Dancing Through Life: Lessons Learned on and off the Dance Floor - Hardcover

Benevento, Antoinette; Dobb, Edwin

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0312370857 ISBN 13: 9780312370855

Publisher: St. Martin's Press, 2007

Synopsis

A warm and encouraging self-help book that draws inspiration and motivation from ballroom dancing.

 

Precisely because the dance floor stands apart from the everyday world, allowing dancers to play, experiment and take on new roles, it also serves as a stage for human behavior. Antoinette Benevento, a former national ballroom dancing champion and co-owner of Fred Astaire Dance Studios, has been a student of that stage for 25 years. She has discovered that getting out on the dance floor is a powerful and empowering metaphor for living fully in all realms of life.
 
Some of the tenets Antoinette Benevento lives, dances, and teaches by:
-Persistence is a form of beauty
-Give yourself permission to begin again--and again and again
-If you're not willing to risk falling, you'll never learn to walk (or dance)
-Desire is the energy that moves us forward in dance and in life
-To dance well and to live fully, body and soul need to work together
Building on the ballroom dancing craze that has swept the country, including the popularity of "Dancing with the Stars", this illuminating and highly readable book shows  that what you learn on the dance floor can help you dance through life.

 

ANTOINETTE BENEVENTO is co-owner of and National Training Director for the Fred Astaire Dance Studios and a former national ballroom dancing champion. EDWIN DOBB is a contributing editor of Harper's Magazine, and has written for numerous other national publications, including The New York Times Magazine, Vogue, and Discover.

About this title

About the Author

ANTOINETTE BENEVENTO is co-owner of and National Training Director for the Fred Astaire Dance Studios and a former national ballroom dancing champion. EDWIN DOBB is a contributing editor of Harper's Magazine, and has written for numerous other national publications, including The New York Times Magazine, Vogue, and Discover.

From the Inside Flap

A warm and encouraging self-help book that draws inspiration and motivation from ballroom dancing.

 


Precisely because the dance floor stands apart from the everyday world, allowing dancers to play, experiment and take on new roles, it also serves as a stage for human behavior. Antoinette Benevento, a former national ballroom dancing champion and co-owner of Fred Astaire Dance Studios, has been a student of that stage for 25 years. She has discovered that getting out on the dance floor is a powerful and empowering metaphor for living fully in all realms of life.
 
Some of the tenets Antoinette Benevento lives, dances, and teaches by:
-Persistence is a form of beauty
-Give yourself permission to begin again--and again and again
-If you're not willing to risk falling, you'll never learn to walk (or dance)
-Desire is the energy that moves us forward in dance and in life
-To dance well and to live fully, body and soul need to work together
Building on the ballroom dancing craze that has swept the country, including the popularity of "Dancing with the Stars", this illuminating and highly readable book shows  that what you learn on the dance floor can help you dance through life.

 


ANTOINETTE BENEVENTO is co-owner of and National Training Director for the Fred Astaire Dance Studios and a former national ballroom dancing champion. EDWIN DOBB is a contributing editor of Harper's Magazine, and has written for numerous other national publications, including The New York Times Magazine, Vogue, and Discover.

Reviews

Though the title might evoke thoughts of spinning lithely around life's troubles, anyone who has participated in dance can tell you things get bruised and broken along the way. Benevento, a former national ballroom dancing champion, knows all too well that, despite the elegance of the Waltz or the energy of the Cha Cha, anyone can find themselves flat on their butt. So how does one recover? A few of Benevento's to-the-point tips will certainly help: "be gentle with yourself," give yourself "permission to begin again-and again and again" and "to keep trying is to succeed." Though her take on "energy" is happily offbeat ("desire is the energy that moves us forward," dance is "energy in motion," and "motion can alter the mind"), chapters on "Silencing the Inner Critic," "Dancing Solo" and "Taking the Lead" may not give readers much new information; still, Benevento's straightforward statements and analogies make her lessons encouraging and easy to follow, and she doesn't waste time on tear-jerking anecdotes or elaborate philosophy. Though it's more re-affirming than inspiring, Benevento's fleet-footed self-help is a good way to feel better about the unavoidable missteps of life.
Copyright İ Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

Excerpt. İ Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter 1

My life in dance began with a wrong turn—a misstep. It was 1980. I was a freshman studying elementary education at Montana State University in Bozeman, and I was restless. I also was fed up with winter. So I transferred to the University of Nevada, Reno, where I naively imagined I’d escape the snow and subfreezing temperatures that grip my home state from November through March—or April, or even May sometimes. Boy, was I wrong. Reno may be located in a desert, but it’s a high, northern desert that’s invaded by bone-chilling weather every year.

