Progress Is Supposed To Be Uncomfortable, Until It’s Not.

Summary

The author describes their journey of learning Cuban salsa, highlighting the discomfort and challenges faced while progressing from a beginner to a more proficient dancer.

Abstract

The article recounts the author's experience with Cuban salsa, from initial fascination to a dedicated learning process. The author, initially captivated by the joyous music, stumbled upon a live salsa performance in Singapore, which inspired them to take up salsa dancing. Despite early struggles with coordination and partner dynamics, the author persevered, gradually improving their individual skills and ability to lead a partner. The process was marked by periods of discomfort and regression as the author attempted to refine their technique and integrate new skills, emphasizing that progress in salsa, as in life, involves a cycle of deconstruction and rebuilding to reach a moving target of improvement.

Opinions

The author believes that progress in salsa dancing is inherently uncomfortable, especially when trying to bridge the gap between one's current ability and the desired skill level.
They suggest that the image of perfection in dancing is an ever-shifting goal, not entirely attainable, yet striving for it leads to growth.
The author conveys that learning to dance salsa is a process of continuous adaptation, requiring the dancer to adjust their technique and style to effectively communicate with different partners.
They express that the discomfort of learning and the willingness to endure it are essential parts of improving and cannot be avoided.
The author implies that the cycle of learning, regressing, and then improving is a natural and recurring part of the journey towards mastery in any endeavor.

“Better” is a moving target

Five years ago, I took my first ever Cuban salsa lesson. Without knowing it, I’d been in love with salsa for years, even though I didn’t know that that’s what the music was called. All I knew is that every now and then, I’d hear a song which felt like pure joy was being poured into my ears. I’d find myself grinning uncontrollably, even though I couldn’t understand any of the lyrics and didn’t know have a clue about how to find more of these magical songs.

Then, one fateful day, I was walking past a bar called Cuba Libre whilst travelling in Singapore of all places, and from inside, I could hear a band playing the same music. I rushed inside, bought an overpriced coke, and soaked it in.

Sadly, I was only able to soak it in for about five minutes, before the band took a break. But if I’d been happy to find the band and listen to them play, what happened next blew my mind to smithereens. A DJ began to play the same music, and as he did, the crowd in the bar started dancing. This might be old news to you, but bear in mind that at this point I didn’t even know what salsa music was, never mind that you could dance to it with somebody else. The rest of the night was spent watching in awe as the dancers did their thing. I promised myself that when I got back home, the first thing I’d do was learn how to dance salsa.

My first lesson was a pretty rude awakening. At the time I was a martial arts instructor, I was well coordinated, I had good balance and body awareness, and none of it was helping me to move how I’d seen the dancers moving in Cuba Libre. I was stiff, I was awkward, I kept stepping on people’s feet, I couldn’t remember any of the steps. I knew what it should look like, I even had a vague idea of what it should feel like, but these mental images had no impact on what it was like.

Perhaps because I knew where I was trying to get to, I stuck with it. Eventually, I was good enough that I could move in time to the music, with the correct basic footwork, without stepping on anybody. This was progress, but I was still nowhere near the image I had in my head and this was because I was still dancing by myself. Salsa is a partner dance. So if I wanted to get to the next le el, I had to learn to lead.

This went even worse than learning the basic steps had. The job of the leader is to signal to the follower how they want them to move. The lead decides what to do next, signals it to the follower by through movement and pressure, and the follower makes it happen. Deciding what to do wasn’t too hard, but communicating that seemed impossible. Even simple movements were interpreted differently by different followers so that what I had in mind was hardly ever what ended up being communicated.

After a while, I figured this out too though. With time and practice, I was able to figure out how to adapt my lead to different followers. I could recognise the signs that told me this follower needed more or less pressure, was skillful enough to follow less of more complicated moves, even the style of lead the follower preferred.

But I still wasn’t happy.

As time went by, the image of the dancer I wanted to be got sharper and sharper in my mind. But each time I wanted to progress closer to that goal, I reached a point where I felt stuck. The gap between where I wanted to be and where I was, was too big. Moving forward meant I had to experiment in ways which made me worse. I had to go through a period of uncertainty and awkwardness. I would make more mistakes because I was trying new things and taking more risks. Followers who I’d danced with before would suddenly struggle to dance with me because…well… I was becoming a different dancer.

Each time I made these adjustments, it would take me a while before I could integrate the then into a new style, and each time I was going through it I would feel like I was getting worse. But each time I persevered and figured out how to take a step towards the dancer I wanted to be, I’d end up better. Once I’d figured it out, I’d feel amazing for a little while, then I’d notice something else that I could be better at, I’d have to pick apart my whole style to incorporate it, and then I’d go through the whole cycle again. Rinse and repeat.

I’ve learned that this is an inescapable feature of progress. Progress stops when you become unwilling to take apart the pieces of what you’ve built so far so that you can build a better version. The image of perfection is a mirage, always a little way off in the distance, and despite all the times I’ve gone through this cycle over the past five years, I still haven’t reached mine. But now, whether it’s dancing or something entirely different, I know that progress will be uncomfortable until it’s not.