The Real Training Begins

     My first two weeks back in the country could only be described as a flurry of confusion, excitement, exhaustion, and growth. When I came back to Jamaica this time for three straight months,  I decided to spend my first three weeks in intense training. I started off by participating in a ten day camp hosted by the "Sopreme Blazzaz", a "New Skool" male and female dance group in Kingston, and ended with a week long training with one of my mentors, Latonya Style. 

    My third time stepping off the plane in Kingston wasn't any easier this time around. Although I had done it two times before, the knowledge I had gained from my previous two times didn't exactly help me this time around. I was just as flustered and unsure sweating under the intense, Kingston heat. It didn't help that just the night before I had found out that the hostel I had stayed at the first time in Kingston was in transition, and as a result, I had to make last minute plans to stay at a motel by myself until the transition was complete. 

    When the taxi dropped me off at the entrance gate, and I made my way to my room, I was left once again with the flashing thought of, " Is this really the right decision, Johanna?" After all, I had no idea what the camp was going to be like, or if it was even happening, I didn't know when the new location of the dance hostel would be ready to go, and I was stuck alone in a motel room, in Kingston with no food, internet, or anyone to talk to. Despite this once again rocky start, it did get better. 

    I woke up early the next morning and was able to find a room in a house to rent temporarily, last minute. I was met at the gate of the motel by my familiar friend and driver, Autoy. He graciously drove me to the grocery store to get food, brought me to my new place, then waited for me to unload my things, and finally dropped me off at the camp. ( I often joked with him that he was my Jamaican dad since he dropped me off and picked me up everywhere, knew my schedule, and always made sure I had food and water at all times.)

    To my great joy, the camp was in fact happening. When I walked through the entry way of the property, I was immediately welcomed by all the team members with an uplifting combination of hugs and  verbal greetings. One of them pushed a shirt into my hand, and asked me to put it on, and hurry since the first class was starting. The moment the music started playing, and the warm up began, I had an overwhelming feeling of joy and euphoria; so much so, that I wanted to cry. All the stress of the previous day melted away, and was replaced with a sense of security that told me I did make the right decision. That's why I was there. 

    The next few days of the camp started and ended in a similar way. I would arrive at 10AM at the time the camp started, hang out, wait around, and talk for at least an hour until the first class actually started, eat lunch, take more workshops, hang out after, and finally make my way down the dirt road where Autoy was waiting for me to take me home. I'd enter his taxi completely drenched in sweat with at least five empty water bottles, and almost always needed to make another stop before home for more water and food. Every time I entered through the gate, I was overtaken with a nervous energy, but I would leave completely invigorated and inspired. 

    The property where the camp took place (or the Sopreme Blazzaz HQ, as everyone called it) began with a long dirt road, and led to a few houses spread out a few feet away from each other. In the center was a meeting area where members of the group, family members, and friends sat talking, drinking, eating, and smoking. Dance classes were held at the end of the property in a half built house with a shade covering over the top. Lunch was made fresh every day, bringing a new Jamaican dish that was better than the last.

     The very last day of the camp was an excursion to some waterfalls that were a little drive away from the HQ. Once again, I arrived at the set aside meeting time of 9AM, which really meant we all waited until the actual departure time of 11:30, so the car could eventually arrive to take us to our destination. In typical Jamaica fashion, instead of enjoying a comfortable, relaxing drive through the countryside, we instead jammed 10 people and a speaker into two separate cars and hoped for the best. As I squished in to the same seat as the driver with three more next to me between the middle and the passenger seat, we made our way down the road. As we passed by beautiful, towering mountains, and zig zagged through narrow, winding roads, we reached the entrance to the gate. In order to make it up the hill in the jalopy, everyone had to get out of the vehicle, and push it. This pattern was repeated 4-5 times before we made it up the hill, and into the driveway entry to the falls. 

Me and the other campers getting ready for our next workshop at the HQ.

One of the many amazing meals cooked for us. This was stewed chicken ( as you can tell by my emojis)

     The entryway was similar to that of a National Park. It had a ticket booth, and a cafe in the middle with a large space for dining, where the classes for that day would be held. After a long trip, and two energetic dance workshops, we ordered. food and headed straight to the falls. As I sat in one of the warm pools created by the falls, I couldn't help but be so overcome with peace and contentment in my new home. 

All the campers standing in the dining area of waterfalls after the workshop.

My 3 Month Stay

     Upon my return from my second trip to Jamaica, I made three pretty rash decisions. The first one, was I was going to go back to Kingston once again for an undisclosed amount of time. This, in turn affected my other two rash and risky decisions, which were 1) that I wasn't going to go back to my full time teaching job I had secured, and 2) that I was leaving Santa Cruz, the place I had called home for the last 10 years. It was a rush and a whirlwind. I knew full well that what I decided to do could definitely back fire because of  its riskiness. I also knew, however that I had to do it, and if I didn't, I would spend the rest of my life regretting it. 

    I finished up the school year and spent my summer squeezing in a summer school teaching job, preparing to move, and making loose arrangements for my stay in Kingston. It all happened so fast, and before I knew it, I was on the road, my car stuffed full to my new life. I stopped in San Diego to store random belongings in my family members' homes, and, before I knew it, was on a flight to Kingston the next morning. 

....

    My trip, of course, did not go the way I planned, but it did end up being one of the most memorable experiences of my life. I ended up staying there for three full months, which ended up making me feel like I actually came closer to living there more than anything else. In three months, I ended up being in both a music video and an extra in a British movie, lived in three different places, became closely familiar with the Kingston bus and route taxi system, and got seriously schooled in quite a few aspects of Dancehall culture, music, and dance. I hiked to the top of a mountain to see all of Kingston, went on a few rocky boat trips to the small island of Lime Key, explored, in depth, the beauty of Hope Gardens, crammed in a car with ten other people on the way to hidden waterfalls, and basked in the beauty of Paint Jamaica. I bought groceries in downtown, and became a regular at Uptown Mondays, Boasy Tuesdays, and Day Rave on Thursdays. 

I left completely alive, and thankful that I was lucky enough to have this opportunity more than anything. I'll go into more detail about this experience in the following posts. 

My Second Real Party

 Going to and arriving at a Dancehall party with mostly foreigners is a completely different experience than tagging along with Jamaicans. This is why I felt a separate account of my second experience was more than necessary. Going with my teacher and his teammates meant I truly was going to see this part of the culture through completely different eyes. 

