Our competitive nature

I had a blog all planned for earlier this month, but then two things happened: (1) I launched a new weekly dance in San Francisco (shameless plug for Mission City Swing); and (2) my last post went viral, reaching over 3,000 people in 50 countries around the world. Honestly, I was shocked. I’ve been writing blogs off and on for years, and this is the first one that took off. It got me thinking: Why did this one blog post resonate with so many people?

When I’ve talked with people about it, I heard a few different reactions: people related to it, it was personal, it was the way I wrote it, it went beyond dance. Those are all good reasons for the viral spread of the post. Nevertheless, I can’t help but feel that its popularity and the way it resonated with so many people is also a reflection of the importance of competition and competing in our global community.

Let’s be honest: we’re a very competition-oriented community. Competitions are the focus of our events, showcasing incredible talent through a variety and multitude of formats. Moreover, we have a very complex system for awarding points to competitors, and most competitors are keenly aware of how many points they have – and how many they need to move into the next division. And it’s not unusual to hear people ask about or refer to another’s level or division. Yes, there are many in our communities who don’t compete and don’t go to events and just enjoy social dancing. Still, it seems to me that the community in general is driven by the competitive world.

Competition can be a good thing. It drives us to improve, to push ourselves, to push our dancing, and to push the dance itself. In the time I’ve been dancing West Coast Swing I have seen a lot of evolution in the dance, and say what you will about that evolution, I would argue that the level of technical skill and musicality has greatly improved in our community. The top competitors are leading the way, continually working to outdo themselves, and it sets a great example for all of us to continually work at this dance, to continually improve, and to continually aim ever higher.

The danger, in my mind, of being competition-oriented is when competition becomes the basis for our social interactions.

As I’ve noted before, I took a few years off from competing, with the exception of 2011, when I competed in the Classic division with Yenni Setiawan. It was an awesome experience and I loved doing the routine with her, though our success was limited. At the end of 2012, for personal reasons, I had to step out of our partnership and I stopped going to events altogether for a year, until Boogie by the Bay of this past year.

I say all this because, with the exception of last year, I’ve been around, even if I haven’t always been competing. So when I went to Palm Springs for New Year’s and competed, I had to laugh when I met people and they said, “Where have you been?” as if I’d popped up out of nowhere. It was funnier still when I had known of some of these people for some time but just had never formally met them. I thought, I’ve been around for years – you just haven’t noticed me until now.

And after those encounters I was struck with a feeling – the same feeling I had had before when I got wrapped up in competition years ago: the feeling that you aren’t someone in this community until you’re someone in competition.

I don’t think this is happening everywhere to everyone, but I do sometimes get the feeling that we value people based on their status in competition. We sometimes prioritize dancing with those in our own division so we can prepare for competition. We sometimes seek out dancers in higher divisions in the hopes of better dances. We sometimes avoid people in higher divisions out of fear of disappointing – or avoid dancers in lower divisions out of fear of being disappointed. We ask about someone’s division, we compare points, and we want to study with top competitors – sometimes regardless of their teaching ability. In isolation, each of these choices may not be so bad, but collectively they can be problematic. Because it’s a problem for our sense of community when competition fosters a social hierarchy, a segmentation or stratification, where social groups form based on people’s status in competition.

What’s worse is that competition isn’t always an accurate measure of one’s dancing.

Sure, competition can capture some aspects of a dancer’s abilities, but in truth it emphasizes some skills over others. Competition can reveal aspects of one’s technique and movement, but it is better at assessing one’s aesthetic and one’s ability to perform and entertain an audience. (This is why – at all levels – there are dancers who look better than they feel.)

Aesthetics, musicality, and performance are all important skills, but what’s their relative importance when you’re actually dancing with someone? Do you care most about how someone looks? How they entertain a crowd? Or do you care more about how they feel? Or better yet, how they make you feel? If you care more about the latter, then one’s success in competition isn’t necessarily the best measure of someone’s value in our community.