There I was in one of the country’s premier gambling meccas, where hope not only springs eternal but fills casino coffers around-the-clock, a little wiser geographically certainly but with little reason to be optimistic about my ill-advised wager. What in the world had I gained by coming to Reno? Every morning I shivered as I climbed into my car to drive to school and I continued to shiver, and grumbled to myself, as I reported to my job—working the counter at a busy Wendy’s. To make matters worse, I registered too late to get the classes I wanted at the university. I now could look forward to at least several months of boredom. And I can’t stand boredom.

That’s when my fortunes changed forever. Out of the blue, my roommate’s boyfriend told me that he was going to try out for an instructor trainee program at the local Fred Astaire Dance Studio. Would I like to be his partner? The idea wasn’t entirely foreign, to say the least. From seventh grade through my senior year in high school, I had been a member of school drill teams. I liked to dance, liked it very much. For my last birthday at home, my mother ordered a cake with the following words on top: “The dancing machine is now 18.” So after a little hesitation, I applied and was accepted. Within two weeks I had quit the fast food business and shelved my educational plans. I was spending fourteen to sixteen hours at the studio every day of the week, and I danced virtually all of that time. I talked dance, I dreamed dance, I was possessed by dance.

Why? The full answer would require me to tell you everything that’s happened since then, and I’ll eventually get to the highlights in the chapters to follow. But for now suffice it to say that certain features of dance captivated me from the start. Looking back, I realize that something important was missing in my life then. I knew that much. I was searching, but I wasn’t sure what I was searching for—until I joined Fred Astaire and began dancing full-time. Suddenly I felt energized, fulfilled. I knew instantly that dancing would become my life. What I’m about to say may strike you as corny but it’s the truth: The first time my instructor took me in his arms and swept me across the dance floor, I felt like I was being transported back in time or to another world, a world of elegant balls and fairy-tale romance. The dance floor, I soon learned, was a fantasyland where everyone lives happily ever after. It’s a place that stands apart from the everyday world—its conflicts, cruelties, and disappointments. No wonder I became addicted, as do so many others who make the same discovery.

As you might imagine, my job as dance instructor didn’t seem like work at all. I was getting paid to impart something I loved to students, which gave me a great deal of pleasure. But I wanted more. I wanted a serious, long-term partner with whom I could practice, someone who would challenge me to improve my skills. That’s when the fates placed another opportunity in front of me. A visiting dance coach was impressed by the enthusiasm that I and two other instructors exhibited and suggested we attend a national contest in Miami—as observers, not participants. It would be an opportunity to see how our skills compared with those of the best professional dancers in the Fred Astaire system. Should we find competition appealing, it would also give us a chance to meet potential partners. And we’d be staying in sunny southern Florida, a place I was absolutely certain was warmer than both Montana and Nevada. In my mind I was on my way long before I boarded the plane. Simply stated, I was thrilled.

Thrilled but unprepared for what was about to happen. In Florida, Larry, a young and eager instructor from the Fred Astaire Dance Studio in Phoenix, introduced himself. He explained that he’d been stood up by his partner and was looking for a way to salvage the situation. Then he asked me to dance with him in the novice division. There was no time to get to know each other. Certainly no time for rehearsal. Just step out on the floor and follow his lead. And those were not the only reasons for turning down Larry’s proposal. At the time in October 1982, I was ten to fifteen pounds overweight. I lacked proper dance shoes, to say nothing of a traditional dance costume. And if you’ve ever seen the extravagant outfits contestants wear at professional ballroom dancing events, you can imagine how much like an awkward, out-of-place bird I felt at the time—a drab starling among brightly colored peacocks. Still, against all odds, I found myself saying yes.

Remember the first time you appeared in front of an audience? Now imagine doing so with a stranger and without knowing what exactly you’re going to perform. I began wishing I’d never left Nevada. Then I received another sign that dancing would be my destiny. Larry had chosen a rumba, and the moment the music started I was at one with the infectious rhythm of that Latin classic. Instinct guided me as I swam in a sea of sensation—Larry and I turning together across the dance floor, hundreds of eyes watching our every move, and, finally, applause. Real applause. The clapping startled me. We’d certainly won the approval of the audience, but what about the judges? After a short deliberation, they awarded us first place. No one was more surprised than I. I’d come to watch and ended up winning. More important, an ugly duckling had been transformed, if only for a moment, into the belle of the ball.

