Everything I Need to Know in Life I Learned from Salsa - Part Uno

Dance is a conversation. Often, as is the case with me, it’s a monologue. I don’t care what you’re saying, just listen to what I’m saying. Or, even more often, it’s a monologue in my house when no one else is home. I only hope our curtains aren’t see-thru.

Yet, in disconcerting attempts to better myself as a human being and teach myself that it’s not all about me (a lesson that comes as a shock most days), I’ve recently been making forays into social dance. More specifically Salsa. Just like when using actual words, sometimes you and the other person are totally on the same wave length. You get each other, you understand the movement, as a female, I can pick up on the signals (which in dance I find a bit easier than in life, but that’s another story and, er, em, moving on...).

Other times, you’re both speaking the same language, but the meaning isn’t coming across. Yeah, we got the steps down, but I’m not sure what that last thing was and although we both seem to be on beat (for the most part, cringe), I can’t tell by you lifting your hand in front of my face if you want me to duck and turn under it or if you’re trying to poke my eye out.

Sometimes I’m apparently giving the wrong signals as no, pretty sure I didn’t want to do that triple turn and end up looking at the room upside down, and I definitely didn’t want you to try to kiss me as I left the establishment. As I have a hard time giving off the latter signal when I do mean it, I marvel at strangers’ inability to correctly read the situation.

But most uncomfortable are the times when dance feels like I’m speaking German in the remotest regions of Mongolia. All the hand gestures in the world can only get you so far. It’s those times when I’m praying for the song to be over so I can extract my somewhat introverted self from a tense embrace and regain my much coveted personal space in which I can wipe my sweat/the sweat of someone-who’s-name-I-didn’t-catch (Jorgé?) off of my arms/neck/forehead. Gross.

Lesson #1: People are sweaty, you’re sweaty, they’re going to get in your space and you’re going to have to talk to them. And it ain’t always gonna be pretty.