To be honest, I’ve had some great dances with top-level dancers, and I’ve had some not-so-great dances with top-level dancers. Some of my best dances – the most fun, the most engaging, the most enjoyable – have been with people at lower levels. The point is that level or points or visibility don’t correlate with how much I enjoy dancing with someone. Really the only way to know if someone is worth dancing with is to actually dance with that person (or trust the advice of others, but even then, they may have a different experience than you).

So forget points, forget divisions, and forget what you saw in competition. If you see someone you haven’t danced with before, ask that person to dance. Roll the dice. Take a chance. You may just make that person’s day. And that person may just make yours. But even if they don’t, it’s good for our community. And anything that’s good for our community is something we should make viral.

So you didn’t make finals, eh?

On several occasions recently I’ve heard conversations from disappointed competitors about not making finals, or, in some cases, of not placing or even winning. Not surprisingly, these conversations involve a heavy dose of negativity – towards other competitors, towards the judges, and even towards the event and the event directors.

The truth is, if everyone’s only in it to win it, then everyone but two people will be unhappy at the end of the competition.

Look, what we do – this whole dancing thing – is inherently subjective. It’s technical, yes, but it’s also an art form, and along with artistry goes personal opinions, values, and biases. On top of that is the fact that each event has different judges with different values and opinions. And on top of that is the fact that judges will only see a fraction of your dance – and you don’t know which fraction. Plus, each competition has a different mix of competitors. And honestly, someone may have just had a better day than you. It happens. But the bottom line is you just don’t know. You don’t know how other people are performing (especially if you’re on the dance floor with them). You don’t know what the judges saw. You don’t always know what the judges want to see. And the way we do judging is relative, meaning you may have had a great day but there were enough people who had a better day. There are a lot of variables at play, and if you choose to compete, you choose to accept the variability, the unpredictability, and the risk.

If you’re thinking, “Sure, Eric, easy for you to say,” then you don’t know what you’re talking about. I started West Coast Swing <gulp> twelve years ago. And while I had some early success and some recent success, I’ve had a lot of my own struggles – and the frustration that goes with them. There were years when I didn’t make finals, to the point that I stopped competing for a few years. “What’s the point?” I would ask myself. I resigned myself to thinking that I was a great social dancer and a great teacher, but I just didn’t have what it takes to be a good competitor. I had more fun at events once I stopped doing Jack & Jills, but the truth is that I had adopted a negative internal story. On the outside I pretended I didn’t care, but on the inside I was down on myself.

My complaining was symptomatic of an underlying combination of insecurity and self-doubt (something I can’t help but hear in some of the complaining I now hear from others). The idea that I deserved to make finals over other people, that at every and any moment I was superior to others, that my own perceptions and judgments were objectively and definitively correct and accurate – it wasn’t just foolish but also arrogant. And of course the fact that I cared so much about the outcomes of competitions and that my happiness was dependent on them was symptomatic of insecurity – a lack of something that left me without an internal sense of my own value. It was as if my own self-worth – as a dancer and as a person – was based on my success in competitions.

By now I’ve been around long enough to see the ups and downs of competing – in myself and in many, many others. I’ve seen the same story play out time and time again, variations on a theme, but a common archetype nonetheless. And, well, maybe I’m getting wiser in my old age. Maybe I’m just getting mellower. Maybe with experience comes more maturity. Or maybe I’ve just learned from my experience. But I’ve adopted a better attitude for myself and I like to think it’s paying off – in competition but more importantly for my enjoyment of this dance.

So listen, if you compete, or if you’re considering competing, here’s my advice, for what it’s worth:

