The rarity of amazing

It strikes me that these days there seems to be some pretty high expectations of dances and dance events. People want greatness from their dances – that incredible connection when everything aligns with a partner and the music – and greatness from their events – the amazing energy of an inspiring weekend experience. I don’t blame those with such expectations: who doesn’t want great dances with their partners? And with an increasing number of events to choose from, we want great value for our dollar – events that are fun and rewarding.

The problem arises when people are overly disappointed because reality doesn’t match their expectations. Just because a dance isn’t out-of-this-world amazing doesn’t mean it isn’t something to be enjoyed and appreciated. Just because a dance event isn’t mind-blowing doesn’t mean it can’t be entertaining and worthwhile. Sometimes good is good enough, and we should be happy with that. Because you know what? “Amazing” is a rare thing.

The fact that “amazing” isn’t common is partly what makes it so amazing. If every dance were amazing, then the bar would simply get raised and we might start expecting more. The rarity of “amazing” is what makes it special, and what keeps us coming back for more, and what drives us to work harder to improve. It’s the possibility of having that amazing experience that makes this dance both exciting and rewarding. But the truth is that most of the time dances are not amazing.

Take competitions, for example. In any finals of a higher-level division, there may be a couple or even three truly outstanding dances. Then there will be a few good but not amazing dances. And the rest will be less than successful – missed connections, misaligned styles, conflicted partnerships, etc. So of say ten dances, only a couple are going to be amazing. Why should we expect any more from our own dancing experiences, whether competitive or social?

Honestly, I mostly blame social media. Let’s face it: No one posts videos of crappy dances on YouTube; they post the amazing dances. And no one writes post-event status updates on Facebook discussing why an event wasn’t enjoyable and how it could be improved; instead they write about the amazing dances!, the amazing competitions!, and the amazing people!

But the truth is: not everything is amazing. And that’s okay.

I’m fortunate to live in an incredible dance community – big, friendly, and talented – and I know I get spoiled with great dances. So when I go to a dance or weekend event, yeah, I’ve been the guy who has a run of bad dances and complains about it. But then I remind myself to have a little perspective: I’m so privileged to be able to do this thing we call partner dancing – to express my love of music through movement, and to get to do that with someone else. So maybe we didn’t create magic, or we had some missed connections, or I had to work a little harder. I’m still getting to do something I love, something not everyone can do or do well, and even if it wasn’t great for me, maybe I made someone else’s day a little better. It may not be amazing, but that’s pretty darn good, don’t you think?

So as the year ends, and the holiday season arrives, let’s be thankful for all our dancing, amazing or not. And may the coming year be one in which we find the amazing in all our dances.

Want to move up to get better partners?

I like talking to other competitors about their experiences competing, in part out of a sense of camaraderie and in part out of sheer morbid curiosity. When I ask how someone did in competition, I often hear such responses as, “My partners weren’t very good” or “I didn’t get good draws.” And this is often followed by an expression of the desire to move up into the next division in order to get better draws. As the thinking goes, if you can get better partners, you’ll have better dances, and therefore you’ll do better in competition.

Okay. I get it. As someone who has often been (and often still is) dependent on his partner for energy and creativity and the ability to just “make it work,” I totally understand the desire for a good partner. We all want a great partner who makes us feel good, who makes us look good, and who brings more to the table – better technique, better musicality, better partner skills. (Especially better partner skills.)

But let’s get one thing straight: your dancing is your responsibility. Your partner is not responsible for your technique, or your body movement, or your interpretation of the music. While a partner can make it more challenging or less comfortable for you to be your best, hopefully you’re at a level of proficiency that you can shine with any partner, right? After all, in a Jack & Jill contest, you’re getting judged as an individual in the preliminary rounds, so they’re looking at your own quality of movement, technique, style, musicality, and partner skills. I mean, really, what does it say about your skill level if you only dance well with really good dancers?

And let’s be honest about another thing: everyone wants to move up to get better partners, but no one thinks they’re the reason someone else wants to move up to get better partners. Everyone is so eager to move up quickly, but if you move up too quickly and you get out based on points and not proficiency, you’re going to be at the bottom of the next division. So yeah, now you’re getting better partners, but they’re getting someone who isn’t ready to be there yet. Now someone else will be saying, “I want to move up to get better partners”… because of you.

I’ve been that guy. I moved up quickly through Novice and Intermediate, and entered Advanced (at a time when All Star had yet to be created on the East Coast) as the guy who didn’t belong. Yes, I had gotten enough points, but there was a wide chasm in skill level between me who just joined the club and those who had been dancing in Advanced for years – honing their skills, demonstrating their abilities, and getting rewarded for it. So I’d get into the rotation and rightfully received the “oh crap” or “who are you?” or “what are you doing here?” face from some poor follower who got stuck with me.

And deserved or not, that kind of greeting just sucks, from both sides: it’s crappy to feel like you don’t belong, and it’s crappy to not be a more gracious and welcoming partner. Yes, we all rise to the level of our incompetence, and when you do move up you’ll likely be one of the weaker dancers in your level, but wouldn’t it feel good to move up because you deserve to be there based on your abilities, not on your points? Do you want to be the “oh crap” person? And, conversely, do you want to be the one who blames the other people in the division for his or her inability to perform well in competition? Is that the kind of partner you want to be? Is it the kind of person you want to be?

