Only If It’s Not Fun

Between getting new flatmates and getting sick and having a birthday and all sorts of other things, I haven’t been to my tribal bellydance class for almost a month. I was determined to make it this week, the fact that I got home at 3:00 on Sunday morning, the very same Sunday morning that would see dance class start at 10:30 notwithstanding. I managed to claw my way out of bed and onto the bus and into the studio and was feeling quietly impressed with myself—behold my dedication to The Dance, my friends!

That feeling was quickly replaced by a whole host of others, within just a few minutes of warming up and regretting the previous night’s inadequate hydration and unwise footwear choices. I mean the rule with bellydance, I find, is that you have to go to class. You have to go to class every week, preferably more than once. You have to go to class—you have to get each move into your brain and into your body, and you have to know not only each step and the cue for each step, but also how your individual dance mates interpret each cue. You have to listen to the music and dance with it and not on top of it. You have to stay on your posture. You have to make sure your transitions make sense, and you have to remember to breathe and sometimes even to smile. Going to class just every once in a while doesn’t—for me, at least—work, not at all.

But that’s what I’ve been doing, for what’s actually a couple of years now. The last time I was dancing with any dedication was back when I was doing my sharing sessions—it’s hilarious and sad how, in that entry from 2006, I’m all “it’s been three months since I danced!” when three months dance-free is nothing to me now. Since the end of that little baby tribal class—which I wasn’t remotely qualified to teach, but which I enjoyed so so so much—it’s been spotty, to say the least. I was traveling for a while, of course, and then when I was in the States in 2008 I only got to go to a couple of classes during the months I was in Seattle, but enough had changed with my beloved dance sisters there that I found myself very timid and shy and uncertain with them. Same thing when I got back to Wellington over a year ago—the group I’d been more loosely affiliated to had also gone through a lot of changes and I found myself in the same situation: having to sort of re-learn the basics—or in some cases, un-learn the basics—and doubt myself every step of the way. There are so many things I’m supposed to know that I have never really learned, and there doesn’t seem to be a good way to learn them. Since I haven’t been getting a lot of joy out of class, as I spend most of the time worrying about what I’m doing wrong, it’s hard to get motivated to get better, too.

Sunday I made so many mistakes. I got the formation wrong, and one of my finger cymbals fell off and my elbows wouldn’t stay up and I couldn’t rotate my shoulder and my feet were too far apart. I forgot lots of steps and lots of cues. I panicked when it was my turn to lead and fell back to old fusion moves that are still embedded in my brain from back when I went to class three times a week, instead of straight ATS. I made everyone else actually scream aloud when I turned the wheel in the wrong direction. My whole body hurt from running in heels the night before.

I felt pretty bad during all this, as you’d imagine–like not only was I messing up my own work but everyone else’s as well, because with this sort of dance everyone needs to be very tuned into each other and, crucially, everyone needs to be doing the same thing at the same time. It’s improvised, yes, but in a very controlled way, and it just doesn’t work if someone is out of control. That was me: out of control, unsure, unconfident, afraid everyone was hating me and that I was wasting the group’s time as I stumbled over myself again and again.

It doesn’t make sense to talk here about ATS vs. Gypsy Caravan or performance angles or fusion styles or anything like that because it will only make sense to maybe three people who read this. It’s enough to say that going to class is way harder now for me than it’s ever been—Monday nights used to be sacred to me—and that the combination of changes in my dance community and also the sheer loss of skill has made me doubt myself severely, and to wonder if I’m just…done. Maybe a bellydancer, even a casual and just-for-fun one, is just one more thing I used to be.

My dear friend and teacher Sylvia wanted to video us for training purposes yesterday and she sent me the link to it after class. I was wary to click on the link because I have never actually seen myself dance, other than in the mirror during practice. A long time ago when I had first started intermediate classes my other dear friend and teacher Sharon, in Seattle, wanted to video us as well when we were doing solo work, and I refused to let her tape me—I was that scared of watching myself . This time, though, I was already feeling pretty rough about my abilities and I figured I couldn’t feel much worse, right, so what the hell.

It was…illuminating. Of course it was, that’s the whole point. As I watched I kept thinking things like “Wow, that is a BIG BUTT I got over there” and “DROP YOUR SHOULDERS CHIARA I MEAN REALLY” and “Hey, maybe I should look into actually cueing moves that other people know, I bet that would cut down on the looks of terror on their faces when it’s my turn to lead!” I saw a couple of good things—if nothing else I can keep a 4/4 beat!—but most of what I saw were insufficiencies, uglinesses, severe lacks of grace and style.

