Sporadic highlights from Leiden.

Following my workshop in Delft, I have spent the last few days in Leiden. It's one of my favorite cities; there's something about the vibe, size, layout, and style that appeals to me. Delft drew to me in a similar way.

I have gotten a considerable amount of work done since arriving. Blogging for many hours, tackling my bloated email inbox, listening to podcasts, and resuming my Insanity training regimen. It feels good to have a lot of open time for getting stuff done.

It helps when "getting stuff done" involves sitting in the grass at a nearby park, the sun shining, a breeze to keep you cool, and an old castle wall in the background. Score one point for old European cities.

Some photos of moments walking about town…

Here's Leiden's protector, a lion wielding a sword.

The place where I was staying is situated next to an old bell tower. Every half hour, I would be serenaded by a catchy tune. While this may seem perfectly ordinary to a European, the notion of a functioning bell tower is utterly novel to Americans, particularly when they can play complex compositions. Something about its resonance filled me with calm. It was a regular reminder that, even while doing boring admin stuff on my computer, I was doing it in Europe, and that's worth appreciation.

Nothing grand to write about here. Just trying to capture all my photos into journaled form. While I do my best to abstract themes and build blog posts around them, this process takes time. Further, I can't always fit all my experiences into themes. Some just… happen, like seeing a bicycle shop with a penny-farthing over it.

There's not much of a theme to this picture. I liked the look of it, and took a picture. Perhaps if I had captured more such storefronts, I could write about the unique storefronts of Europe (this has crossed my mind before as a potential topic, actually), but that hasn't yet happened.

So here I am, sometimes using my blog as a typical journal, capturing the random and unsorted moments of my life. Hope they're not too mundane, or that these occasional diversions from a proper blog dissuade you (my dear reader) from continuing to follow this blog.

My home, transformed.

As mentioned previously, my parents decided to sell my childhood home in Oregon. I recently received an email from my mom, linking to a virtual tour of the house for prospective buyers.

Watching the tour was… surreal. The house has changed completely from its original appearance. Beds and furniture are rearranged, shower curtains replaced, color-coordinated bedding chosen to be a model for what your new home could look like. But this was my home. 

Except, now it's not anymore. That much is very clear to me. Even if the house does not sell by the time I return stateside, I would not be able to go back to the house to crash there. It wouldn't feel right. I said goodbye to my home at the end of January, and this tour affirms that my home as I once knew it is gone.

I have, for the most part, made peace with the fact that I'm homeless. I had the benefit of Ted to assist me with the process of saying goodbye during that last week in Portland before hitting the road. I'm glad, because otherwise I'd be deeply unsettled by this virtual tour. As it is, I'm mostly struck with awe at how much a home can look utterly different, even when much of the furniture is the same, by removing all the clutter and moving stuff around. 

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.

Challenges with vulnerability: or, Questioning the "Suck It Up" philosophy.

Here's a familiar feeling: sitting on a train bound to a new city, reflecting upon the beautiful moments and great trials of the past couple weeks.

It's nice, this taking of time to order my thoughts, to catalogue my experiences, and to share with all of you. While I (ideally) do three pages of stream-of-consciousness writing to dump mental overhead, I find that blogging / journaling exercises a different part of my brain and serves a separate purpose. These periods of quiet, where I can sit in my world of words, listen to music, and just acknowledge the many things of my life are such a luxury. Fortunately, I have deliberately reduced the intensity of my travel schedule for this time period compared to last fall. That should leave me more space to keep up more regular entries.

I arrived in Switzerland last Tuesday and headed straight to Lucerne for Forwards, the pre-Sideways camp taught by Brenda, -topher, and Catherine. I noted that Zurich airport and the Swiss transit system has become second-nature to me. Entering the country or traveling from one city to the next is no longer a big ordeal; I may or may not look up train times and I can breeze through the computer ticket tellers.

I was surprised by the number of familiar faces at Forwards. A good sign that Europe is increasingly becoming a community that I'm a part of, much like the United States. People whom I am genuinely excited to see and enjoy spending time together.

I was also surprised by my introversion over the first couple days. Tuesday was particularly intense. For some reason, I could hardly meet anyone's eyes, I had no inspiration to speak up in groups, I felt very small and withdrawn, and that I wanted to get smaller because I was taking up too much space. Was it because I felt like I was being treated as a special teacher, even though I was a student like everyone else? Was it because I was so severely sleep deprived and exhausted, with all my barriers lowered, that were anyone to actually reach into my eyes they would find a swirling messy pool of mixed emotions, and the thought of being known in that moment was terrifying? Was I not ready for the eyes, the attention of a large group of people without first putting on the teacher hat?

