2023 Spring. It happened in a meetup. That speed dating type, but for making friends. A Lebanese guy was interested in learning to dance. Wants me to teach him. I was shocked.
Here I was, given a chance to stop denying what I had already known deep in my heart for most of my life. To find my way back to my biggest passion and life purpose. After betraying myself and staying away from it for 10 years.
To admit that I am a dancer.
But wait, what? How could a seemingly innocent encounter lead to such a significant realization? And more importantly: who the hell am I, and why care about anything I have to say about dancing? Let me explain.
I started ballroom dancing at the age of 13. It was the middle of the actual season already. I only sat through my first class, yet I instantly learned the basic steps of cha-cha-cha and rumba, maybe even jive. No wonder my unappeasable thirst for learning has been getting on my nerves and testing my (non-existing) patience ever since.
The beginner group wasn’t enough challenge for me and my partner, Olivér, according to my teachers. In around 1,5 months we found ourselves in the intermediate/advanced group with classmates dancing for years already. I wasn’t ready. But my competitive spirit, ambition — a bit of pride too, if I am honest — and the lack of confidence to speak up for myself made me stay.
I struggled. We suffered. The expectations were high and our foundations were missing. Add the suspicious, even jealous looks of our fellow team mates to the equation and you get the anxious, impatient, ‘never feeling good enough’ vibe of my early dancing experience.
If it wasn’t for one of our teachers, Géza’s effort to (secretly) help us, give free trainings in the attic of Olivér’s parent's, surely public humiliation would have followed, and eventually we would have given up. But motivation and persistence carried us forward.
A dream in the making…
In a few years, we were dancing in the first row in every group show, often getting the most difficult, or at least the most special and memorable choreos. The audience loved us dearly. We got successful, in our own way. We trained several times every week. The weekends were filled with competitions or shows.
Did it drain us? Not me. Never.
Sure, frequently finishing in the last third of the field at every competition of couple-dancing didn’t feel right. Always feeling the need for proving ourselves got tiring.
But I adored being in the spotlight. Being seen as special and talented, celebrated by the audience — something I longed for, but never truly got in my family and personal life, as I later realized.
I loved how they cherished me. The feelings I could ignite in them. The power I could have over them. Watching their faces, I saw their joy and maybe, just maybe, a hint of healthy envy. I imagined them thinking: ‘I could never do this.’
Their respect and admiration fueled me. When I was on stage, I could finally stand out. I was lovable. We even got on the front page of the local newspaper when our team finished 3rd place at the national championship for formational dance. We were the real deal, and finally everyone could see it, right?!
… and slipping away
Then the application period for college came around, and my heart was filled with hopes and dreams. I wanted to become a professional dancer, even a choreographer, for years. The walls of my room witnessed all the desperate wanting and longing for it during my teenage years. How I danced for hours without stopping, practicing steps, choreographies and coming up with whole new ideas for dance theater plays.
In my fantasies, I was a successful and accomplished choreographer, teaching in Paris, New York, London… but I had to face the reality of it in a tiny town in Eastern Europe. The place I called home at that time.
I am not sure if I will ever be able to truly forgive myself that I didn’t go after those dreams back then. I didn’t apply for the Hungarian Dance University. Haven’t even tried. Had I dedicated one year of my life to it, I could have prepared for the preliminary. I might not have been accepted, of course. But I could have continued my life knowing that I had tried my best.
Nothing could have stopped me, if only I‘ve had faith in myself. Facing one of the most important decisions of my life, I couldn’t make use of my ever present stubbornness.
Did my dance teachers encourage me? Not really. My parents? With one condition. I should get a ‘normal’ degree first. I believe you heard enough similar stories to know how those agreements end. Mine was no different.
I got my bachelors degree in Communication studies, and went on to study Sociology. Started working as a journalist, then for NGOs and a communication agency. I became a freelance online communication specialist, built a new online lifestyle magazine for women from scratch as an editor-in-chief. Got married, moved to Lisbon. Life carried on.
