My long break from blogging began in March 2013. At the time, I thought I had figured it all out. Things were looking good in the world: Obama had just begun his second term, the U.S. was recovering from the Great Recession, and California had not yet entered the depths of multi-year drought. I was incredibly optimistic about my life. I was thriving in my Master of Accountancy program at UC Davis and had accepted my first real professional job at the California State Auditor. I began cultivating my community garden plot in Davis and was at the beginning stage of my dance addiction. What happened between now and March 2013? Among the usual things—work, life and failed romances—I danced, a lot.
I’ve always liked to dance, but for most of my life I thought I was bad at it. Back in high school, I’d look forward to dances in the cafeteria, where I enthusiastically but awkwardly shuffled around to all that great 90s music. Many years later, after I’d finished college and was living in the East Bay, some friends invited me out to a salsa night. I was intimidated by the sharply dressed crowd and their intricate, flashy moves. I couldn't imagine myself ever dancing like that.
In the Fall of 2012, I became a graduate student and I developed what seemed to be a finely tuned, disciplined routine: study, swim, eat, study, eat, sleep. I was in great shape and was doing well in school, but my life felt incomplete. Occasionally I went out with classmates and I would get drunk and obnoxious and I’d impersonate our financial accounting professor. The next day I’d wake up feeling groggy and guilty for having spent so much money on booze and the greasy food that such booze demands. I needed an activity that was creative and fun and social.
After fall quarter finals, I had some time in Davis to explore. The student apartment where I lived was across the street from a Grad, a bar and dance venue, and I began wandering over there in the evenings, curious about dancing. I went to country night, but the line dancing seemed too prescribed and rigid and I didn’t like the music. Then I went salsa night to meet some friends. I’d been listening all kinds of Latin genres for years, including reggaeton, cumbia and bachata, so the music was familiar to me. At the Grad, there were dancers of all skill levels, and I was really taken by the Cuban style salsa dancing I saw there for the first time. Not everyone was dressed up fancy, but everyone had a big grin. It looked like so much fun, and so I decided I wanted to learn how to dance after that night.
At that time in my life I was more confident than ever and so I wasn’t afraid of trying something new. During my previous year working on a farm, I drove unwieldly tractors and worked insane hours in triple digit heat irrigating rice fields(see Lessons from Rice Farming). If I could survive that, I could endure the embarrassing and awkward moments that were sure to come as a beginning dancer. Furthermore, one day at lunch, my farm coworkers and I were discussing the challenges of meeting women. “Vete a la Tropi”, one older guy advised, referring to a banda club in Sacramento. I couldn’t really imagine myself walking into the Tropicana with a cowboy hat and boots and dancing banda, but the idea of dance as a way to socialize stuck with me.
I jumped right into Latin dance once the new quarter began, taking all the lessons and workshops I could find. Being a beginner was challenging, but rewarding and fun. After a few weeks, once I learned the basic steps, I started going to Tuesday Salsa Night at the Grad regularly. I remember asking myself once while dancing merengue with a friend: am I allowed to be having this good of a time? The persistent guilt I’d long felt seemed to melt away on the packed, sweaty dance floor.
I would not have made it through graduate school without salsa night at the Grad. Dancing helped me release stress and feel energized and alive after spending all day puzzling over amortization schedules and consolidation worksheets. It fit smoothly into my graduate school life: I didn’t have morning classes so staying up late on a Tuesday night wasn’t a big deal. I would study to the music of Sonora Caruselles or Xtreme and when I needed to get pumped up for a tax exam, I would listen to “Yo Quiero”, that Pitbull merengue song that DJ Migz liked to play. Despite the increasing amount of time I spent dancing, I stayed focused, succeeded in my classes and secured a job.
After I graduated and started working at the state auditor’s office, I kept dancing. Dance had become a religion, and the Grad was my temple. I went there every Tuesday (though I didn’t stay until the end like I used to) and then to Salsa Loca on Wednesdays, Station on Thursdays and whatever classes, workshops and other events were going on Friday, Saturday and sometimes Sunday. Monday was off, until I started hip hop class that night a few months later. I danced so much because I relished the chance to escape my life as an accountant and enter a world that was nearly the opposite: sensual, spontaneous, rebellious.