When I went to my first party with my group of friends at the hostel, all who were white, foreign, and girls, everything was in tip top order, from us leaving our apartment all the way to the trip back home. We got ready together, put on makeup while talking loudly, and left at or around the same time we planned. Getting ready with my teacher was a completely different experience. When he told me we would leave at 2AM, I took that quite literally, and was all set and ready to go at 2:10. Of course, I didn't know him saying that actually meant that's when the alarm would go off after the pre-party nap signaling it was time to start getting ready, that the rest of the team would be there at 3, and the taxi would be there closer to 330 to drop us at the party by 3:45. How naive I was!

After spraying ourselves with half a gallon of perfume and cologne, my teacher, the rest of his team, (and his 14 year old neighbor that decided to tag along), piled into the cramped taxi and headed out into the night. I was given the low down that I would have to enter at a separate time as the boys, and wait for them inside, which I did with a little hesitation. As we walked in, I was told to stick with the neighbor kid, who was going to look after me while the rest of the group headed to the center of the party. 

Walking in to the party, I had a similar feeling as when I went with my friends a few months before; all eyes on me, entering with hesitation; nervous, excited, and a little overwhelmed. While last time I stayed with my girlfriends on the outside, observing, this time I was pulled to what was basically the outer core of the Dancehall. Just as the center of the earth holds the planet's energy, the inside circle does the same for the entire party. Dancing there, and observing everyone was an energetic overflow. I could literally feel it in my veins; the emotion and the fire that rose out of the dancing taking place in that circle was insane. All the while, the neighborhood kid, which in my eyes, age-wise, was a child, became more of an adult than me, transforming into my protector, watching over me as instructed by my teacher while he went to work.

When the party was done closer to 6AM, the exit was not as clear cut as the time before either. While my foreign friends and I made a smooth, clear exit the time before, this time, we stayed and participated in the entire post party mingling, greeting, and handshaking. When that finally ended closer to 7AM, we piled into the taxi once again to reach home just as the heat of the day crept in. 

After all of this, the dancing late at night, epic long party experiences, and sleeping and staying with a real Jamaican household it was still clear to me that I was not yet done. I still needed more time for this place to sink in. My teacher at this point had become more like my best friend, and his family soon became similar to my own, and now I knew I really and truly has a place to return to. 

A classic, post-party shot 

Staying in my first Jamaican household

 My experience in Jamaica very quickly transformed from a quick trip to take a couple classes into a full blown life experience that would transform the years to come. From almost the moment I touched down back in California, I already had my next trip planned and booked in less than a full season. Of course, this time was not any different from the last, in that the trip I had planned in my head was completely different than the experience that was thrown before me. 

This time around, I only had 6 full days in the country, which meant I had to pack even more in than I did that first time around. My "plan" was to stay with my teacher, and his family, and get a foundation in the Old Skool rhythms of Dancehall. It seemed simple in my mind, and, without much planning, I was stepping off the plane into the sweltering heat once again. Before I knew it, I was rushed into an old jalopy driven by my teachers' good friend and driven to the neighborhood that I was briefly introduced to a few months earlier. Stepping out of the car, I shed the whirlwind of my red eye flight and bumpy car ride, and could once again feel the calm that being in Jamaica brought me. 

While my last trip had been an introduction to Jamaica as a whole, this trip was my up and close introduction to the way of life in Kingston. The house was small, with three makeshift rooms that each led into one another. At least two people slept in every room, except if there was family visiting, which increased the number to 3 or 4 . The yard, where classes were held, was all dirt, leading to a pathway of chicken coops and clotheslines. With music playing at least 12 hours a day, and the almost twice a day video game gatherings, personal space was considered a luxury. Despite me being a complete stranger, I was welcomed as a member of the family. My six days were spent eating an Easter dinner of fried chicken and pasta salad, playing video games with the group of neighborhood boys, kicking a soccer ball with the little kids, hanging up laundry, and participating in the occasional class led by my teacher in the yard to a group of foreigners passing by. So much was packed in, with time flying by and standing still at the same time. 

When the lively chaos of the day time subsided, the magical evenings set in. My first night of learning took place on top of the entry gate to the house. As people in the community passed by under the darkness of the night, my teacher explained to me the different time periods in Dancehall music. We started with the beginning, with Old Skool and Rock Steady, to the Mid Skool era recounting the radio war between Vybz Kartel and Mavado, ending with the New Skool era we are in right now. The next few evenings panned out the same way, this time dancing to the steps. We covered about 20 in total, with my teacher struggling to break down the barriers of my current movement style, often throwing up his arms, confused why I moved like a "cardboard box". We were able to break through some, thankfully. I learned to pick my feet up more, put more detail into my movement, and actually started to feel the tiny nuances that went into step. 

We skimmed the surface, which was the best that we could do in 6 days, and although I wanted to come back from this trip completely transformed, I knew the depth at which I wanted to explore Dancehall would take significantly longer. 

But first, I had to go to another party...

A Quick Note at Being a Guest in Someone Else's Culture

Taking into consideration what is going on in our world right now, I thought I would address the topic of cultural respect and acknowledgement as it pertains to Dancehall. I personally operate in a distinct realm because I am a foreigner who has a strong passion for a cultural dance that is not my own. The harsh truth is, is that there are many people in my same position. Some people do acknowledge that, and consistently pay respect to the creators within this movement, and when confronted with the reality of the racial inequity that exists within the United States, will actively fight against it.

 There are some people who don't, however. Some people will dance the steps, create choreography, and not realize the bigger picture they are existing within. They will never travel to the country where the dance originated from, they will never give credit to the creators of the movement, and when it comes to a political movement, they will remain "neutral", and try to not get involved. This is why this is a necessary dialogue to have.

This problem doesn't solely exist within Dancehall, of course. There are many people that dance Hip Hop, Salsa, and even Jazz, without fully recognizing the cultural context in which they are operating. Dancehall just pertains to me, and my own journey. The real root of this issue remains, ( and is universal), which is that if you dance a dance of Afro peoples, you need to be deliberately anti-racist by: consistency paying respect to that culture, checking your knowledge, and your training, and being on the front line of the Anti-racist fight.

Dancehall itself is not just a dance. It is not just music. It is a culture. Dancehall rose from the ashes of poverty as an expression of the hardships of daily life in Jamaica. The movement is rich with history, and characteristics of the streets of Kingston. Many dancers don't only dance because it is their passion or because they are following their bliss, they dance because they have to. It's a means of survival, and a way of bridging the gap, and creating a better life for themselves and their families. So, when foreigners begin learning the movement from Youtube, or another foreigner, and then start teaching, and never step foot in Jamaica, or take a class from a Jamaican, they are only adding to the problem.

