People think I’ve been dancing since I was little. Nope. I wish I had, but it’s just not the case. I started in college, and I was terrible.
I’m not latino. I’m white. Growing up in the small city of Eugene, Oregon, where it seemed that 99% of everybody else was also white, I had no connection to latin culture other than Spanish class.
I had zero exposure to dancing.
Talking to girls was already scary as well. I had no older brothers to help me in that department and was simply clueless. I admired my cool friends in high school who seemed to get ALL the girls. I was friends with girls, but JUST friends. Risking any action to move beyond friendship was terrifying.
I rationalized my lack of romance by telling myself “I don’t cr*p where I eat.” That successfully ruled out pretty much every girl I might see since all my activities were related to school. As I write this, I’m realizing that I still find myself using that excuse today. I guess some childhood habits are really tough to break.
In spite of my whiteness, lack of latino roots or culture, zero exposure to dance, and fear of women, in college I ended up in a salsa class.
I literally said, “Wow I bet this university offers cool classes unrelated to my major” and read the entire paper catalogue highlighting classes that looked interesting. Salsa was one of those classes.
It was pretty cool. There were 60 of us in a huge room. We would rotate partners, giggle when we screwed, and try to not look each other in the eyes because it was awkward. It was fun, challenging, and different, but I sucked. It took me 6 months to even hear the beat in the music. The teacher kept saying “good job,” but I didn’t believe her.
When I had to dance with the teacher I was so embarrassed. All I could think was, “Well, she knows all my moves since she’s the one who taught them to me, so this is gonna be really boring for her. Sorry!”
When I spun students I felt bad about it because it looked difficult and dizzying, and I was constantly apologizing in my head.
To pass the class we were required to go social dancing at least twice during the semester. Yeah right! There was NO WAY on earth that I was gonna somehow “lead” and “freestyle” with a stranger – and IN PUBLIC outside of the classroom?! Forget it.
My (stupid) solution was to tell the teacher I went social dancing even though I hadn’t. It was stupid because in my small city social dancing only existed one night per week, there were only 30 people in the room, and she was always there!
“Danny, did you dance this week?”
“…….. yes……….” I replied shyly.
Knowing that I hadn’t gone she would purse her lips, look at me sideways, and say “okayyyyy” as she all too sweetly still checked the box on her roster to help me pass the class.
Little by little though - step by step - I was improving. After 6 months I could hear the beat pretty consistently. After 9 months I gathered the courage to try dancing in the club.
I still, to this day, remember the exact moment that I felt like “I got it!” I remember the location in the club, who I was dancing with, and our huge celebration hug and goofy high fives after the dance.