The following summer I transferred to the Phoenix studio to be able to train with Larry. Our choreographer was a veteran dancer named Michael Bickley. One day Michael asked me to join him in a back room of the studio. “I want to show you something.” He placed one hand under my left arm and the other under my right leg, then lifted me in a single, swift movement over his head, just as I’d seen ice dancers do. One moment I’d been standing on the floor, the next I was suspended in the air—and, it seemed, soaring. After work I called my mother to tell her about experiencing for the first time what ballroom dancers call a full press lift. “I felt like I was in a dream,” I said excitedly, unsure of what exactly I meant other than that the exhilaration had convinced me that anything’s possible. And in that spirit I told her with complete conviction that I was going to become a champion ballroom dancer.

Soon afterward, Michael became my partner and for the next ten years I devoted myself to competition. In 1984 we placed fifth in the World Theatrical Championships. Two years later, we won in the Rising Star Division at the American Smooth Ballroom Championships. When I retired in 1993, we held fifth place overall in the American Smooth. At the same time, I had been moving up the management ladder at the Phoenix studio—from instructor to assistant supervisor to supervisor to assistant manager to manager. The same year I left competition I purchased the studio. That, too, was a turning point in my life, more momentous than any previous, though at the time I couldn’t have dreamed of the changes it would bring, including all that led to the writing of this book. From the day I graduated to supervisor I had been a hands-on, face-to-face problem solver. I found great satisfaction in helping staff members resolve differences, overcome obstacles, and communicate more effectively. To better prepare myself for the job, I attended educational seminars. In a sense, I suppose, I was fulfilling the ambition that had initially driven me to become an educator, someone who teaches and counsels. I’ve always wanted to help others.

But back in the early 1990s I was woefully naïve (as were many of the self-help manuals I looked to for guidance). I grew up thinking that I had to make sure everyone around me was okay, that it was my responsibility to do so. What’s more, I fully believed—at least until my early thirties—that there’s no reason why everybody shouldn’t be okay. In other words, all problems are fixable, provided one brings the right attitude and sufficient commitment to the task. And I was convinced I possessed both. Oh, I had been tested in this belief, having experienced disappointment in love and financial difficulties, the troubles we all hold in common. But the flaw in my outlook wasn’t revealed to me until my mother died in 1995. Later I’ll say more about the special relationship I enjoyed with Mom and how her loss has affected me. What I wish to convey now is how the incident altered my behavior at the dance studio. Although it may seem so obvious that it doesn’t warrant mentioning, I’m convinced it’s important to acknowledge out loud and in the presence of others what death teaches us: Some problems aren’t fixable and some things aren’t knowable. There are strict limits to what we can do and comprehend. Certain things simply aren’t possible. Stopping people from dying is one of those things.

Most people who suffer the loss of a loved one are overcome by an urge to cling to life, to make the best of the opportunities at hand. In my case, I found myself looking at the people I worked with in a new light. During those early years of ownership, I was at the studio virtually all of my waking hours, teaching students, training instructors, developing ways to attract new customers, all in an attempt to keep a very promising business growing. Why, I asked myself, when life is so short and unpredictable, should I settle for anything but the most constructive relationships with those who occupy so much of my time? That they happened to be my employees made no difference. Wherever I was, I wanted likable, creative, supportive people around me.

I decided it was time to hold a meeting, the first of my many “Come to Jesus” meetings, and by that I don’t mean that I asked my staff to convert to a religious doctrine but rather exposed them to religious-like enthusiasm. I told my staff that I was about to implement a new management philosophy at the studio. I insisted that they abide by what I call the Dance Floor Rules: You must be nice. You must share. You must work together. And most important, you must want to grow up—to mature as a human being. After describing the work environment I envisioned, I tried to demonstrate how that environment would lead to financial success as well as personal fulfillment. To tell the truth, for all my hellfire rhetoric, I wasn’t sure back then exactly how we were going to get where I wanted to go. But I saw the destination. And I was determined.

For the next several years I treated the dance studio as a laboratory of human behavior. Like other people in the arts, dancers tend to be more demonstrative than, say, stockbrokers or accountants or auto mechanics. But, appearances aside, they’re like everyone else, trying to make sense of their lives, searching for pleasure and companionship, hoping that who they are and what they do will be valued by some and loved by at least a few and, of course, doing what they deem necessary to survive. Much of what I learned about personal growth in that setting echoed what one routinely finds in standard texts of the self-help movement. But to my great delight, the most useful lessons didn’t come from observing ordinary behavior. They came from watching people on the dance floor. Ironically, what I’d once seen as a fantasyland started to teach me about reality.

