The blues festival ended on Monday, and there was much fun to be had. I danced most all of the late nights, so I was dead tired during the days, trying to keep up. On Monday, there were two competitions - one in lindy and one in blues. I competed in both. Every time a competition happens, I think to myself that I shouldn't do it. Most of the time, I don't listen to myself. It's easy to get caught in the hype that a competition creates. Most of my friends all want to join. It's hard to explain my resistance, but I'll try, as this resistance was only confirmed this past Monday.
I should start explaining my view of competition. Competition is for show - it's a kind of demonstration, a public event. It is a way to inspire dancers and spread the joy of dance. It is also a competition, however. That is to say that it is about the skill and pride of the dancers as much as anything else. This is exactly why it ends up being such a good show.
For a long time, I have not wanted to compete. This is mostly because I don't feel like I have anything to show. Many people won't know how to take that, because I am a good dancer. I work on my dancing every day, all the time. But I am missing the heart of the dance, and without that, before I can express the music through my body, I feel like a fool to compete. A question lingers in my mind, "what do I have to show?" People tell me that I have plenty to show, and that is true in a sense, but the fact of the matter is that people recognize authenticity. Authenticity shines like a beacon. Everything else holds your attention for the moment, but as something brighter comes along, the mind wanders. For now, my dance is a bit like the next shiny thing. There's nothing yet to see in it. I remember a story from Vipassana. Some students of Goenka, the teacher, asked why won't he make public the accomplishments of the higher ranked students. He responded, saying, "When one of you becomes arahant, I will make it known through the world. Until then, what do you really have to show?"
I decided to dance in the lindy competition, and was actually feeling very good about our preliminary song. It was a medium tempo, New Orleans style song. We made it to the finals, and I had felt so good, we were making some plans for our entrance into the spotlight dance. All of a sudden the song started, and my heart dropped. It was blazing fast. I don't dance fast. The moment it came on, I knew I didn't want to dance. I wanted to walk off the floor, but that would have been nearly impossible to explain to my partner and the judges. It would have made a commotion, and that's not what was needed. But before the first 8 had ended, I knew that this was not for me. I can't dance that fast, and I sure as hell didn't want to put on airs like I could in front of hundreds of people. I went out and did my best, but it was upsetting to have to.
The blues competition came second. Drew and I competed and didn't make finals.
I learned something very important. I have a competitive nature, and winning is important to me. I got fairly bent out of shape when I didn't/ couldn't win. It is this that made me lose both times. As soon I start yearning for the title of best, I lose my focus, my grounding, my joy - everything I know that I need in my dance. I am stripped of every reason I dance and the reasons the competition serves the public good. I know that I would like to compete eventually, but only once my foundation is strong. I don't want to feel the way I felt on Monday. I lost my connection to the ground.
I will quote a book I'm reading by Joel Salatin on commercially raising cattle: "Our problems stem from incorrect thinking, incorrect paradigms..." Until I can shift my paradigm, I am finished with competitions.
