Dancing

brief thoughts on improvement and joy

What I do sometimes feels motivated by the desire to feel like I’m improving at that thing rather than the doing of the thing itself. It’s a form of contextless motivation that is analogous to consuming dating advice without having any skin in the game or learning music theory without ever having strummed a guitar. Living in this way leaves you feeling one-step removed from life, like you’re constantly wrapped up in a condom (lol) when what you really want is contact. You may feel more comfortable and safe, especially if you’re new to the activity, but the deeper learning and improvement happens when you simply let yourself dance, when you aren’t totally concerned with improving or proving yourself.

Of course, I’m not against improving and improvement (and condoms), but historically I’ve been bad at being bad at things. How I typically compensate is by fixating on ways that I can improve. But this can shift the focus away from the activity itself onto something that is pointless on its own.

I went to a salsa dancing class a week ago and was partnered with a more experienced woman at the end of the night. She looked like a regular and presented herself with the relaxed and strong poise of a veteran. I was intimidated to dance with her. Then the music started playing.

The beginners I danced with at the start of class went through the learned motions with me. I didn’t know how to lead and they didn’t know how to follow, how to be held and led. We simply moved the way we were taught without any sense of style, sexiness, or connection to the other person. Most of them had left at this point.

With the experienced woman, it was a world of difference. Her back was leaned firmly into my right hand the whole time, awaiting any signals I might give her to twist, turn, or do something else entirely. There was an unfamiliar energy between us, a budding tension I didn’t know what to do with given my sparse salsa repertoire consisting only of basic steps, simple turns, and walk throughs. She held her gaze confidently against mine, and her initial smile had transformed into something more serious, something more attuned and present.

She was ready to dance, while I was stuck in practice mode. Instead of tuning into the moment and confidently dancing with the moves I had been taught, I was afraid of letting go, messing up, and looking like a total novice. I wanted to impress and be seen as competent rather than allow myself to groove and sway my hips as I pleased. I was mentally counting my steps – 1, 2, 3… 5, 6, 7… 1, 2, 3… 5, 6, 7 – and remained rooted in my head for most of the song. Even then I still lost track of the rhythm. Even then I still misstepped. Even then I felt like a complete rookie. But when the song was over, she smiled and thanked me for the dance.

It’s human to want to be good at what you do, but to be good one is usually bad at first. This is true of everything you try for the first time, and sometimes even the millionth time. You wouldn’t berate or criticize a friend or child for trying something new though.

The same can be true for you. Being bad at things induces anxiety in me (it’s probably related to feeling like I have to prove myself for love and approval, or something), but so does a constant focus on whether or not I’m good or am improving at what I’m doing. It’s possible, I think, to be more child-like in my pursuits, to do things without an eye toward constant improvement and comparison. What matters is dancing when the music starts. This is where the joy is.