the cuban salsa blog

Return to the beginner's mind.

A guest post by Jill Powell

Back in the summer of 2007 I had my first salsa class.

The bug bit hard and in addition to going to class and practicing with friends outside of class, I spent nearly all my free time pursuing social dancing opportunities. Live shows, festivals, every “Latin night” in a 30 mile radius, even trips to other cities in search of more chances to dance.

Just like with anything new, there is a peaceful lack of history.

Men in the room were just “leads,” and I was simply a “follow.” I saw a sea of nameless dancers and would always graciously accept the numerous invitations to dance the night away without passing any judgment.

Then I learned a little more.

I observed. I developed preferences. I grouped like objects. I noted people who it felt bad to dance with. And good to dance with. I got so familiar with the faces on the salsa scene, I could practically do a roll call.

Some people even earned nicknames. I noticed I was dancing less and less when I was out. Sometimes I’d even feel a slight sense of dread before entering the room.

My attitude had shifted and the naivete was gone.

Don’t get me wrong, I still loved dancing. I still went out. But I’d started writing stories.

And my story had been written.

“He studies with so and so instructor, she dances on 2, he always drinks too much, that girl is such a showoff, he hooked up with so and so, she’s on the performance team, that guy has no rhythm, she’s latina, he’s always sweaty…” and so the stories began.

Everyone got nicely sorted out and pegged into their little hole without a shot in hell of getting out.

Including me.

Or so I thought.

Jon Kabat-Zinn’s book, Full Catastrophe Living, is about using mindfulness meditation to heighten our awareness of the present moment. He states that adopting a “beginner’s mind” allows us “to be receptive to new possibilities and prevents us from getting stuck in the rut of our own expertise.”

He encourages us to see familiar people with fresh eyes each and every time we see them. To ask ourselves “Am I seeing this person for who they really are? Or am I only seeing a reflection of my own thoughts, past experiences and opinions?”

Oh boy. Hmmm.

Could it be that just as quickly as I’d written the stories about all those familiar people dancing, I could erase them?

Does this collection of labels and assignments only exist in my mind? Or does everyone else think the same thing?

Do I have the power to dismantle all this? And if I did, would I see the dance floor as a new place?

Would anyone notice a change? Would they treat me differently? What assumptions and opinions about myself am I bringing with me?

Whew. No small feat to answer all this.

And I haven’t arrived at a point of miraculous revelation that I can share with you yet. But rattling the noggin and doing some experimentation never disappoints, so I have been giving this “beginner’s mind” an honorable attempt.

And just this week, I accepted with pleasure an invite to dance with someone who I consistently see out, but who has gently avoided me for well over a year (since our first dance that didn’t go so well.) Maybe he’s reading this book, too!

Or maybe my dress was that cute. But I think we’d all be safer to bet our money on this happening because I chose to strip away what I was sure I knew and leave it at home that night.

To old friends and new alike, I look forward to meeting you again and again on the dance floor!

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