Here’s my advice, for what it’s worth: The next time you compete, go ahead and do your best. Dance your best. And be your best – as a dancer but also as a person. A kind, decent human being. And if someone asks you how it went, maybe think about what you did well or what you could have done better.

After all, we’re fortunate to be dancers – to do this thing we love so much. And we’re fortunate to be partner dancers – we get to share in the experience of dancing with someone else. What an awesome thing! Don’t forget it the next time you compete.

How do your partners in a competition affect your performance? When you reflect upon your performance, how much do you let your partners influence your impression? Teachers, how do you respond to students who blame their partners? How do you get students to focus on themselves and their own competencies?

Stop working on connection

I often ask people what they’re working on in their dancing, either out of curiosity or because they are my students and I’m checking in with them. A frequent response to the question is “connection” – to which I inevitably reply, “What do you mean by that?”

We all want to have better connection with our partners. I get it. I really do. Connection is basically my number one value in partner dancing, because without it, how can you have a comfortable, effective, and successful partnership?

But here’s the thing: connection is not something you create unto itself. It is the product of other things, namely movement and body mechanics. Connection is created through movement of one’s body, either towards or away from a partner. So if you want to improve your connection, you work on movement and body mechanics.

I’ve written before about the importance of doing specific, concrete actions and it’s the same when working on improving your connection. Connection is an abstract by-product of other concrete actions – not something you tackle directly but rather indirectly by working on other things.

So stop working on connection and start working on the things that will actually improve your connection.

What are you working on to improve your connection? How has your instructor provided clear and specific actions for improving connection? Teachers, how do you help your students understand and work on connection?

What happened to the slot?

So, from everything I’ve been taught, West Coast Swing is a slotted dance.

Yet I feel like these days I’m seeing more and more leaders not really leading the follower down the slot. They either don’t really lead much or they give rotational and lateral leads.

At the same time I’m seeing more and more followers not really going down to the end of the slot. They either don’t go to the end of the slot or they aren’t back-weighted when they get there.

And I’m seeing more and more dancers move the dance all around, and even when they’re just shifting, bending, or scrolling the slot, it happens with such frequency that the dance starts to look less linear and more circular.

In my classes I emphasize the importance of a clear, linear lead for the leaders and of going to the end of the slot and anchoring for the followers. And when I’ve studied with top champions, many have reinforced the importance of defining the slot. So what’s happening? And equally important, what does this mean for the dance?

This could just be a phase, like so many fads in our community that come and go (remember swango?). Or maybe it’s an evolution of the dance, influenced by dancers and music that push the limits and boundaries of what’s possible. (Dances like Carolina Shag and DC Hand Dancing were spot dances that became slotted under the influence of West Coast Swing.) Or maybe I’m just seeing a lot of poor technique and poor mechanics. (Ebonics: a new language or just poor grammar?)

Yes, I’m a technician and a stickler for good mechanics, but I’m not against an evolution of the dance. Heck, West Coast Swing itself is an evolution of Lindy Hop, and it has always been evolving – adapting to new music, new technical knowledge, and new influences. And the definition of West Coast Swing, let alone swing, has always been the subject of debate among purists and progressives alike.

In my view, though, I think it’s important to learn the rules before you bend or break them. And when they are broken, it should then be done with purpose and intent, not because you never learned them in the first place. Besides, I think it’s important to know our history and to understand where we came from so that we can better understand where we’re going (or might possibly go).

For my part, I’m going to keep teaching my students about the importance of the slot and linear mechanics, but I’m also going to pay attention to those who are playing with slot dynamics. And I’m going to keep hoping that people will better define the slot in their dancing before they venture to change it.

Is anyone else noticing this change in the mechanics or shape of the dance? Do you think this is just poor technique or pushing the limits of what West Coast Swing is? And does it matter at all?

No, really. What are you actually working on?

Whether it’s my regular students or someone I’m working with for the first time, I always ask the question, “What are you working on?” I ask this to get a sense of where their focus and areas of concern are, as well as to get a sense of how they think about the dance.

And time and time again, I get answers like: “Posture.” “Connection.” “Creating space for the follower.” “Not being heavy.” “Frame.” “Anchoring.” All good things to be working on, to be sure, but they’re also abstract constructs and concepts. What does it mean to work on these things? In other words, when you’re practicing, either by yourself or with a partner, what are you doing differently to achieve your intended goal?

I’ve written before about the importance of self-awareness, mindset, and focus for improving one’s dancing. Equally important, however, is having a specific, concrete action to work on. If you can’t say in specific, concrete terms what you’re doing to improve your dancing, it will be more difficult for you to make progress.

Learning to dance – and developing our dance – requires specific instruction on how to do something new or how to do things differently. Abstract constructs and concepts are important for understanding the why of what we’re learning, but at the end of the day, in order to do something new or different, we need the what and the how. Therefore, we need a specific and concrete action to perform that helps us develop a new habit or skill.

So while it’s important to not just focus on what not to do, it’s also important that as students and teachers we talk about specific, concrete things that we can do to improve our dance.

Can you say right now what specific thing you’re doing to improve your dancing? As students, do you make sure you walk away from lessons with concrete things to work on? As teachers, do you make sure your students have concrete actions to work on?