They forget that, ultimately, they are a guest in this culture. When you're invited over for dinner at someone's house, you don't just ring the doorbell, take the food and leave. You come in, you pay respect to the person who invited you, you dine with them, hold a conversation, and when you leave, you give thanks. This is how we should approach our position as foreigners in Dancehall.

For me personally, I never wanted to teach Dancehall, because I loved it so much. I thought it wasn't appropriate to teach it because it wasn't mine to share. I only started teaching because I had two master teachers in Jamaica who told me that I, out of anyone was a good person to share the movement in my city because I could properly educate my students on it. When I eventually did for this very reason, I made it my mission to educate my students not only on the steps, but who created them. As of now, it is my goal not only to do this, but to take my students there too, and bring Jamaicans to my city to teach as well.

So, I personally wanted to make it clear that my documentation of my dance journey, and my journey within Dancehall is not just a surface approach. For me, properly sharing the culture goes hand in hand with my passion, which goes hand in hand with the anti-racist fight happening in our country,    ( and our world) at this very moment.

I have included a link with resources about how to take action in this fight below.

https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co

My New Love for Kingston

Mara's class was the catalyst for the complete shift of energy during my first experience in Kingston. When I left her neighborhood, I immediately made plans for my next set of classes. I had reached out to a few groups on my own before I left, so I decided to follow up with them before my friends arrived.

The very first group I had reached out to before I left was a group called Kriptic Klique. When I had messaged them when I was still in California, and the leader of the group, named "7ven" immediately responded back with the class location, price, and what would be covered in the class. I soon learned that this was rare for dancers down there to do. Most of the time, I got a response that was very similar to "Yes, we can have class"... or an even shorter version of just "Yes"with no detail about time or place.

The next day, I called Autoy, who was available and drove me to 22 Ricketts Crescent in the heart of Kingston. The neighborhood was slightly different than the one I had experienced before. There were more houses cuddled by a few corner stores and patty shops, and not as many people in the street. When we pulled up to the house, 7ven was there waiting at the front gate. As I looked out, I noticed a brightly painted wall with blue lettering that read " Kriptic Klique". As he welcomed me inside, I could see he had two other teammates with him, along with Jay C Val, a well-known international Dancehall teacher from France. They were all training and practicing together for a video. I thought that was super cool, and watched them in amazement. When we got settled, we began class.

7vens class was very different from any class I had ever taken. He began by explaining the history of Dancehall and where all the steps originated. Not only did I learn his steps, but I got introduced, for the first time,  to different Old and Mid Skool steps. I finally started to recognize some of the moves I had seen Colo Colo and everyone from the hostel doing that night we went out. The class went for two hours, and it would have gone longer had Autoy not pulled up with one of my newly-made friends from the hostel and said it was time to go. Before I left, I made plans with 7ven and his crew to come back with my friends and get another class.

The selfie I snapped with 7ven before getting whisked away into the taxi. ( I don't know why my teeth are blue).

The reason why my friend pulled up with Autoy so abruptly was that she was on the way to another class and wanted to know if I was interested in joining. This one was with "Dancing Rebel", probably the most well known female dancer in Jamaica. When we pulled up, we saw two other girls waiting outside her house, and decided to wait as well. When Rebel finally came, it was almost as if we got graced by the presence of a celebrity. She was definitely Jamaica's Beyonce, rolling in with a solid crew, and a swag that spilled out into the whole neighborhood. The warm up was fast and energetic, which was only a precursor to the class that sped past my eyes. She taught two different portions. The first part was her "female" steps, where I felt like I could hold on, and the second part was a complicated, fast-moving gun choreography, where I felt like I got left behind at the gas station down the road. While the other girls in class looked so fierce, I looked like a tornado in a cartoon.The truth was, I didn't care. I was in Jamaica, dancing behind Spice's main back up dancer!

Class at Rebel's compound

The next day, my friends arrived, and I immediately planned a class at the hostel with a group of dancers called "Xqlusive Dance Crew." The class was planned for 4:00 PM, but they all seemed to arrive a little late. Even in the dark, you could feel their energy as they approached the gate. Class was a riot, to say the least. They all taught class one by one, and as one dancer came up front to break down the move, the other four would sit in the corner, and contribute to the most rambunctious peanut gallery you have ever heard in your life. Their addicting moves were full of energy, which were only outmatched by their hoots and hollers from the sidelines.

The following day, I had class with Latonya Style, the queen herself. Before I came to Jamaica, I had been following Latonya on Youtube, and learning her dance steps from her at a distance. She was the owner of the Dance Jamaica academy, and the CEO of her own company, called Stylish Moves, a fusion Dancehall program aimed at empowering women in Dancehall, and finding your own flow in the movement. While this class was different from the rest in that it had its own sense of calm, it was informative, fun, and as it was prescribed, empowering. The end of class was followed by a video along with our own photo shoot doing various Stylish Moves steps. Since I had gotten there by myself, she offered to give me a ride home. On the trip, I expressed my interest in becoming certified in her teacher training program. She encouraged me to apply, saying I would be a good fit. She waved good bye to me as she honked for Charlotte (her first student) to come out and say hi to her.

This was the photoshoot that proceeded class. I'm obviously not making the right duck face.

The next morning, I woke up energized for the day. Our first class was located in the heart of downtown Kingston in a sea of towering buildings with a small New Skool group called the Fantastic Steppaz. We soaked in their steps while looking out onto the streets of the swarming city. That night we had class with another group called Overload Skankaz, another New Skool group, this time, in the pouring rain.

Class in the pouring rain with Teroy from Overload Skankaz. (Don't worry, it's still hot AF outside.)

While each and every class took my breath away in a new, intoxicating way, the last two classes we had in Kingston left the real impression for the months to come. The first one was with Colo Colo, the character from my first night at the party, and the very last one was the second class at the Kriptic HQ.

Before our class with Colo Colo, I ranted and raved to my friends about how were about to have class with a LEGEND. After all, he was a legend. Colo ate from the same table as Bogle, the father of Dancehall. He walked around even the worst streets of Kingston like a king, with no fear. He entered every party for free, and everyone knew his name. That's how respected he was in the Dancehall community. When I saw him dancing my very first night in Kingston, I assumed that we would be getting an experience that we would never forget....and I wasn't wrong. He explained before that the class would consist of an hour of steps followed by a lecture. To be fair, the first half of class was learning steps, and the second part was, technically a lecture, just not in the way I thought it was going to be. Colo started the class without a warm up, making Charlotte control the music, as he danced the first step. When he finished, he turned around, and shouted " now, you do it!" As we gave our best attempt, he sat in a chair in the corner rolling splifs, and chain smoking, asking why we didn't get the move on the first try. The rest of the class played out just like this, with only a few more exclamations about how bad at Dancehall we were. In what we lacked in a real learning experience, we gained back in pure entertainment.