  1. Accept the reality of competing (see above). Honestly, a lot of the time it’s a crap shoot, and you should truly be okay with that.
  2. Think about why you compete. I started competing to earn accolades so I could teach and contribute to the community. But somewhere along the way I began competing for the ego boost, for the recognition and praise, for the sense of self-worth it gave me. If the latter is what you’re after, you’re going to be disappointed. A lot. And if you’re not honest with yourself about this, the disappointment will continue. (Signs to watch out for when you don’t make finals: you blame others, you feel badly about yourself, you don’t want to see people, you don’t want to dance.) Find your reason for competing and make sure it’s something positive and healthy – an internal drive to grow instead of a need for an external reward.
  3. Don’t point fingers. No matter the outcome, whether you win or don’t make finals or not. The blame game does no one any good. It’s not nice, it’s not fair, and, most importantly, it’s not productive. Blaming others is absolving yourself of any control over the situation, as if there’s nothing you can do, and that kind of attitude isn’t going to help you move forward (nor will talking poorly of other people in a very social community). Which leads to…
  4. Take responsibility for your own dancing. Stop blaming your partner or the judges or anyone else and start working on your dancing. Appreciate your strengths and work on your weaknesses. Develop your dance so you can be great consistently, no matter the judge, no matter the partner, no matter the day.
  5. And for goodness sake, have fun! This is dance. It’s not world peace or solving hunger or curing cancer. The stakes are low and the rewards should be high. It’s something we should do because we love it and because it brings out the best in us. It shouldn’t make us unhappy, frustrated, stressed, or negative. Who wants to be that person?

My goal is to keep pushing myself as a dancer, and I use competitions as one measure of that progress. But honestly, I’m up against some great talent – guys I really admire and look up to – and I know I won’t always find success. Plus, at the upper levels there’s more differentiation among competitors, so that each dancer’s best is different from the next, and that makes the judging even more challenging to decipher. So if you can’t handle the disappointment at the lower levels, you’re in for a ride as you move up the ranks. Instead, do your best now to find your inner strength, work on your dancing, and enjoy the journey.

And leave the negativity to someone else. You’ll be better off without it.

Have you had challenging experiences competing? How do you handle frustration or disappointment? How do you console others who might be upset by the outcomes of a competition? Teachers, how do you help your students prepare for competitions, mentally and emotionally?

A winning attitude

I don’t know about you, but no matter how many times I compete, I still get nervous. I may be fine right up until I start dancing, but that first dance – or worse, my only dance if it’s a spotlight – and I’m tense. The adrenaline rushes through my body and it’s like I’m not there. I’m not present or focused and I’m certainly not relaxed.

At this year’s Capital Swing, as I sat there waiting for my spotlight in the All Star Jack & Jill finals, I could feel a wave of panic rising up just under the surface. At times I felt like I just wasn’t in the room; at other times, I could feel my heart racing; and sometimes I would run through dance moves in my head, as if preparing somehow. I watched my peers get up and have amazing dances, some of them out of the park awesome, and I was awed and intimidated. I mean, how am I supposed to compete against dancing like that?

As more and more names got called, I started to get it together. Mentally. I sat there and had a chat with myself. I realized that I was trying too much – trying to plan, trying to prepare, trying to have an amazing dance. And that was what was freaking me out: all the pressure to have an amazing dance. My expectations for myself were huge and it stressed me out.

So I made a decision: just have a simple dance.

As Brandi Tobias said recently, “This is West Coast Swing. They’ve seen it all. You won’t surprise them, you won’t shock them, you won’t impress them. All you can do is make them feel something.” (She’s right, of course.) So I decided to adopt that mentality. My strategy shifted from trying to amaze to trying to just have a simple dance. Suddenly, I was relieved. A simple dance – I can do that.

And when my turn finally came around (I was last, so I had time to talk myself down), I went with my new strategy. And yes, I lucked out and drew an amazing partner, but all of those followers sitting up there were amazing. And yes, got a really fun song, but Beth Bellamy was DJing some great music for everyone in our division. At the end of the day, it was my mindset and attitude that allowed me to relax and stay present and have the most fun I’ve ever had in a competition. In case you missed it, here was our dance:

And the reward? Not my placement, honestly, though that was nice. No, the reward was the confidence I gained from having a great dance in front of a crowded room. The reward was the support from my peers, all of whom I have great respect for. The reward was finding a mental strategy that I intend to use over and over again. Most amazing dance ever? No. We didn’t even win the division. But for me, it was an amazing experience that I’ll never forget. And isn’t that why we dance?

