Putting "You" Into It

The other night, I received a compliment from one of my salsa buddies that really stood out to me. He had watched me teach several times, but had never actually watched me dance. He told me that, while he was very impressed with my dancing, he noticed something different about me. He went on about how, when he watches most dancers, their dance styles make it very obvious as to who their instructors were and which dancers they look up to. However, when he watched me, even having known the people I had taken lessons with, he wasn’t able to discern from my dancing who I had learned from or who I modeled my dancing after. He described me as “seamless.”

As I thanked him for the compliment, I explained to him why it meant so much to me, not just to get a compliment on my dancing, but to get that compliment specifically. Just as I did with him, I’ll take you guys back to my days as a "salsa scrub". I had been dancing and taking lessons since October of 2002, but it wasn’t until 2004 that I got involved in Atlanta’s salsa scene heavily. In the beginning of 2006, I was extra hungry and eager to improve, so along with taking as many classes and workshops as I could, I bought a video camera so that I could track my progress as a dancer. From time to time, I would have a friend record me dancing with some of my favorite salseras. To my dismay, I hardly ever liked what I saw. More often than not, I would bore myself when I watched the footage of my social dancing. "I look like that?!?! For real?"

After several months of cringing at the sight of my own dancing, I finally figured out why I was so discouraged with my personal performance. I realized that I was comparing myself to the dancers that I looked up to. I had subconsciously decided that anything I did that didn't stack up to what my salsa role-models could do just wasn't good enough. I was expecting too much of myself. I had to remind myself that, although I had been progressing, I had yet to put in the same years of training that those who inspired me did, so I couldn't expect myself to look as good as them (yet). But it wasn't just in that regard that I wasn't being fair to myself. Not only was I not on their level skill-wise, but I wasn't them. I had to realize that even if I ever matched them in talent and skill, I still will never be them. I will never be Gordon Neil. I will never be Joel Masacote, Sekou McMiller, Al Espinoza, or any other "salsa celebrity" I looked up to. At the same time, however, neither of them will ever be me.

You see, I came to the conclusion that, while I should still take inspiration from my role models and peers, I shouldn't try to be like them. No one will ever "do them" better than they can, and no one will ever "do me" better than I can. Yes, I may learn moves and techniques from various instructors and performers, but once I do them correctly, I then have to make them my own. I have to put "me" into it. This epiphany of mine gave me the conviction that a dancer should strive to find his or her self. I say this at the risk of being cliche (I hate that with a passion) but a dancer has to have his or her own dance style. I believe that we do our instructors and role models --and ourselves as well-- a huge disservice if we become carbon copies of them. No one should be able to look at a dancer and say "I can tell he's such-and-such's student" or "it's obvious that what's-her-face is her role model."

"How do I keep myself from becoming a clone of my instructor?" you might ask. It has a lot to do with what I mentioned earlier: putting "you" into your dance style. I know, I know... That's such a vague term, and I really have no way of explaining what exactly that means. I'd kick myself right now if I could, because I'm breaking a teaching rule that I live and die by, which is to not teach anything that you can't break down. Anyway, I digress... I suppose it's vague for a reason: I can't really tell you how to find yourself. Heck, I really don't even know how I found myself in my dancing. I do know, however, that once I realized that I could only be me and no one else, it eventually came out. I'm not sure if it's even something you can tangibly go after or take practical steps towards. I think it kind of just gradually comes about once you decide to be an individual. You absorb everything when it comes to technique of course, but as far as moves and persona, you begin to filter things out, keeping what you like and discarding the rest.

One thing that I believe will help is just knowing yourself, period. It's been my experience that a dancer's personality is reflected through their dancing, sometimes even amplified. If you're the type that loves attention, it will show. For instance, I recall one instructor who was around in my early days as a salsero, he was the prototypical "oozin' machismo", Alpha-male Latino. Everything about his dancing gave off a powerful, "look at me" type of energy. Me, on the other hand, I've always been a very calm, reserved person, and that shows in my dancing as well. I learned LA style salsa first, which tends to be more flashy and aggressive, but all the dancers that I eventually would look up to danced NY style --fluid, mellow and smooth-- which resonated with my personality more. Being blessed with long legs and arms as well (very little of me is torso), NY style also fit my body type. Once I learned the difference, I began to gravitate towards NY style salsa. My style is ever-evolving, but I would say that the dancer in me is very "smoove" and playful, or "tranquilo", as I was most recently described by a local Latin band member.

I had to express all of this to my friend (in fewer words, of course) because to me, it was confirmation that I had come such a long way from where I was before, and to hear it from someone else meant a lot to me. I hope that, through my teaching, dancing and blogging, I can inspire other dancers to have the same outlook on their dance lives. To be themselves and also to become better versions of themselves, constantly evolving and progressing.