Hello, friends!
How has everyone been?
First of all, I am so sorry for missing a post. Despite my best intentions and many attempts, I really wasn’t in a space to write with any clarity last week.
There are many reasons for this, which I will slowly get into over time, but for now, I wanted to do a followup to my previous post about my journey as an adult dancer. Lol, wait, let me rephrase that—a person who is learning to dance for the first time as an adult!
In rereading that post, I’ve realized that it doesn’t paint the full picture of my newfound hobby, and as I’m attempting to use this space to write more honestly, I wanted to delve into some of the not-so-rosy parts about my dance journey thus far, as it’s been on my mind a lot more lately.
Everything I’ve already shared is true:
Dancing has become a regular part of my routine and life here in LA.
I love having something that continually challenges me.
I’ve met many good friends through it.
But here’s the other truth about dancing for me: It frequently puts me face-to-face with my childhood insecurities around not being good enough.
In talking to my mom the other day, it’s not hard to see where this might stem from.
Though I often performed in choir or various talent shows as a kid, I don’t have a single memory of being told “good job” from her. All I remember are the pointed comments she’d make when I’d excitedly run off the stage to find her in the audience.
“Why was your solo so short?”
“So and so person sings very well,” immediately followed by, “I couldn’t really hear you on this part.”
These comments have had a lasting effect on my confidence in many ways. But as I get older and learn more about my mom, I’m able to understand her a little more.
My mom is a classically trained pianist whose teachers frequently smacked her hands with a ruler during their hours-long lessons. Despite being a good student and an obedient daughter, she was constantly criticized by the adults in her life.
“In those days, you were always being scolded by your parents at home or by your teachers at school,” she tells me over dinner.
When I ask if she was ever told “good job” by her teachers, she scoffed and said, “Koreans are stingy about giving compliments.”
Of course, my primary dance instructor here is an old school Korean who cut her teeth in the notoriously competitive K-Pop world. Her exact origin story is shrouded in mystery, but some say she trained as a dancer at one of the top entertainment companies in Seoul.
I don’t know much else about her, but I do know that she has impossibly high standards and she doesn’t mince words.
Some highlights from over the years:
My eyes! You’re hurting my eyes!
My mom is old and she dances better than you.
(Or conversely) My daughter is a kid and she dances better than you.
(And when she’s particularly frustrated) I don’t understand why you don’t get this. It’s so easy (said with an intense glare that burns a hole into your soul).
And these are some of the softer comments. If you’re expecting gentle encouragement from this instructor, you will not get it. It’s taken me some time, but I’m slowly realizing that we might have a *slight compatibility issue, as my #1 love language—by a landslide—is words of affirmation.
As a child, I loved K-Pop and would spend my afterschool hours watching VHS tapes of my favorite groups like H.O.T and Shinhwa performing on stage.
Rewind. Play. Pause.
Rewind. Play. Pause.
I’d do this over and over again, until I was able to copy the moves to the best of my abilities. But the dancing I grew up with (see 1st gen group H.O.T above) is not the dancing that current groups are doing (see the mental and physical gymnastics performed by 5th gen group RIIZE below).
K-Pop dancing has now become a masterclass in perfection. It’s known for its high levels of synchronization (known as 칼근무 or kal-gun-mu, which basically translates to “knife dancing,” to describe how sharp and precise it is).
Trainees start dancing as kids, so by the time they debut as K-Pop idols, they have hundreds, if not thousands of hours of practice under their belts.
They have what my teacher repeatedly tells us we don’t have: foundations.
It’s only natural that I, an adult woman with zero training (and excessive self-awareness), would struggle to keep up with these complex routines. And yet, I forget this ALL THE TIME.
After a particularly demoralizing rehearsal with my teacher recently, I was feeling a bit bruised—or rather, my ego was feeling bruised. This interaction crystalized something for me that I’ve known all along but haven’t been that successful at applying:
In dance (and in life), you must be your own validation.
Driving home from the studio one night, I listened to a podcast interview with Jim Kwik, a brain coach who wrote a book called Limitless, in which he shares science-based practices that help break down the limiting beliefs we have about ourselves.
One of the exercises he recommended trying was to “Kill the ANTs” or kill your
Automated
Negative
Thoughts
I think I need to call an exterminator for my ANTs, y’all.
Kwik also talked about how, sometimes, just adding an additional word to the end of your negative thought can help reframe it. For example:
I’m not a good _____.
I’m not a good _____ yet.
The implication here is that you can and will grow in whatever it is you’re trying to do.
The goal isn’t perfection, which isn’t possible for anyone anyway. The goal is to get a little bit better over time, and to try, as much as we can, to find joy in our efforts, as opposed to pinning it onto someone else’s validation or a future outcome that may or may not happen.
So today and tomorrow and the day after, as I prepare for a performance at the end of this week, I will try to kill my ants—with compassion, of course. I’ll gently lead them outside of my brain house, rather than squash or spray them down too aggressively.
I’m also going to do Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Letters From Love” exercise (aka writing a letter to yourself, from love) to tell myself the things I always wished to hear from my mom growing up and from my teacher now.
Bah! Cringe! Meep!
OK. Here goes:
Hi, darling—
I just want to say good job. I’m so proud of you. I’m proud of you for so many reasons. For showing up. For continuing to show up. For caring so much about something when it’s way easier to not care about anything at all.
I’m proud of you for letting yourself be a beginner at something again. For allowing yourself to be open and vulnerable instead of staying stagnant or confined to your comfort zones. And don’t worry, honeybun. You’re a good dancer, especially when you just let yourself enjoy it, which is the point of it all anyway.
Dancing and endeavoring aside, I’m most proud of you for being you—kind, loving, silly, sensitive, hopeful you—which is more than enough.
Love,
Jenny
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When it comes to dance, I always think of this quote from Center Stage:
All my life I've wanted to be one of ABA's perfect ballerinas. I wanted to be you, Juliette. But I'm not you, and I'm not perfect,I'm just me, bad feet and all, and I'm starting to think that I like that just as much.
Keep dancing, Jenny! Dance to have fun, dance for yourself, dance to find your joy!
Dancing is an ability I wasn’t born with, but after reading your post I think it’s my ANTs speaking here. I heard a saying today and I think it applies very well here:
Wether you think you Can or you Can’t, you’re right!
it’s all about the mindset.
I enjoy reading you always.