Confidence, Competence, Stress, and You

If you feel good, you'll act empowered. Yeah, you already know that. Better posture, smiling -- that sort of thing. The body language that says, yeah, I've got it goin' on.

You might also have heard that if you act like you're feeling pretty good, even when you're not, your physiology follows suit. No?

Hear it now: researcher Amy Cuddy talks about success, social competence, and influence. This isn't just about appearance, either - she's also talking about how you feel inside, about stress, about taking action in situations where you might otherwise freeze up.

Her recommendation is simple, fast, and requires no purchase, which is why you might not have heard about it. Here it is: take two minutes to stand or sit as if you're on top of the world. That means unfold, expand your body, grab some great posture. Smile a bit.

Turns out there are measurable results. Brain chemistry changes. Risk tolerance goes up. Testosterone and cortisol increases. Stress coping improves.

What? We're back to "fake it til you make it"? Yes. Adds Cuddy, "fake it until you become it" because doing this again and again actually changes you physically as well as habitually.

Doesn't quite seem fair, does it? But to hell with fair. Cuddy's research says it works.

Have I mentioned dance lately? See the connection?

Dance is Brain Food

A 21-year long study in the New England Journal of Medicine shows that dancing increases cognitive acuity. Significantly more than crossword puzzles. The article is nicely summarized here, on the Stanford social dance site.

Not just any kind of dancing, either. It has to be the kind that requires improvisational work, the styles that require you to make lots of decisions on a split-second basis.

And mostly women benefit.  Why? You probably know that most partner dancing is pretty sexist. Men are expected to "lead" and women are expect to "follow".  I put those words in quotes because there are no really good words describing what those two roles are doing.

The lead -- usually the man -- does what? Directs? Orients? Maybe invites. Offers an idea about how to understand the music with this particular partner.

The follow -- usually the woman -- does what?  Not just does what she's told, that's for sure. Responds? Interprets. The follow interprets the dance based on the music and the guy in front of her.

Now because, as the article says, follows typically make "hundreds of split-second decisions as to what to do next", they gain the most cognitive exercise from dance.  The leads don't have to respond or interpret nearly as often, so they gain less.

In dances like Argentine Tango and Blues and Fusion, where each led movement can have dozens of subtle implications requiring immediate and complicated follow decisions, the cognitive workout is significant.

The article suggests ways leads can improve their cognitive workout. They suggest the lead really notice the subtleties of their partner's actions and respond in real-time, rather than following a pattern.

That is, pay attention. That is, watch and listen.

Hey leads, are you listening now?  Maybe it's a good time to start. Do it for your brain.

What is "axis" in dance?

Check out my axis

When I teach dance, my goals range from being as specific as possible for that particular person to being as general as possible, that is, what would apply to everyone equally?

Is tricky.

This one day I'm working with a woman on tango moves and I encourage her to do thus-and-such to have a better axis. She has a ballet background and she's pretty sophisticated for a beginner so when she asks me, "what exactly do you mean by 'axis'?" I realize that in all my years of struggling to gain better axis myself I have yet to define it to my own satisfaction.

Dancers describe axis in any number of ways. They say it's about balance, good posture, stance and motion, smooth and controlled movements, core strength, spiral paths, head position, and on. And on. But for every one of those descriptions, there's a movement that defies it and works nonetheless.

I want to give this woman an explanation that will apply not only to her, but to everyone, no matter what their body type, skill level, or dance experience. I want a definition that allows all the secondary attributes to be derivable by the person who actually needs them, when they need them.

Do I set myself hard challenges? Very well then! I set myself hard challenges!

I'm deep in thought for long enough that she starts to do the "no, no, it's okay" thing and I hold up a hand to buy myself another moment. Because I'm thinking hard and I think I'm coming up with an answer.

"Axis", I say, "is what you have when you recruit all your physical  abilities so that you can, at that moment, move in any direction you choose, easily and efficiently."

She has the "aha!" face so I think maybe I've nailed it. But I decide to check with a few dancers I respect. They each mull it over for a moment and agree that it's a good and, yes, useful definition.

If you're slumped or in a physically awkward position, you can't easily move in any direction you want. To take it to an extreme, if you are about to fall over, you can certainly and easily move in one direction, but that's about it.

In general, being able to move easily and efficiently in any direction at any moment produces grace. As I see it, the "organic" movements dancers work for are all about physical efficiency. A professional ballet dancer of my acquaintance says that once you get the movements right, they feel good too. He adds it may take a lot of years and work to get to the point where these motions feel natural, but that's the end goal: to make the movement feel right, which is the body's way of saying, yes, this is efficient, this works. So feeling good and looking good are, ultimately, one and the same.

