Samba

A certain tension exists between the values I have chosen to uphold and those that are imposed upon me. It reminds me of the tension I feel as I dance. On one hand, a traditional style, technique, and method set the foundation, while on the other, improvisation, impulse, and vision drive the movement. After a certain point, the vehicle, or rules if you will, bend or break under the pressure of competition. A new means of expression and action replaces the outdated form under new circumstances. Before long the dance becomes its own idea, essence, and meaning. It takes on a direction and stance. Dance creates art that lasts as long as a gaze, making it as ephemeral as a flash of lightning; the accumulation of my actions though ultimately defines the kind of dance I live. Of course these days pictures and videos are somewhat changing that, but the essence of that work being present only in the residue of ones muscle memory or visual and auditory stimuli make it an ideal way to live fully in the moment. That essentially embodies the rift in my moral compass. I am or at least was surrounded by people either encouraging or totally content with waiting. The issues affecting such a large number of people in the world seem to be put snuggly on the back burner. I completely recognize the importance of becoming educated. But to wait until I am twenty-two or three or older to get certified to do this or that and only then start a career, my initial participation probably falling far short and off the mark of what I thought necessary or possible, and most likely forgetting somewhere along the way what it was I want to do and value seems fake and indirect. Sitting around a fifty thousand dollar or so wooden Harkness table discussing the inequity inherent in various aspects of our societies seemed so backwards, as privileged I was to receive the education I did. I felt the need to be much more involved and productive than was deemed okay. As I was applying for this trip I remember having an argument with my mother about what would happen if I did not make the cut. I became rather upset, mostly out of fear, at the notion that she probably would not allow me to do a gap year by myself. I felt stuck, coddled, and ready for more. I could not imagine another four years in the same area doing the same kinds of things I had been doing without being utterly lost and unhappy. Maybe that is just indicative of certain preconceived notions about what my life would be like in the next four years. It could also be a big indicator that I should have seriously reconsidered the way I lived my life, not that I did not or anything though. At times such situations and opinions are difficult to address or resolve for a number of reasons. Things such as these have had a tendency to work out well in the end, so hopefully that has something to do with how I handle them. A samba class inspired today's blog post. Ricardo, our dance instructor (he puts you to shame bro), is as lively as he is passionate about the art. Samba plays an incredibly important role in our getting to know the people of Salvador. Samba has as many varieties as it has peoples and cultures that contributed to its creation and development. To be able to learn, share, and enjoy that with others leads to a completely fulfilling experience for me.