But what about dancing? During my first few years in Budapest I experimented with other styles, such as contemporary and jazz ballet, tango, modern dance…
Then it slowly faded away. I managed to convince myself that I don’t need dancing anymore. That it was enough to occasionally let myself move freely at parties. That yoga could subtitute it. That I was already too old to start again. Boy, was I wrong.
A stranger and a leap of faith
Remember the Lebanese guy at the meetup? He said, in his culture, dancing isn’t considered manly, so he could never try it back home. But maybe I could teach him. I said we will learn something new together. Salsa and bachata.
The classes were at a tiny, dirty, but lovely bar in Bairro Alto (the party district of Lisbon). It was mainly for fun. The group was nice, the dancing was nice. Cocktails were nice — and cheap. Also, way too strong. Got home tipsy every Wednesday. It wasn’t ideal — not for my hard-working, committed personality. The one that gets accused lately for being even too serious about it. (Not on my terms, of course. Maybe no one else is serious enough?) But it gave back my hunger.
My soul started to fly again. I could finally breathe again. By Autumn I made my decision. I will learn bachata sensual, this time for real. In well-lit rooms with mirrors, professional teachers and without alcohol. It wasn’t about having fun anymore. It was time to go all in.
Finding strength in the struggle
I found the perfect place for me. It was obvious at the first class already. A strict teacher — looking at you, dearest Anita —, practicing basic moves for hours, getting into details — my kind of training. In-house social dancing for practice, where I first felt alive after a looong, long time. In the beginning, however, I had no idea what I had got myself into.
All the demons I will need to face. All the walls I have built around me, that I needed to break. The fear, the pain, the self-doubt. The never ending fights with myself. The tears and disappointments that will follow. More on that in the upcoming newsletters.
But all of that led me to utter freedom. A new understanding of why I am dancing: for my delight, not to get admired. To experience a type of joy I could never even dreamed of. That I couldn’t even imagine. To set free the inner fire that was kept under control for years, but finally finding its way to burn in me again. I didn’t only get back into dancing. I got myself back. Or rather… met myself for the first time.
Having classes with amazing and encouraging teachers, going to dance festivals, workshops, and finding dance partners for regular trainings gave back my faith.
Life gave me a second chance at grasping my dreams. And this time I took it. There is no way back now. I am not giving up on myself again.
Dance to survive, dance to live
And what is next?
I am ready to share my journey dancing through life and show how it is never too late to start following our dreams, even after abandoning them for a decade. How it is worth to choose ourselves even with all the sacrifices it comes with. To show the wisdom our bodies hold — and how can we gain access to it by moving it. All the things I learned and continuously learning from this activity, rooted in ancient times. The potential it has, one which our ancestors understood perfectly — how we need it for our very survival.
I believe we gain strength from other people’s stories. That dancing is capable of speaking volumes when words aren’t enough. It's a universal language, spoken and understood by everyone on this planet. It soothes, grounds, elevates, and glues us together — communities used it for preserving their culture and to keep their will to live, for centuries.
Yet we so often fail to see the music, the rhythm of our bodies and how it can be used as a powerful tool to have a deeper understanding of ourselves, too. How it can combat the polarization that is forced upon us, by bringing us together. It can help to connect and see the things we all share, rather than what divides us. To find a way to our very being — the raw, authentic, loving self we carry inside.
My mission is to present here people and their stories — including mine — that carry this lesson. To inspire us to be better human beings, both for ourselves and for each other.
in my case it wasn’t parents but solely my own doubt that sabotaged becoming. still does. and you are the nemesis of that voice.
i am grateful that you keep sharing your story and with it your healing powers with as many as you can
I'm so happy to have meet you in all this last process and to know how happy this makes you, that worth all the sacrifice and effort to let go and built something you believe in 🌻🫂🌞. On this crazy hectic world this is what we all need.
Cami 🌻