Axis is what you get when you can, physically -- and I would also add internally and emotionally -- move in any direction you want with similar ease. That definition draws along with it all the other attributes usually associated with axis, but it lets people derive them directly for themselves.

So, dancers: what do you think?

Ah, Life. Ah, Tango.

I'm at the dance studio coaching a woman who has only had a couple of classes. She's a bit wide-eyed at the whole Argentine tango, which is something I see fairly often, given how -- well, much of a muchness tango can be. She looks at my feet, notices that I'm wearing jazz slippers -- soft shoes with a very flat, barely there heel on them -- and she says, "oh, those must give you better balance, right?"

I've been dancing this dance for a years and her question catches me in a web of considerations. It's a bit esoteric, how dance shoes work in tango. On top of that it's individual, since those of us who dance in heels (women, yeah, mostly) have very different feet and very different movement patterns.

I asked similar questions early on, about flats, stiletto heels, thick heels, high and low high heels. I'd get a different answer every time, and my experience almost inevitably contradicted them all. Wrong for me maybe or wrong for where I was at then.

What no one told me is that what you need in a dance shoe changes as your skill and balance changes, as your style matures, and as your partners improve. Also, it depends on the condition of your feet. I never knew feet could be buff.

It depends how the particular shoe fits your particular foot (not feet, because each foot is different); the more control you have, the less wiggle room (literally) you want in the fit. But that's calculated after your feet have swollen from dancing, not before.

This is all too much to explain to someone who's had three lessons.

By now my silence has gone on a handful of seconds. She says "well, of course it's easier!" and laughs at herself, as if to admit her question's answer is obvious and simple.

But it isn't. I say so.

I explain that as she gets better, as she wants more smoothness and control in turns on the ball of her foot, thinner heels provide an advantage, because you've got less heel to get off of to make the turn. That for linear movements, the thicker and lower heel might be more stable, but for circular movements, it's the thinner heel that -- ironically -- gives you the better stability in motion.

Kinda like life, you know. We gather things to ourselves -- people, places, beliefs -- that have low, thick heels, to give us stability in our linear movements. And then we realize we want to do turns, we want to try something new, maybe wacky, with a whole different perspective. Suddenly the very things that kept us stable through all those linear years and linear concepts make it hard for us to turn gracefully. Hard to do new things.

Ah, life. Ah, tango.

Getting Better

A strange thing happens when you study something for years and years, accepting (repeatedly) that you're just not very good at it and allowing (repeatedly) that you may never understand why you keep doing it anyway.

You get better.  Maybe not fast, maybe not when you expect to, but in time, eventually.

I've been videoing myself dancing, weekly, with the same partner to the same music for a few months now.  I've been studying the videos, and to my surprise the woman I'm watching is looking more and more like a dancer.

I'm guessing you're thinking one of three things: "well, duh", or "how can you be sure?", or even "who cares?"  If it's the last, go read my Awesome post. (Right now. You'll love it.)

If it's "how can you be sure?" I answer: it's about smoothness, and musicality. Posture. But it's also something that's hard to define but you know when you see it.  Grace.  Something I never thought I'd see in myself.

And if it's "well, duh"?  To you I made a cute piss-off gesture that you find amusing, feisty and adorable all at once, and you resolve to bring me some fabulously tasty chocolates next time you come to watch me dance.

Better at Me

I'm coming off a weekend of a lot of tango dancing with friends and strangers and some things have occurred to me.  It's funny how the stuff you hear over the years comes back to you in waves of meaning and applicability.  For example, what if I only took steps that were right for me at the moment, rather than pushing myself to take a step because I thought it was expected?  What if I took my time with each step, even at the risk of being late?  Would this change my dance?

Most certainly it would.  I've been doing that, more and more, and it's -- delicious.

And of course tango is a mirror for life.

Someone recently said to me between dances, his eyes wide and his tone full of surprise, "there's something about the way you dance... it feels like-- like you bring something to the conversation."

Well, yes. In tango, the woman's role -- we say "the follow" in this country, but that's sort of a confusing term -- is about listening.  As is the man's role.  But the woman's role is also about responding, about saying something in return.  About making it a conversation. Too many men -- "leads" -- don't get that part.   And by "don't get" I don't just mean don't understand.  I mean never receive.  What a shame.

I realized something recently about why I dance tango, and I've been saying it a lot lately:

I don't dance tango to get better at tango.  I dance tango to get better at me.