I was afraid to post this video online, because it shows a woman who is not comfortable in her own skin.
In the 5 years since I attended that dance festival I’ve put on a lot of weight, to the point I no longer recognize myself. The weight gain began during my last years of Kizomba: I wanted to eat myself into a body shape that wouldn’t catch the eye of the more predatory participants. Then the pandemic hit, which didn’t help anyone’s waistline, right as I was extricating myself from an extremely abusive relationship. I ate to build a protective padding against the shrapnel of an imploding world.
I’ve struggled to redefine safety in the years since the pandemic ended. I remain a shut-in even though there is no longer a societal reason to avoid others. Working from home has limited my contact with even coworkers. Until resuming this blog, I had stripped the internet of almost all trace of me: the digital world is a dangerous space. My protective padding still served its purpose.
Except it doesn’t. I have been padding myself into an existence devoid of any connection, and it hurts. Unlike earlier years where I’d point with self-righteous judgement to people whose behaviours ranged from unusual to unkind to cruel, the only person to blame for my recent unhappiness is myself. I have cut myself off from the world because I didn’t trust myself to take steps I share in the video below: to take appropriate steps to reclaim my agency, be selective of who I surround myself and the environments I put myself in, and show up open to connection and discovery.
I was scared to post this video online, but I shared it anyhow as a reminder to myself: the stories we share open the door to connecting not only with others, but also with the parts of ourselves we’ve disowned or neglected. And the more we claim all our stories, the less we need protective barriers.
In dance, as in life…
In August, I completed an 8 day retreat with Cerené. We covered many topics, including what it means to speak one’s future self into existence by the power of one’s own voice.
On the 2nd to last day, we had a 4h workshop on storytelling and spoken performance. During that time, we each had to come up with a story, draft it, practice it and then poof! We found ourselves onstage at Live Bash, performing to a small crowd – while being recorded! Apparently, this is an effective way to receive feedback in service of improved performance and not, as I first assumed, a sophisticated torture mechanism. Who knew?
I am not sure why I chose this story about a moment long ago and a dance I no longer practice. Maybe it is because I’ve been exploring lately the role I play in choosing to place myself in environments (professional, personal, environmental) that make me feel unsafe, how that shapes my behaviours towards the people around me, and what, if any, agency do I have to shape those environments. Maybe it is because I’ve always considered art, in all forms, as either “a beautiful evening spent falling in love over and over again or else the setting of dominance and destruction” of oneself and those around us – and yet I can’t shake the conviction that I am being called to claim my identity as an artist, safety be damned. Or maybe it is because I never got to say goodbye to Kizomba, and this is my way of honouring a dance that made me feel alive in the best and worst ways. That is the risk with storytelling: the stories we choose to share say much more about us as the storyteller than they do about the audience or setting in which they are told.
I’m glad I chose to step out of my safety zone and attend the transformative Cerené experience. I’m glad I got to tell this story. And I’m glad I attended the All In Kizomba Festival, Bucharest edition, all those years ago.
In dance, as in life, sometimes, you just need to step onto the damn stage and see what happens.
For anyone curious to discover more about Kizomba, here are a few links:
- My all-time favorite song: Mulher by DJ Aly Neto featuring Garimpeiros
- An example of traditional Kizomba: Oncle Kani & Black Cherry
- An example of urban Kizomba: Jojo & Jenny
- My favorite teacher: Eliza Sala
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