I'm reading this book on vulnerability by Brené Brown, Daring Greatly. It's been making the rounds in my circles, thanks to her presentation on the topic at a TEDx conference going viral. The book first appeared in my life back in October, where it sat on my shelf for many months. It resurfaced in February on a couple, independent occasions, which I took as evidence that it was time to read it. Having already packed it away in storage, I bought a new copy to carry in Europe. 

Since then, I have spent a lot of time thinking about vulnerability, how I handle it, and how could I do better. I have always thought of myself as being an open person. I communicate well, I connect easily with others, and a speak from the heart. But I'm finding that there is much I hold hidden from the world, family, and lovers. There's a poetic dramatic irony to the situation, in that I used to fancy myself the more vulnerable person in my relationship with Lauren, and yet here I find that I am almost as equally guarded about my feelings and fear the thought of discovery, of being known.

The reasons for avoiding vulnerability are complex and intertwined, but here are a few I have identified recently:

1. I do not share my inner thoughts because I fear judgment from others or their negative repurcussions. It makes me naturally diplomatic, and also indirect. I do not want people to know my struggles, my frustrations, my judgment of others, my disappointment in myself, my critical mind. There are people whom are not on my favorites list, yet I still appreciate having them be some part of my life, so I play politic and enjoy a life of shared limited vulnerability. Does that hurt me in the long run? 

2. I fear that I am unworthy of love. If people knew the real me, they would distance themselves. They would think less of me, trust me less, spend less time with me. So I try to keep the negative, the sad, the downsides of my character contained and hidden. I work actively against this fear (as do most people whom live "wholehearted" lives), but I must acknowledge that it plays some role however infrequent or small.

3. I do not want to burden others with my Self. I am programmed to take care of my own demons. Man up, suck it up, don't be a wuss, don't be a bother, don't be co-dependent. Males have this one particularly hard, since self-sufficiency and strength are reinforced societal norms. If I unload my worries upon someone else, does that make me weaker? Do I become annoying by sharing my fears too frequently, I become a downer? Once I had been advised that you are ready to share the burden with another if you don't need to share it; that is the marker of a healthy independent strength. But how can you really know if you don't need it? And even if you don't need it, is it not unlike training that part of your emotional toolset less intensely? Further, what exactly do I get out of sharing with another person that I can't just process on my own with the many tools at my disposal? What's the point of it all, really? Do I get anything out of verbally processing a situation with another person? How deep does it need to go?

These are questions that float to the surface of my consciousness with some regularity. Just recently I had such a situation with Nicole. I had to wake up early yesterday to do several hours of work, despite staying up late and being destroyed from the weekend. The details of why are beside the point… and also, I don't feel comfortable sharing them in this space (guards against vulnerability rearing their ugly heads again). The point is that I had a lot of work to do and a host of emotions, stresses, and anxieties about the situation. I considered intimating this, since it was on my mind and affecting me, but there was a voice that said, "She doesn't want to hear that. We all have stress, don't put this on her, she doesn't need it and you don't need to unload it. Sharing is just seeking an excuse for not handling the situation well, it is stripping your agency and allowing you to play victim to your situation. Be tough, contain it, compartmentalize it and deal with it in the appropriate time and place. Git 'er done." Eventually I settled on providing an abbreviated version, but it was abundantly clear that I was only letting her see a glimpse, like an FYI statement rather than an invitation to dig in. It was… unsatisfying. I keenly felt the wall I had erected between us in that interaction. Yet it did allow me to keep the emotions contained, to not have them pollute our shared space. In an alternate universe where I did end up sharing a deeper side, would that have been any better? Would I walk away feeling better, more secure, more capable to handle the situation? Would there be a net positive effect? I'm not clear as to the answer. 

I did not go into the blog post expecting to write about vulnerability. It came out on its own accord. I suppose that's the beauty of writing, isn't it? One minute you're very aware of what you're writing, and then you look up and it's suddenly thirty minutes later, you have been scribing constantly and are only vaguely conscious of what came out.

Well, the train ride is almost done. For those whom made it this far, thanks for reading.

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. 

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.