Mostly I noticed the expression on my face as I was struggling through the song. It’s not that the other dancers were perfect or anything but they all were managing to look like they were enjoying themselves, like they were doing this on their Sunday morning instead of sleeping in because they actually wanted to be there, because it’s actually fun. I looked, in the video, as if I had been convicted of a heinous crime and that my sentence was hard labour, tribal-style. I looked like I was being forced to be there. I looked like I was being punished.

Contrast that with the sense I used to get, dancing with various people in various contexts: that I could be both in and out of my body at the same time, that this was one of the best things I did with my life. How does it happen, the switch from one to the other? What did I do to get to where I am now?

After Sunday’s class—which, on top of everything else, I had to leave early because I was so sore and so tired—I texted Sylvia to basically apologize for my lack of awesomeness in the studio. “I think dance may be over for me,” I thumbed, sad and frustrated and exhausted.

She was very encouraging to me and replied “It’s only over if it’s not fun,” and I did not—and do not–have a response to that one.


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6 responses to “Only If It’s Not Fun”

  1. Nellig Avatar
    Nellig

    It does seem to need a huge commitment of time and energy, and to be quite stressful. You’re amazing for having got so far with it. But you’re not morally obliged to go on with it. Maybe your interests are too broad and your social life too active for that.

    Maybe it’s time to try out some new dance forms? Ceroc or samba or something? Something a bit more Latin? Would go with your hair. Also they let men in as well. I rest my case.

  2. Jecca Avatar
    Jecca

    So many responses. I never learned to turn properly, so I am still faking it all these years later and feeling all those horrible feelings you’re talking about. Feelings I identify with closely enough that just reading through this made my breathing get shallower and my heart go all anxious in sympathy. I hope dance isn’t over for you, though. Love.

  3. sarah Avatar
    sarah

    I think belly dance, particularly tribal, can have a way of making you feel guilty if you’re not always trying to reach the next level, if you don’t practice your glute squeezes every day or get your cues wrong.

    If it’s not fun, you have to let it go. I gave myself a break when teaching and performing, and even just dancing were feeling like a chore. I let it go and now I miss it and want it back. It’s a good feeling. You may just need to let it go and maybe then you’ll remember why you loved it in the first place.

  4. Miz H Avatar
    Miz H

    Props to you for doing the improv-type belly dance. I did choreographed Egyptian for a while and one teacher would throw in some improv occasionally. I hated it – I couldn’t never think of more that one or two moves.

    I second or third the idea that it’s OK to quit.

    Bollywood dance looks like fun and would get you in really good shape.

    I should go back to dance. It’s safer than my latest hobby of dirt bike riding. I am recuperating from a crash a couple of days ago. Ugh.

  5. Nomie Avatar

    “Not fun anymore” is definitely a yardstick I’ve used for ages – with social circles, the dorky internet roleplaying games I do, playing the violin. Sometimes I pick things back up. Sometimes it’s just not worth it.

    I agree with Nellig that trying out a different form of dance might be cool, though!

  6. Amy Avatar

    Reading this made my heart break a little, for how something that brought you joy has become something to worry about. To stress out about. And it made me a little mad, too, because I had never thought about how the students caught in the great re-ATS-ing can get (or feel) left behind if they can’t keep on top of all the changes. Not that there is anything wrong with ATS, it’s the base for my troupe and I think is a good foundation for all tribal improv, but I think a lot of dancers and teachers changed their approach and it caused a bit of derailing for a lot students or casual dancers.

    I’m taking non-tribal, Egyptian based cabaret classes right now because there are no advanced tribal teachers less than an hour from me (without traffic). Some days I feel like a total fool in class because my dancing has been so different. I took Am Cab classes with a different teacher for a while and almost cried in class because I was so frustrated and didn’t find any joy in what I was doing (I left that class, and I know other dancers love the teacher but her style was not for me).

    Anyway, I guess this is just to say not to beat up on yourself because you had a rough time. Don’t feel like you let down the other students. I think you’re incredibly brave for taking the step to get back to class. I would also recommend, if she’s in Wellington, to take a workshop with Paulette. I’m not totally into GC style but she is incredibly inspirational. I like that she is very honest and says that everyone can dance but not everyone has to be performers, and there can be fun and commitment in class and casual dance events or parties. She really keeps the joy in the dance.