I’m certainly not the first person to use dance as a metaphor for life. Nor will I be the last. But what has struck me—and inspired me to write this book—is the thoroughness with which the terms, principles, and techniques of dance can be applied to everyday situations all of us face. Maybe we shouldn’t be surprised that an activity as old as human culture, dating back at least thousands of years and probably much longer, should so closely reflect what it means to be human. Consider two of the most fundamental elements of dance—movement and relationship. What is existence but movement and relationship? We live within a complex, continually shifting web of relationships involving family, friends, various social groups, and society as a whole, to say nothing of other organisms, places, ideas, events, and everything that makes up the contemporary world. In the absence of those relationships we could no more exist than a tree could live apart from the ecosystem it depends upon for sustenance. Although people often downplay or misunderstand this fact: we are our relationships.

But as everyone knows from experience, not all personal and social relationships are healthy; many are downright harmful, others crippling, some fatal. And precisely to the extent that our relationships are unhealthy, so are we. At this point we could quibble over the chicken-and-egg dilemma of whether we should focus our attention on the individual or the relationship. Is there something wrong with me (or you)? Or is it just that the chemistry is off? Traditionally, psychologists train their sights on the former, looking for causes within people, whereas sociologists concentrate on social contexts—external causes, such as one’s socioeconomic situation—in their search for the factors that determine behavior. But I prefer to adopt a different, more inclusive approach. To address effectively the problems we encounter in our daily lives, I believe it’s necessary to consider the individual and her social context simultaneously—in other words, to treat a person and her relationships as a single reality.

If what I’ve just said isn’t entirely clear, don’t worry. I’ll return to the idea later. The point I want to make here is that a parallel exists between the exchanges we routinely engage in in life and movement on the dance floor. When I’m dancing with a partner, my first and foremost goal is to maintain balance, so that no matter what position I’m in or how the dance evolves, I’m poised, composed, and graceful. But it is far more difficult for me to remain poised—to keep from being knocked off-balance—if my partner isn’t composed as well. Now, it’s true, I could assume a defensive position, bracing for his impact and thus preserving balance. But that isn’t dancing, it’s combat. The joy of dancing is to move in concert with someone else, to collaborate rather than to confront. Balance, then, is something that’s best achieved together.

In my view, the same is true of all realms of life. Except in those situations in which we’re under attack by people bent on doing harm, a subject that’s well beyond the scope of this book, we seek harmonious relationships. I don’t mean to imply that there’s no room for difference or conflict. Quite the contrary. As is the case in certain dances, tension can heighten drama and raise energy levels, leading to unexpected effects. But underlying the differences is unity of action, a commitment to the partnership, to its well-being and longevity. You may have good reason to get angry, for example, at a spouse or child or coworker, but that doesn’t mean you wish to sever the relationship. The challenge is expressing such anger without los-ing poise or—and this is crucial—destroying the poise of the other person. Speaking more generally, the challenge before us is to remain graceful in the face of any and all changes that may come our way. Dancing, I believe, has much to teach us about that challenge. It gives us a way to talk about it that’s easy to grasp. (In life) grace is to change as (in dance) balance is to movement. How we deal with the ups and downs, the give and take, of day-to-day existance can be described in terms borrowed from the world of dance. More important, dancing suggests what may be possible when human beings truly do act in concert—creativity, beauty, and, yes, love.

In the chapters that follow I will attempt to show you why the dancing partnership is a model of a constructive relationship, one that applies to every aspect of our lives, from romance to families and friendship to the workplace. I want to warn you, however, that as the discussion unfolds you will notice paradoxes. I’m going to urge you to set goals, for instance, then ask you not to cling to them so intently that you are blinded to new opportunities. My aim isn’t to confuse. It’s to acknowledge a higher form of balance, to shift, when the situation calls for it, from an “either-or” perspective to a “both-and” one, because in doing so we draw nearer to the heart of existence. Living is an art, not a science. When most vibrant, life lies beyond words, sometimes embracing contradiction. Ultimately, it defies description and analysis. Like dance, living isn’t a thought; it’s something one does. Like dance, it’s in constant flux.

From those of you who are new to dance, have never danced, or, heaven forbid, don’t like to dance, I ask patience. The human drama plays out on many stages, and the world of dancing is but one of them. It just so happens that it’s the one with which I’m familiar and from which I’ve drawn the life lessons I’ve found most useful. I’d wager, however, that a good number of those lessons will ring true among those of you who don’t know a two-step from a tango from a step-shuffle-step. So, please dance with me. Take my hand as I take you on a tour of the dance floor. I can’t promise it won’t be a little awkward, even painful. But who knows? You might have fun. Better yet, you might find yourself doing and accomplishing more than you’ve ever dreamed of, or as Lerner and Lowe put it “a thousand things [you’ve] never done before.”

 

 

Copyright İ 2007 by Antoinette Benevento and Edwin Dobb. All rights reserved.

Edition details

• Publisher: St. Martin's Press
• Publication date: 2007
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0312370857
• ISBN 13: 9780312370855
• Binding: Hardcover
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 240