Dancing has been a powerful experience that has transported me to different worlds. To dance well and connect with a partner requires vulnerability, which builds strong bonds between dancers. Often when I’m dancing I am no longer worrying and thinking, I lose track of time and begin to exist only in tune with my partner and the music. Dance allows me to leave behind the way I’d always seen myself—serious, intellectual, aloof—and be someone who is more lighthearted, spontaneous and free.
But this freedom has a price, and the friction between my dancing life and the rest of my life began to increase. I loved going to Salsa Tuesdays, but on Wednesdays work seemed to last an eternity and ever increasing amounts of coffee couldn’t compensate for the sleep I hadn’t gotten. I shuffled through the workday but wasn’t really present—I was thinking about the next time I could go dancing. When my job got really stressful and I began working a lot of overtime, dancing didn’t fit so seamlessly into my life anymore. One holiday weekend in 2014, the combination of lack of stress, too much alcohol and lack of sleep from staying out late dancing triggered some mental health issues I’ve had for years, and damaged some of my friendships. Dancing, which was so absolutely wonderful when I first started, had become—just like us dancers—something more complex.
Despite the conflicts and challenges, learning to dance was one of the best decisions I’ve made. I’ve had incredible experiences, from the Joan Soriano concert to dancing bachata at sunset on a dock by the Sacramento river, and I’ve met wonderful people. I’ve realized that rejections and mistakes are inevitable both on the dance floor and life, and learned to accept them and keep dancing. With that attitude, I’ve really enjoyed the process of learning how to dance, and my relationship with dancing is constantly evolving.
Last December, when work became intense, I started dancing less and hiking more with my dog Roco. When I did decide to go dancing, I did so out of careful choice, not habit, and I really savored it as something special. Since I moved to Washington I haven’t gone out dancing. I’ve been focusing on other parts of my life instead: family, hiking, reading, writing, and getting adjusted to my new home. These days I listen a lot to the Mexican rock band Zoe, but sometimes I put on some Raulin Rodriguez or Timbalive and I get that urge to dance. I’m not quite ready to venture out into this new dance world though. In the meantime, I am content to explore the trails of the park near my house and admire the fall colors and the moss growing on the bigleaf maple trees.
I’ve always liked to dance, but for most of my life I thought I was bad at it. Back in high school, I’d look forward to dances in the cafeteria, where I enthusiastically but awkwardly shuffled around to all that great 90s music. Many years later, after I’d finished college and was living in the East Bay, some friends invited me out to a salsa night. I was intimidated by the sharply dressed crowd and their intricate, flashy moves. I couldn't imagine myself ever dancing like that.
In the Fall of 2012, I became a graduate student and I developed what seemed to be a finely tuned, disciplined routine: study, swim, eat, study, eat, sleep. I was in great shape and was doing well in school, but my life felt incomplete. Occasionally I went out with classmates and I would get drunk and obnoxious and I’d impersonate our financial accounting professor. The next day I’d wake up feeling groggy and guilty for having spent so much money on booze and the greasy food that such booze demands. I needed an activity that was creative and fun and social.
After fall quarter finals, I had some time in Davis to explore. The student apartment where I lived was across the street from a Grad, a bar and dance venue, and I began wandering over there in the evenings, curious about dancing. I went to country night, but the line dancing seemed too prescribed and rigid and I didn’t like the music. Then I went salsa night to meet some friends. I’d been listening all kinds of Latin genres for years, including reggaeton, cumbia and bachata, so the music was familiar to me. At the Grad, there were dancers of all skill levels, and I was really taken by the Cuban style salsa dancing I saw there for the first time. Not everyone was dressed up fancy, but everyone had a big grin. It looked like so much fun, and so I decided I wanted to learn how to dance after that night.
At that time in my life I was more confident than ever and so I wasn’t afraid of trying something new. During my previous year working on a farm, I drove unwieldly tractors and worked insane hours in triple digit heat irrigating rice fields(see Lessons from Rice Farming). If I could survive that, I could endure the embarrassing and awkward moments that were sure to come as a beginning dancer. Furthermore, one day at lunch, my farm coworkers and I were discussing the challenges of meeting women. “Vete a la Tropi”, one older guy advised, referring to a banda club in Sacramento. I couldn’t really imagine myself walking into the Tropicana with a cowboy hat and boots and dancing banda, but the idea of dance as a way to socialize stuck with me.