 Next came the lecture. My expectations of a lecture filled with the history of Dancehall were replaced by a detail by detail account of his first experience sleeping with a white woman. I honestly do think we wouldn't have been able to hold back our laughter if we weren't all waiting for the part when he was going to give an actual account of the history of Dancehall... but it never came. The experience, while it had every opportunity to be regrettable, was one of the best we all had. We had our true Jamaican cultural experience, right there in the flesh. But instead of a class, it was a performance.

Our final class was memorable in a completely different way. I got to introduce my friends to Kriptic Klique, and have another class with everyone together. In what Colo's class lacked in the history and culture, the second class at the Kriptic HQ made up for it in more ways than one. We stayed at the HQ most of the day, laughing, dancing, and getting immersed into the culture of Dancehall. When class finished, 7ven pulled me aside, and asked me how far I wanted to go with studying this dance form. In this moment of being completely present and immersed, I couldn't help but be 100% candid with him. I told him I wanted to improve my skills, so much so that I could know and dance any Dancehall step at the drop of a hat. I wanted to create choreographies, and have real, uninterrupted knowledge of the culture. When I said this he took my hand, and said that he saw a lot of potential in me to go far because my drive was so strong. He offered me a place to stay next time I came to Jamaica, and a pact to teach me everything I wanted to learn. At that moment, I knew I had no other choice but to return, and gain that knowledge I had so desperately craved. And I did, very shortly after.

Our final pose in front of the famous Kriptic wall

My friends and I golfing around at the Kriptic HQ

When I left Jamaica, and returned back to California, I had thoughts racing through my head at the speed of light. I couldn't get over how I had just had the experience of a lifetime packed into ten days of madness.

My story of my first trip to Jamaica did not start out the way I imagined. The beginning was rocky, discouraging, and full of uncertainty. It made me question every desire and intention I had with pursuing dance, and the specific type of dance that fed me the most. When it was over, every negative feeling I had felt before was reversed, and thrown back into the vault.  I had a new consciousness; a new way of looking at the world, and an even stronger passion for the thing I was already so passionate about.

But, isn't this what pursuing your passion looks like?

Pursuing the thing that you love the most is, most of the time not the easiest venture you will take in your life. I should have known this already going into my trip, because of the experiences I had in the past when I decided to pursue a career in teaching dance. That wasn't easy, so why should this be? In 2017, Jamaica was new to me, a completely unchartered territory where I knew no one. Why did I expect to conquer it immediately? There wasn't a whole lot I could have to done to make those first few days in Kingston easier, but because I stuck with it, and trusted my gut, the experience rewarded me in the end. This story, while unique in itself, began to actually be a pattern that I would see emerge in my journey time after time when I pursued the things that I love.

In fact, it came up again the next two times I returned to Kingston....

My First Dance Class in Jamaica

The very next morning after the party, I started to book more classes with dancers in Kingston. I got some recommendations from the people I was staying with at the hostel, so I felt more confident in these classes than the first one I took. Quite honestly, the classes that I took following after the party, I considered to be my first real experiences. Dancing in the streets of Kingston, I got my first real introduction to the culture and way of life in this new place.

The first class I booked was with Mara Jackhammer, a New Skool female dancer who was part of the group, Jackhammer girls. I sent her a very informal message on Instagram, and she responded telling me to come at 12pm, and gave me the address. Not knowing anything about the part of town she lived in, I jumped right in. I tried to make it so Autoy, my trustworthy driver from the first part of my saga would drive me, but since he was busy, I rolled the dice and called "On Time Taxi." When the driver pulled up, and I gave him the address, he gave me a look like I had just told him to run his taxi into a tree. I wasn't sure why he was acting like that until we pulled into the neighborhood,  and I slowly understood. ( Just a note, I recognize I am telling this part of the story from the perspective of a white foreigner with absolutely no knowledge of this city at this time. My account about this first experience was primarily influenced by my own fears, not the actual environment.)

The neighborhood was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I had traveled to other countries of the world, and seen how other people live, but I had never seen this level of poverty in my life. Everyone was staring at me as the taxi pulled in. When I called Mara to let her know I was there, she left a voice note saying she was at the bank, and would be there soon, which apparently was the catalyst for setting the driver off into an angry panic. All of a sudden, he held nothing back from me, shouting wonderful things like, "You shouldn't have made me drive you to this neighborhood", "I can't leave my car parked in a place like this, how dare you make me do that", ( and the best one I heard) "As a white girl, you shouldn't even be in Kingston. This place isn't for you!" When he finished with his cacophony, a very pregnant Mara came walking up to the window, rescuing me from the horrible angry awkwardness that was sitting inside that taxi.

When I came out of the car, she pulled me over to the side of the street where a few guys were sitting on top of a speaker drinking some juice. I looked around me and saw pieces of metal held up by concrete walls, piles of burning trash, and kids holding hands with their mothers as they ambled down the street. My mind cleared once Mara turned on the music. She gave a brief introduction, then we got to dancing. She taught me her steps, then we combined them in an amazing choreography as the whole neighborhood watched.

A caption of Mara and I dancing in the street for the first time

For the first time since I had walked off the plane, I felt like I was exactly in the right place. I understood why I was there and why learning the steps right from the source. That class was the most amazing class I had taken in my life. We were in the street, sweating, dancing to music that was made RIGHT THERE. It was incredible. I no longer felt scared or disappointed. If anything, I was upset at that taxi driver for making me feel unwelcome and like I was doing the wrong thing.

This was actually taken after the second class with Mara. Notice the crowd of onlookers.

And it only got better from there.....

Jamaica, Round 1, Part 2: My First Party

That moment of me sitting on that couch in the middle of Kingston heat with no one to connect with, was definitely one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life. For some reason, when I've reached those moments before, it's almost as if a switch is automatically flipped and the end result of that endeavor becomes an epic experience, which is further highlighted by the fact that it started out so awkward and terrible. That's how my first trip to Kingston went.