What’s your strategy and mindset for competing? Do you psych yourself out trying to win or trying to have an amazing dance? How do you fight the pressure and stress of competing? Teachers, how do you coach your students to compete? How do you help them adopt the right mindset for competition?

Was it good for you?

One of my resolutions this year is to support my local dance community. The Bay Area already has an amazing community – lots of friendly and talented dancers – but having been here for over three years now, I thought it was time to give back.

And as I work on starting a dance here in San Francisco [insert shameless plug for Mission City Swing] and on supporting the Bay Area’s biggest and honestly best dance convention [proudly promoting Boogie by the Bay], the same question keeps coming up in my mind: What makes for a great dance experience?

I’ve noticed at the dance conventions I’ve been to in recent months that the most influential component for me of a good night’s dancing is the music. Call me crazy, but as a dancer, I’m highly dependent on the music. If the music doesn’t move me, my dancing feels stale and boring and I just don’t have much fun. What makes for good music? That’s subjective, of course. For me, my favorite songs are those with a good rolling beat, those with variety and interesting musical elements to play with, those that grow and build, and those that have emotion and soul to them. But usually if a DJ plays a diversity of music – styles and tempos – I’m usually happy, because even if I don’t like one song, I’ll probably like the next.

Of course, a good night is about more than just the music. I have more fun when I’m with friends, when I have energy to dance, and when, quite honestly, there are good followers to dance with (or, at a minimum, I don’t have to struggle to lead my followers). It also helps if it’s not ungodly hot, if it isn’t so cramped I can’t find a slot to dance in, if the lighting isn’t too bright, and if the floor isn’t so fast I slip and not so slow I can’t turn easily.

But there’s also another element that makes for an amazing night, something abstract and intangible: the vibe. I think of the vibe as being that extra thing that’s more than the sum of all the different parts – an added energy that results from having fun, friendly, and talented people in the room, a good physical environment, and a DJ who knows how to keep people moving. Maybe the vibe is just the good feeling I get from all the other elements I’ve described, the chemical reaction when those different things come together, or the summation of everyone in the room having a good night. At the same time, it feels like one of those things that seems difficult to create and near impossible to replicate. It’s like something that just happens when you put the right ingredients together, but doesn’t happen when you try to force it. Whatever it is, it feels electric, like magic, and it leaves you wanting more.

What makes for a great night of dancing for you? Do you agree with the elements I’ve mentioned here? Are there others? Are some more important than others? What has your experience been?

What you need to get better now

If you’re reading this blog, I’m guessing that you want to get better. (I mean, why else read a bunch of articles on dance if it isn’t something you’re passionate about?) And improving at any skill requires passion and motivation, proper instruction, and mindful and focused practice. A lot of us are passionate and motivated, and there are plenty of good instructors out there to study with. The clincher, at the end of the day, is practice.

I recently had the privilege (it’s always a privilege) to take a workshop with Brandi Tobias. Among the many amazing insights she shared with us, one that stuck was this: “It’s not about years. It’s about hours.” And the truth is that few of us put in the hours. Acquiring any new physical skills requires frequent and consistent repetition, drilling the new behavior until we develop what we call “muscle memory” – the ability to execute a task well without mindful focus. And as Brandi also reminded us, practice doesn’t make perfect – perfect practice makes perfect.

For my students, I know many of them don’t put in the hours. Heck, I personally don’t put in as many hours as I’d like to. But when I do put in the hours, when I’m social dancing, I’m working. I’m focused and mindful, all the time, every dance. (Which is probably why I don’t smile often. Sorry to all my followers.) Because I know staying focused and practicing is the only way to get better. After all, if you’re not working on developing a new skill, you’re just going to keep doing the same old skill, the skill that keeps you where you are.

So as February rolls on, and we renew our commitment to achieving those New Year’s resolutions, here’s one for you: resolve to practice – and to practice frequently and consistently. Because without practice, your New Year’s resolutions might not stick.

How often do you practice? How do make sure to practice regularly and consistently? Teachers, how do you help your students commit to practicing? Leave your comments below.