Untangling and Settling

*Sigh* It’s been over five months, and I’m writing today because I sure as heck don’t want to make it six.  Truth be told, I’ve been lacking the motivation to write because I have a lot going on in my life right now.  I’m still wrestling with all of it.

This will be a short update.  Please forgive me.

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These Tricky Emotions

This picture of me at The Mob Museum is an apt representation of how I feel about this particular truth: not happy.

It was something I always knew.  I never tried to deny it.  Perhaps it was almost too obvious, so well blended into my dancing that it didn’t bother me.  Unfortunately, the emotional force behind this just hit me a couple of days ago.  Now, I feel the need that every writer feels.  The need that says “Come hell or high water, I have to write about this.  Like, right now.”  This blog is largely positive and personal.  It will remain that way, but I will not stifle my emotions.  I’m going to pour my heart on the page and have no regrets.

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Bachata Snippets (or Sweetness in Spanish)

photo by COD Newsroom (flickr)

photo by COD Newsroom (flickr)

Author’s Note: This is going to be yet another bachata post.  D-Wall, author of Facing Diagonal Wall was curious to know about my experiences with bachata for additional perspective. Seeing as I had no ideas for the next post, I’d be happy to share them.  It’s also an opportunity for me to experiment with a differently styled post, four vignettes with an epilogue.

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Er, Too Much? Yeah…

This is my reaction whenever this most unfortunate incident occurs.

This is my reaction whenever this most unfortunate incident occurs.

In this particular situation, it’s painfully funny how the inspiration for this one arose.  Tell me something, dear readers.  When you listen to a new song for the first time, do you hear the music or lyrics first?  I tend to hear lyrics.  What does this have to do with anything?  I was looking for more bachata music for the playlist post that I intended to put up before this one.  I’ve only had one semester of Spanish, so there’s little I can understand amidst the music and slang.  I can only recognize songs musically.  It saddens me to say that bachata gives me the most problems lyrically.  *sigh* I know I don’t have to look up the translation, but I would like to what my readers to know what they’re hearing if they click on the song links.  Then, I find a song with a rockin’ beat and obscene lyrics.  Ugh…  Thus, the question is “How much is too much?”  Just a heads up, this is going to be long post that addresses a controversial subject.

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Coaching with Jonathan Roberts

Jonathan also taught a Master Class in addition to coaching.

Jonathan also taught a Master Class in addition to coaching.

 

Check it out!  To those who say, “Pics or it didn’t happen,” it happened, man!  Can you tell I’m excited?  I didn’t survive my first coaching lesson; I thrived!  Initially, I was scared quiet.  Newness is always frightening, but things changed quickly.  Jonathan’s energy was infectious, and it didn’t take too long for my smile to appear.  He was very sweet, and I saw the same gentle warmth in his eyes that I saw in Victor, Nick, and Adrian’s eyes.  He cared and wasn’t afraid to show it.  We only worked on waltz, but the things he pointed out can be applied to the other Smooth dances.

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Release

Disclaimer: I am treading on thin ice because religion is a very sensitive subject.  I want to say that I am not trying to force my beliefs on any of my readers whatsoever.  Rather, this post will concern the relationship of my faith and ballroom dancing.  The two frequently intersect.

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Dancing is an escape for me.  I can be truer to myself when I dance.  I’m more open when I dance because I’ve released the weight of self-expectation and feel the need to “perform” less.  Dance is a release, plain and simple.

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The Argentinian Challenge

photo from Wikimedia Commons

photo from Wikimedia Commons

“Hey, did you know that I asked Tommy to teach me Argentine Tango?”  I eagerly told a friend a while back.  “You’re learning Argentine Tango?” he asked.  “Yeah,” I replied, still smiling happily.  His tone became frank, “I don’t know how you’ll do it.  I mean, increased physical contact makes you uncomfortable.”  An “alright” was all I could get out, not really knowing what else to say.  That stung a bit.  But he was a friend, so I brushed it off.  What I wish I would’ve said in that moment was “Challenge accepted,” with a big grin on my face.

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