Things slowly began to make sense after that moment on the couch. The owner of the hostel eventually came back and could not have been more welcoming. The girl that greeted me at the front invited me to go to a class with her at Dance Jamaica, the main dance studio in Kingston. The class itself wasn't super great. The teacher came an hour late, and just basically danced for us and expected us to follow her exactly without breaking down anything, but at least I was dancing...right? My friends were due to arrive in a couple days, so I thought I would make the most of my time and book a couple more classes and attend my first real Dancehall party.

My first time going to the Dancehall in Jamaica was a separate experience in itself. First of all, we started getting ready at midnight which included a routine of making an extra strong batch of coffee, caking on makeup, and wearing the least amount of clothes as possible. This routine started at 12AM, so we could make it by 2AM, which apparently was still embarrassingly early for most Jamaicans. We crammed into a taxi which sped off and dropped us at a side street flooding with people, smoking,  and selling food and cigarettes. When we stepped out of the cab, all eyes were immediately on us, and never left until we climbed back in three hours later. I felt immediately out of place at the Dancehall. This party in particular was called Pepperseed Wednesdays which was known for playing Old and Mid Skool tunes. I thought I knew some moves and songs, but when I was there I felt like a stranger. For every song that played, everyone knew all the lyrics, and the dance that went with it. Charlotte, the manager of Belleh House who led our excursion, was friends with Colo Colo, one of the most well-known Old Skool dancers in Jamaica, (who could be picked out of a crowd in an instant with his ten inch long nails, black leather jacket, hiking boots, and posture that would make a retired ballet teacher roll over in her grave). He spent the night half mocking my awkwardness and half hitting on me.

This is a picture of me, Charlotte, and Martina( also a manager at Belleh House)
 at the party that night. Colo Colo's hand is also featured to my left rolling a cigarette.

As undoubtedly uncomfortable the whole night was, I was left with a strong sense of desire, (not to take Colo Colo's up on his advances), but to get to a point where I could feel 100% comfortable in that environment. Where I could be the foreigner who knew all the steps and lyrics to all the songs, and have eyes on me for the right reasons. I could see the foreigners at the party who were seasoned Dancehall tourists, and I was determined to get there. This was the moment where things really started to change. Where that moment on that couch in that hot, sweaty, lonely apartment turned into only a memory of how something magical started, and that agonizing moment at the party became the fuel.

Jamaica..... Round 1, Part 1

When I came back to California from that summer trip to New York, I had the Caribbean on my mind. I knew in reality, I didn't have the money to go, but I didn't care. I had to. I worked extra hard that fall and was able to save up enough money to make a ten day trip to Kingston, Jamaica.

Before I made my trek, I will be completely honest about the fact that I had no idea what I was doing.  Sure, I definitely had my share of adventurous moments in my previous years, but this one probably topped all of them. I did have some acquaintances that I knew in the dance world that had gone before who gave me their share of advice, but none of that seemed to calm my nerves. Most of them gave me warnings heeding of danger. "Don't go anywhere unless you're in a taxi", "make sure you don't leave the house with more than $20 in your pocket", "the classes are expensive", dominated my words of advice. I'm not going to sugar coat it, it definitely felt like I was about to walk into a pit of fire instead of going on a fun dance vacation. My anxiety overpowered my excitement. I thought to myself, "Why am I going again?", and more importantly, "Why did I think this would be a good idea??" After all when you google the 50 most dangerous cities on the planet, you definitely do not need to scroll down that far to get to Kingston. With all good judgement aside, I made my precarious travel plans, and completely winged it.

Despite the fact that I had no budget, no idea how I was going to get around, and absolutely no understanding of patois( Jamaican creole) or Jamaican culture, I surprisingly did make some concrete plans before I left. A friend of a friend originally from San Francisco had moved down there and opened up a hostel for dancers. I figured that was my best bet. If anything went wrong, she would know what to do. I also did have a few friends from Santa Cruz joining me on my journey, (however they too had never been), and had messaged some dancers ahead of time through social media to set up some sort of schedule as best I could.

But nothing could prepare me for what was about to ensue....

When I stepped off the plane at Norman Manley airport all I could feel was heat, exhaustion, and confusion. I had arranged a ride from a driver who was a friend of the hostel owner beforehand. He only communicated in audio messages in a very strong accent, so it was a miracle that I could make out what time he was going to be there. However, between my flight getting delayed two hours, my three hour line in customs, and my lack any trace of cell service, there was no way in hell I was going too be able to meet him in time.

Walking out into the blazing hot sun and collapsing under my bags, I was miraculously able to pull out my phone. Immediately, I had to be on alert. In the 8 seconds it took me to get my phone out of my bag, I was bombarded by a slew of airport taxi drivers waving me down. I was able to creep into a corner with my bags too keep my calm and see if somehow I could get some sort of reception. In a moment of pure marvel, I was able to connect to the one bar airport wifi, and call Autoy ( the driver) through WhatsApp. When he picked up, the only words I could make out was that he was there, waiting, which took me so much by surprise, I couldn't believe it was true. I told him where I was, and saw his car drive up to help me make my escape.

The drive to hostel was literally like being transported to an alien planet. As Autoy spoke in an a language that I didn't quite understand, I gazed out the window to take in my new surroundings. Flashes of bright color sprung up around endless streets filled with vendors, stray dogs, and children. Garbage didn't have a place, and cars didn't seem to follow rules. I've never seen a place where streets could be so packed and empty at the same time. I was so taken aback, I wasn't even sure what to feel. I hadn't slept the night before, but I had never felt so alert.

Before I knew it, we arrived at Belleh House. The hostel was a bright yellow two story apartment building tucked away on a small street off the main road. As Autoy dropped me off in the blazing heat, I rang the bell, and was met by a girl who was a guest at the place. She let me in and told me Charlotte, the host would be back shortly. As I sat in the living room, I fought to keep my eyes open as I took in everything around me and prepared myself for the days ahead. For the first time in a while, I was overwhelmed by a strong sense of unknown....

The view of Belleh House from the street

The view from Belleh House to the street outside

From L.A to New York

When I left Laure's workshop that day there was nothing in my view that didn't look clear. Within only a few weeks I was consistently making trips down to LA not only to train with her, but almost every teacher I could find down there. I'd meticulously comb social media for whatever workshop or class I could find.

I would leave Santa Cruz ( a ten hour round trip drive away), zoom down, take a few classes, then turn right back around that same night to drive home. Often times that meant leaving at 5 A.M. bright and early, getting to LA around 11AM, staying all day, then leaving again at 8PM to reach home at around 2 AM. I'd take three Dancehall classes in a row and splurge on private lessons. I'd walk into a class of professionals and fight to hold my own. I'd return home wide-awake and elated, but mentally and physically exhausted from the long journey; having zig zagged through dark mountains with the occasional stop at a deserted gas station. It was INSANE. Literally everyone in my life thought I was crazy. I knew I was, but I didn't care.

