an excellent setup there with my standing desk constructed from scratch. Once upon a time, I would slave away late into the night working on my senior design project for college. More recently, I spent countless hours (actually, I CAN count them, since I track my work time now using Toggl, but we're being figurative here) watching lectures on programming and stretching my brain around new concepts, then writing endless emails to organizers to arrange dance events and tours of Europe. I could look out the full-length windows and marvel at the beautiful backyard, the tall trees, the diversity of colors, the (sometimes) blue sky. Such mini breaks offered such rejuvenation. It is important that I be within close contact with nature. I have never had a better work space.



I will miss the unbelievable bounty of our backyard orchard. Apples, asian pears, and blueberries. More blueberries than you could ever possible fathom consuming. So many that you'd eat them like chips -- by the handful. Giving them as gifts to friends, sharing them with neighbors. Sharing an experience of berry picking with someone was a decidedly intimate experience. When you're up there for an hour (or more) at a time, not facing someone, just the two of you, mildly occupied with a physical activity, enjoying the warm Portland summer, you can dig in pretty deep. Romantic relationships were started in that orchard of berries. Friendships were granted a new depth of profound vulnerability. In that space, you could say anything, feel anything. It was safe.



I'll miss the expansive and enveloping back yard. With the hill and abundance of trees, it is easy to feel nestled in a little grove. 

I recall the cubby hideout in my old room. It was a 3'x3' cutout in the wall of my closet, revealing a small hideway about 4'x3'. Once upon a time in middle school, I had missed the bus to school YET AGAIN. It was because I was caught up playing Final Fantasy VII in the morning and lost track of time. Athey Creek (my school) was a 30 minute drive away, so walking was out of the question. In previous instances, I took a taxi arranged by my mom. But I was so overcome with embarrassment that I decided to try covering my tracks. I never went to school. When my mom came home early that day, I hide in that hideaway and read a book and played Game Boy. I would have gotten away with it, too, except that the school contacted my parents a couple days later, stating that I had not shown up to class that day. Busted.

I'll miss seeing all those LEGOs decorating the walls of my room. I was a huge LEGOs fan. One time, I built a whole city along the hallway leading to my room. There was a supply depot, storage facility, airport, repair bay, junk yard, police station, and lots of amazing robots and flying vehicles to police the city and mine ore and defend against invaders. It lasted for about a week, until my parents revoked the zoning permits, on account of the city making it exceedingly difficult to walk down the hallway.

I am saying goodbye to a childhood of videogames. I have packed away most of my NES and SNES games -- no way I could part with those -- even though I will probably not be playing them any time soon. 





I also rifled through my collection of computer games, which were highlights of my younger years and in high school. Doom, Descent, Syndicate, and newer ones like Command & Conquer, Half-Life, Doom 3, Counter-Strike, No One Lives Forever, Warcraft II & III, Diablo I & II, Black & White, Starcraft, Starcraft: Brood Wars, and of course the biggest time sink of all: all three of the Neverwinter Nights series (original, Shadows of the Undrentide, and Hoardes of the Underdark). NWN was the recipient of truly countless hours of my childhood. So much time spent online, roleplaying with people around the country and world. Online roleplaying was where I developed much of my love for acting, for storytelling. I also was able to broaden my imagination. I learned how to develop relationships and alliances through words. I genuinely believe part of what enabled me to be mature for my age was exposure to online roleplaying, of its focus on connection and interaction and play, of having time to develop your thoughts carefully and craft your words meaningfully. I am actually grateful for its presence in my life, even if it meant missing out on other experiences, because I still carry with me valuable lessons from that time. It's coming in handy again as I once again return to maintaining many relationships remotely / virtually, where your primary avenue to bond is through words.



I am happy with my decision to not play video games any more -- at least for the time -- and know it is for very good reasons. But going through those boxes was intense. Made me want to load them up one last time, just for funsies. Strong, vivid memories would come up to the surface, experiences of playing each and every one of those games. But there are more important and enriching ways to spend my life, now, and for that I am deeply grateful. (It's a decision that I will eventually getting around to writing about.)

I recall my secondary room in the house. I would stay there when I came to visit from graduate school. (My original room had been converted into a storage room by that point.) It is the room into which I moved when I came crashing and burning from the smoldering wreckage of a failed attempt at life in NYC. My parents were there for me when I hit rock bottom. They let me stay there, move back in, gave me space to nurse my wounds and rediscover my verve and nerve. This room witnessed a man step in shattered and lost, and step out driven and grateful for life.



Instead of hashing through these memories and so many others, the focus was placed on what comes next. How will my life be moving forward. Hence the group of close friends, gathering for drink and merriment. So much silliness ensued. There was much modeling of underwear, there was laughter, there was wacky dancing, there was much admiring of me in different outfits. One of my favorites involved a makeshift bandoleer. Not exactly one appropriate for teaching a dance class, but that's okay.



The praise and admiration of my friends for my physique and spirit was precisely the kind of boost I needed to embark from a place of deep safety. Sometimes I forget how much I am moved by words of affirmation. By the end of the night, I was overcome with emotion. I had been so strongly reminded that I always have family: both blood family and chosen family. And that family will take care of me. My family respects and admires what I do and think and share. I may be homeless, I may be following a winding trajectory that very few others follow, but I am walking the path with integrity and I am doing a good job.

I have lost a home that once felt permanent, a place to which I could always return no matter what. I have discovered that now homes exist spread throughout the world. I have the power to make such places feel safe and nurturing; all I need to do is be vulnerable, have the courage to reveal my imperfect self, and ask for the support of others.

My home is my suitcase. What I need to contribute to and exist in the world, I carry within my chest or upon my back. I do not know where this road will lead me. I do not know how long it will last. I do know my journey will never be short on amazing company, the likes of which leave me wondering what I ever did to deserve the love of such beautiful people.