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| Los Telez concert near Tracy, CA August 2014 |
I jumped right into Latin dance once the new quarter began, taking all the lessons and workshops I could find. Being a beginner was challenging, but rewarding and fun. After a few weeks, once I learned the basic steps, I started going to Tuesday Salsa Night at the Grad regularly. I remember asking myself once while dancing merengue with a friend: am I allowed to be having this good of a time? The persistent guilt I’d long felt seemed to melt away on the packed, sweaty dance floor.
I would not have made it through graduate school without salsa night at the Grad. Dancing helped me release stress and feel energized and alive after spending all day puzzling over amortization schedules and consolidation worksheets. It fit smoothly into my graduate school life: I didn’t have morning classes so staying up late on a Tuesday night wasn’t a big deal. I would study to the music of Sonora Caruselles or Xtreme and when I needed to get pumped up for a tax exam, I would listen to “Yo Quiero”, that Pitbull merengue song that DJ Migz liked to play. Despite the increasing amount of time I spent dancing, I stayed focused, succeeded in my classes and secured a job.
After I graduated and started working at the state auditor’s office, I kept dancing. Dance had become a religion, and the Grad was my temple. I went there every Tuesday (though I didn’t stay until the end like I used to) and then to Salsa Loca on Wednesdays, Station on Thursdays and whatever classes, workshops and other events were going on Friday, Saturday and sometimes Sunday. Monday was off, until I started hip hop class that night a few months later. I danced so much because I relished the chance to escape my life as an accountant and enter a world that was nearly the opposite: sensual, spontaneous, rebellious.
 |
| Los de Akino cumbia show at Club TX Lathrop,CA October 2014 |
Dancing has been a powerful experience that has transported me to different worlds. To dance well and connect with a partner requires vulnerability, which builds strong bonds between dancers. Often when I’m dancing I am no longer worrying and thinking, I lose track of time and begin to exist only in tune with my partner and the music. Dance allows me to leave behind the way I’d always seen myself—serious, intellectual, aloof—and be someone who is more lighthearted, spontaneous and free.
But this freedom has a price, and the friction between my dancing life and the rest of my life began to increase. I loved going to Salsa Tuesdays, but on Wednesdays work seemed to last an eternity and ever increasing amounts of coffee couldn’t compensate for the sleep I hadn’t gotten. I shuffled through the workday but wasn’t really present—I was thinking about the next time I could go dancing. When my job got really stressful and I began working a lot of overtime, dancing didn’t fit so seamlessly into my life anymore. One holiday weekend in 2014, the combination of lack of stress, too much alcohol and lack of sleep from staying out late dancing triggered some mental health issues I’ve had for years, and damaged some of my friendships. Dancing, which was so absolutely wonderful when I first started, had become—just like us dancers—something more complex.
Despite the conflicts and challenges, learning to dance was one of the best decisions I’ve made. I’ve had incredible experiences, from the Joan Soriano concert to dancing bachata at sunset on a dock by the Sacramento river, and I’ve met wonderful people. I’ve realized that rejections and mistakes are inevitable both on the dance floor and life, and learned to accept them and keep dancing. With that attitude, I’ve really enjoyed the process of learning how to dance, and my relationship with dancing is constantly evolving.
Last December, when work became intense, I started dancing less and hiking more with my dog Roco. When I did decide to go dancing, I did so out of careful choice, not habit, and I really savored it as something special. Since I moved to Washington I haven’t gone out dancing. I’ve been focusing on other parts of my life instead: family, hiking, reading, writing, and getting adjusted to my new home. These days I listen a lot to the Mexican rock band Zoe, but sometimes I put on some Raulin Rodriguez or Timbalive and I get that urge to dance. I’m not quite ready to venture out into this new dance world though. In the meantime, I am content to explore the trails of the park near my house and admire the fall colors and the moss growing on the bigleaf maple trees.
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