I continued with these charades until the next summer, when my friend and I decided to take a dance trip to New York and visit a friend of ours who was on Broadway. I craved more.We took classes all day every day, training with the best, getting inspired over and over again. If I thought the energy was alive in the Dancehall classes in LA, I hadn't seen anything yet. In LA, you would walk into a class feeling an excited extreme nervousness, and leave feeling accomplished because you just survived a class dancing next to someone who had been in Beyonce's last music video. In New York, you'd leave a class feeling completely transformed; dancing next to the bright lights of the city, and spill out onto the sidewalk completely immersed in the magnetic energy of the streets. I fell in love. When you walk around the streets of Manhattan, you are shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of people who are doing something with their lives, and/or are literally on their way. I kept thinking to myself, I SHOULD BE DOING SOMETHING WITH MY LIFE!

That's my friend, Ruthie who Gina and I went to visit when she was on Broadway. She's now a famous Disney Channel star. Not the point of this piece, but a fun fact!

This photo was taken in a bathroom somewhere in Manhattan. Along with my dance training, it was a really big deal that there was a mural of Beyonce in a bathroom. I had NEVER seen that in my life. 

Okay, last New York picture, I promise. Gina and I made sure we made complete fools of ourselves before we left. 

That's exactly what I did.

I knew that if I wanted to keep taking my study of Dancehall seriously, I couldn't just rely on these infrequent and exhausting trips to these cities inside my own country. I needed a foundation; a basis upon which I could actually study and transform. I needed roots. I needed culture.

I needed to go to Jamaica.....but how?

The Turning Point

I came back from Mexico in November 2016 with a strong, passionate fire burning inside of me. My little taste of dancehall training I had while I was there left an unquenchable thirst that only resembled that of Tantalus in Greek mythology.

I began working hard once again to try to make my dance career a reality. I returned back to my small town, got a part time job, picked my Worldanz classes back up, and began researching ways I could go and train with the professionals to improve my skills. There was part of me, I'm not going to lie, that fell back into my old routine of grinding, which came out of pure necessity. I wanted to keep up with my aerial training, and get this new training I so desired, but I was confronted once again with the reality that I needed to make money, not only to live, but to make any of this happen. I can't say that I wasn't discouraged by this after all of the work I had put in previously to get past this point. I began to wonder again if this was something I really wanted to do. If I was making the right decision to pursue this path or was it even going to be possible even if I did pursue it.

 I sat with this uncertainty for a good amount of time until I reached a VERY clear turning point.

A couple years before I left for Mexico, I had taken a Dancehall workshop with an LA based choreographer and dancer named Laure Courtellemont, and began following her work soon after. It was right when my interest in Dancehall was beginning to spark, so a lot of what she was teaching went completely over my head. Not only was the room packed with 50+ people who all wanted her to notice them, the choreography was so quick and intricate, I felt like I could barely hold on. The one thing that stuck with me was her complete and utter passion that she put behind everything she was doing. Although she was definitely famous at this point, she seemed to notice everyone in the room, feel what they were feeling and communicate with them through movement. She had a gift. She ended the workshop explaining in detail some of the cultural aspects behind dancehall, her journey, and what it meant to her. The one thing she emphasized was that she wanted people to leave actually not feeling that they got it, but feeling like they needed to learn more, research, and pursue it if they were going to dance it.

THIS workshop a few years ago was not my turning point, but it did stick with me in a way I couldn't explain.

Her words and movement caused me to have a very deep admiration for her and the work she was creating. I began looking at it more closely especially when I was in Mexico with my newly found free time. While I was there, I found she was going to be teaching again in the Bay Area a month after I got back. I signed up for every single class, every single day.

When I was home in San Diego, I found myself talking to my sister about it, because I was so nervous and excited. She advised to be walk right up to her that first workshop, introduce myself, and basically spout the same script I just typed 2 paragraphs above. I told myself I would, even though deep down there was part of me that felt like there was no way in hell I was going to do that because I was way too anxious and shy. In my head, this woman was basically a celebrity, so the thought of having a real life conversation with her was still so unreal for me. I was worried about even making it through her choreography let alone actually speaking to her.

Sure enough, the workshops came up with frightening speed.

The first one was Friday night in Sacramento...and I missed it. I left my house in Santa Cruz at 3 PM to get there at 7PM, but hit the worst traffic of my life, so I wasn't able to get there until right before the second one started. Already I could see her intimidating crowd of admirers, and a packed room of extremely talented and gifted dancers. I took the first workshop in the back row, hung around for a little after trying to get the nerves to talk with her, and left.

The second set of workshops were on Saturday in Oakland. Instead of coming back to Santa Cruz, I decided to spend the night at my friend's house in San Jose to shorten my commute the next day. The next morning I woke up with a new found fervor, and drove up sure that this day was going to be different. It was, but not in the way that I wanted it to be. It seemed as if there were even more people than the previous night, and somehow THESE people had even more talent and were more on point than the dancers the day before. She even pointed out one of the dancers there and asked her to come train with her in LA in front of everyone. I was so jealous. I wanted that to be ME! I was an insect lost in a sea of beautiful birds. I tried to stick around and talk to her, but I just couldn't. I felt discouraged and disappointed in myself for not being better and not even the courage to go up and speak to her. I confided in my friend at dinner later that night about everything, and later that night had a dream about it. In the dream I did exactly what I meant to do and looked exactly how I wanted.

I woke up for the third set of workshops the next morning disappointed that the dream I had the night before wasn't real. I said bye to my friend and drove up with haste to a small town right above San Francisco where the final day of classes were taking place. The moment I walked in, everything seemed different. First of all, there weren't as many people, and second of all, everyone seemed to be a beginner. I wasn't relieved, but just a little confused. Laure immediately assessed the crowd, and explained she was going to teach a basic routine so everyone could get it. Just when I thought things were not going to go my way, and I was going to disappoint myself once again, something shifted. All of a sudden, I could feel my body move the way it wanted to in comfort and with ease. I could feel the music shape me, and through all that hazy mist, I saw her standing on the outside with a smile so wide that only perfect seemed to compliment her... shouting...? What was happening? I knew we were performing the routine so she could watch us, but was that me she was shouting and pointing at? I kept looking behind me because I was sure it wasn't, but there wasn't anyone there.

It turns out, it was me she was shouting and pointing at, and surprisingly NOT because I was messing it up. It was because I was dancing the way she wanted it to be danced. She called me out in front of everyone and had me perform it with her, RIGHT next to her. I didn't fully recognize what was happening until I had everyone in the room starting at me and had her right next to me dancing. Right then I froze in time, and knew this wasn't just any passing moment that you forget 2 years down the road; this was definitely something I was going to remember.

When the class finished, I finally had the courage to go up and talk to her. I had an energy flowing through me that I couldn't explain. I wanted to ask her so many questions. The first one being, "why did you pick me?", but I concluded that, that, would definitely not have been the right choice of words. So, I just walked up and told her thank you. She hugged me, and told me the fire she saw in me today, was something that she rarely sees in anyone, even the professionals she trains. She told me I had something special and I needed to pursue it, leave my life in the Bay, and train with her in LA. She could help perfect my technique, because the fire I already had.

 THAT was my turning point.

The woman I has so admired, looked up to, followed, had noticed me, not just superficially acknowledging talent, but truly saw the intense, burning passion I had for dance. My dream literally came true. As I cried my way home calling everyone I knew recounting what just happened, I couldn't help but feel like I had just had some sort of spiritual awakening. Like the universe just interjected in a very real way and pointed me straight on the path I was already on and considered steering a way from. It happened. I WAS SO GRATEFUL.

Nothing was hazy now. I knew I need to keep learning Dancehall, and do whatever it took to make that happen.

Crossing the Border

Before I left for Mexico, I couldn't quite remember what it was like to have "free" time on my hands. In the last 26 years, the most time I had gotten off from work or school was the summers from ages 0-14. Even then, I was usually whisked away to summer camp or at rehearsals all day while my mom was at work. When I got to high school, my free time was either filled with a load of homework that could take over my whole, desk, room, and floor, my part time job at Cold Stone Creamery, or both. After college, the only component that was taken away from that equation was my part time job, that was eventually replaced by full time work. My early mid and late 20s, as described in my last post, was filled with my grown up job in during the day, and my dance training at night and on the weekends. Needless to say, I had no idea what it was like to have chunks of my day completely free, and I sure as hell had no idea what it was like to just be at home by myself.

So, it's definitely safe to say that I had some pretty severe moments of personal growth during my months in this new place.........

The  plan I had when I decided to move to Guadalajara, Mexico with my friend to train full time was as follows: Move to Mexico without knowing anything about the city I was going to, hope and pray that my coach, Juan actually has a place for us to rent, and wasn't joking, and train 4 hours a day.   That was all I knew before I stepped on the Vivo Aerobus plane going from Tijuana to Guadalajara.

To say the first leg of the journey was "shaky" is a severe understatement. My friend and I had planned to do the entire leg of the journey from Santa Cruz to Guadalajara together. When she called me from a two day long traffic jam coming out of Burning Man, 2016, saying she probably wasn't going to make it in time for our road trip down to San Diego, and definitely wasn't going to make it for our flight out of Tijuana, I couldn't say the word fuck enough times to get me through the anxiety attack that was about to ensue. I had definitely traveled by myself before this, but never with this much uncertainty of exactly I was getting myself into.

To everyone's surprise, I made it through all legs of the journey safe and sound. Crossing the border to Tijuana by myself was not as scary as I thought, the janky $50 round trip airline I chose to take there got me there safely, and Juan, my coach kept his word and met me at the airport. My friend was also able to get a flight down two days later, so it all worked out.

Juan let us rent out an old photography studio owned by his parents that was turned into an apartment for $200 per month. Our bedrooms were only separated by a plate of glass, but we got our own kitchen, bathroom, and a giant patio. To add to this, we lived right in the center of the best part of the city ( the barrio with all of the clubs and bars).

Our little makeshift apartment and patio 

My first handstand in Guadalajara. Proof that I made it. 

We had two options for transportation: the bus that cost 30 cents or an Uber that cost $2.00. An Uber was obviously more convenient, but the two of us took pride in figuring out public transportation. We ended up figuring it out, but not without learning that you could in fact get stranded at a Mexican Walmart with hands full of groceries, that bus rides were more like roller coasters where you weren't really sure if you were going to survive, and that bus drivers never really made a full stop, but more of a rolling stride to let you get out. This was one of the many quirks that came with learning a new city.

Our days were structured the same for the most part. We would wake up by 8 AM, be on the bus by 9:30, be at the gym by 10 AM and train like beasts until 2 PM. Our journey home was a silent, bumpy ride of dehydration and exhaustion followed by eating as many calories as we could to make up for what we had lost.

Because our mornings had structure, I could easily factor that into the reality I had experienced before. Afternoons and weekends( where we didn't have an excursion) were harder for me to grasp. My friend handled not having structure a lot better than me, and couldn't quite understand my restlessness with my newly found free time. I would find myself going to the grocery store to buy couple items at abnormal times, awkwardly wandering around random places in the city, and making the same 10 feet trip from our living room to the kitchen 10 + times a day. It took my a few weeks to realize that what I really needed to do was dance. Full time aerial training was great and exactly what I wanted to do, but it couldn't fill that spiritual void inside me.

One of my views on my aimless walk figuring out what to do

I ended up finding a few different dance studios where I could go and train in the evenings and on weekends. While I missed the cultural dances I was able to do in the Bay Area, the city strongly lacked these disciplines, so I found myself dropping in to hip hop classes to take advantage of what was available. While it was great just to get my body moving in that way again, I found myself desiring something more specific.

A collection of cuteness from Guadalajara

Before I left for Mexico, I had developed a strong love of Dancehall music and dance. While there were no Dancehall teachers in my small town in California, I had started following teachers in other cities to get inspiration, and motivate myself enough to go train with them some day. To my surprise, with enough searching in this new, big place, I was able to find a class in a studio all the way on the other side of the city. I found myself going every week without hesitation, and with this new dedication to this dance style I had so longed to pursue, my empty space of time I had worried so much about filling, began to shrink.

As committed as I was to my aerial training, I became equally committed to learning Dancehall. I'd come home from training and instead of taking a nap, I'd look on YouTube or Instagram to watch and learn different choreographies. I started following every dancer I could, and figure out where exactly in the world they would so I could go train with them someday.

Weirdly enough, the end of my journey in Mexico seemed to take on a different form than I originally intended.  When I got to Guadalajara, I had an idea that when I left, I'd pursue a career in aerial and circus, have dance on the side, and have that be my path. When I left, however, I felt a reaffirmed attachment to dance, grateful for the fact that I gotten so much stronger, but 100% committed to the love of a new dance form I had gotten the space to explore. While part of me was confused about this dramatic shift in such a short period of time, I realized deep down, it was bound to happen. I came there to get a break from the unfulfilling grind I was experiencing in my small town, and to see how much I could discipline myself physically without the conflict of a 9-5 day job that took all my best-used energy. What I really needed more than the physical training, was the space to explore the possibilities of my potential as an artist. And I found it.

My final handstand in Mexico

The Long Road Ahead

Spain was such a whirlwind of experiences, that I came back to California thinking I had lived three lifetimes already. It was almost as if I was one of those characters who disappeared into a magical land, came back thinking years had passed and for everyone else, it was 10 minutes. Even though I had managed to teach my Worldanz classes in Spain, I still only had about 6 months of dance experience under my belt, so I still had a very long way to go. After all, I'm not writing about my experiences to explain how easy my journey has been, I'm here to tell about the process.

My friend was generous enough to give me one of her classes at the gym where she was teaching and where I had first started coming to her classes. I realized very quickly that building my classes and being a successful teacher didn't just mean showing up every week on time. It also meant putting in the time every week to practice the dances I was teaching, training myself to be more fit and strong so I could make it through a class without getting light headed, and not taking it personally if only one person showed up to to my class. The most crucial thing I realized during all of this was that I still had very far to go as a DANCER, so as a TEACHER I had double the road ahead of me.

My first performance back in Santa Cruz during that first year of teaching

I learned this the hard way by making all the mistakes I possibly could that first year of teaching. I have to be honest and say that back then, part of me thought I had already learned what I needed to; an easy mistake to make as a beginner. I would show up up not having practiced any of the dances I was supposed to lead, and still lacked a lot of the technique that I was teaching other people. I got so ahead of myself, in fact, that my teacher had to have a heart to heart with me about seriously changing my tune if I was to continue teaching and working with her.

The thought of not being able to do what I has set out to do when this all started, just wasn't an option, which means I had to completely rework my whole approach, and begin to put the time in to what was about to become a lifetime practice. I very soon started religiously attending almost any technique class I could in my small town. I took Afro-Haitian, Senegalese, Afro-Brazilian, jazz, and ballet on a regular basis, and was the first to sign up for any workshop hosted by a master teacher passing through. I started taking aerial dance and circus classes to strengthen my body, and yoga to work on my flexibility. I would wake up at 6 every morning, get ready for work, work all day, then immediately race to classes at night. My weekends were full of practices and rehearsals, and my evenings at home were basically non-existent. My pure exhaustion at times was only coupled by our exhilaration because I could feel myself improving every minute. Going from someone who, at 20, couldn't do a push up, definitely couldn't touch their toes, and could barely follow a routine in a technique class, to someone at 25, who could do all this things , and more, was only accomplished by my pure dedication and drive to get better.

This was taken about 2 months into doing aerial.  You can clearly see my beginner technique :)

While the process towards self-improvement that I went through in Santa Cruz completely served me in the time I needed it, I soon realized that I was outgrowing the small town. I started hitting a wall with both my physical training in aerial, and my technique training, at times feeling bored and unsatisfied. Being 25 and working an office job where everyone around me was married with kids made me feel restless, and consumed by so many thoughts that mostly were along the lines of "Is THIS going to be my LIFE, for the next 40 or 50 years?!

This was taken 2 months before I left for Mexico at a dance intensive in Santa Cruz dancing Afro-Haitian.

I dwelled in this place for months deciding what to do. I mean I was 25, I still had so many options of where I could go and what I could do. I debated saving to go to professional circus school, debated moving to New York to full dedicate myself to my dance training, and also toyed with the idea of moving back to San Diego to be closer to family and get a different experience in a big city. The answer eventually came from a spirited conversation between a friend of mine and I after a late night training session. The answer was....... Mexico!

My aerial performance right before I left for Mexico. You can see the improvement in technique from the first photo. 

In the time both of us had been training aerial, we had a visiting coach that would come up from Mexico, and basically condition us so hard we couldn't walk or squat down for 3 days straight. He was a champion of perfect technique, and stressed the idea that in order to be successful at aerial, you had to be strong; not 10 push ups in a row strong, but more like 20 pull ups and a back flip strong. He had made the offer to come train with him in Mexico (for cheap) the previous time he had visited. Now that we were both in a place to make a big change, we took him up on his offer, and made plans for the next big move. For me, this wasn't just a chance to "level up" my aerial training, it was an opportunity to make my desire of being a full time artist and athlete, a reality.

My Spanish Experience

Spain was a whirlwind, to say the least. I went there with some big dreams and little to no experience under my belt, ready to take on anything, and determined not to fail. It was almost as if 6 years of experiences were packed in to 6 months. I taught at 3 different gyms, joined a vagabond dance group, and performed a variety show at one of the most famous hotels in Europe. I immersed myself in training, learned all the ins and outs of a new city, and, above all that, gained all the confidence I needed to completely make myself vulnerable and put myself out there to complete strangers, hoping that they would trust me enough to teach their clients.

My daily walking route I took to go bug gym owners to give me a chance.

 I will not be telling you, however, about my experience teaching at the most high end gym in Granada, or how I had floods of people flocking to my classes, and the massive following I subsequently built because of it. In fact, I taught at the smallest places that city could possibly hold, was lucky if I had more than one person show up to my class, and, was also lucky if I actually got paid for those classes. My great performance opportunity at the Alhambra palace was more of a community event, and did not result in me being booked for JLO's worldwide tour.

A scene from our performance at the Alhambra Palace. (Important Note: more people on stage than in the audience)

 But honestly, what great success story starts out with IMMEDIATE success? If that had happened I would have succeeded only in annoying every singe person around me, and only proved a terrible point that you do not have to work hard to achieve your goals, because that drops in to your lap with only 3-6 months of dedication. After all, my point in writing this blog is to show anyone that with enough hard work and resilience you CAN achieve those things you want, but you have to put the time in.

Me straight up performing this African dance routine at a bar. The audience obviously has no idea what to do. 

One huge thing I did gain from my experience that I mentioned before, was confidence. I did actually achieve what I set out to do, which was teach in a foreign country. I didn't let myself entertain the idea of failure, which was something I could have done at any step of that journey. That confidence would help me make some pretty key decisions in the coming years that would affect my future as I knew it. I still had a long road ahead.