"What Turning Forty Means to Me:  I need to take my pants off as soon as I get home.  I didn't used to have to do that.  But now I do." --Tina Fey

All jokes aside, I am three days away from turning 40. People have been asking me what I want to do for my birthday and I don't know what to tell them.  When I turned 30, we were living in Madrid and we planned a 30-hour party with our friends.  There was an itinerary that was distributed and anyone could join up with the party at any given time.  If you wanted to join us for drinks at 7pm, we were there.  If you wanted churros and chocolate at 6am the next day, there we were.  Most of the big details were planned out, with room for improvisation--we all came upon a playground at 3am, which led to this:

That was a fun weekend.  My friends still mention it every time they wish me a happy birthday.

​Now, 10 years later, I have no idea how to celebrate the 10-year anniversary of the 30-hour party. Things feel fuzzy.  The thought at the time was, "I'm turning 30 and I'm in Spain; it should be epic!". Now it really feels like, "Uh, I don't know...?".

Now, I don't want you to take this as me being negative about my age or anything like that.  I like that I'm turning 40.  It feels like an age with some character to it.  I get to say things like, "Kids these days" and "I can't be bothered" and mean it.  It's a great age.

I think the thing that feels nebulous to me is that everything is up in the air right now.  I grew up being told that a woman needs to have her life settled by the time she's 40--her career, her family, her home; every detail should be in place.

Hmmm.  But....what happens when you've chosen a career in the arts?  I'm not even talking about the financial questions that I know come up for everyone when they hear "artist", although those are very real questions.  I'm talking about art itself.  The simple act of creation is a constant question.  When I get up onstage, I never know exactly how the performance is going to go, especially with Flamenco since so much of it is based on improvisation and communicating with your cuadro* in real time. When I sat down to write this blog post, I had no idea what was going to come out.  I still don't know where this is going to end up.

And what happens when your husband suddenly gets a job in Africa and is gone for a couple of months at a time, in a region that is not particularly stable, working for an industry that is not particularly stable?  

What happens when you get diagnosed with a chronic illness that is known for being unpredictable?

What happens is the truth of life--nothing is certain.  Nothing can be "settled".  The moment you think things are settled, a tremor or an earthquake will hit and unsettle things.  Foundations crack. Structures shift or crumble altogether.

This is where being a Flamenco dancer has given me an edge.  I have been trained to improvise.  If things aren't exactly going the way I had planned, I listen for cues and shift until everything gels together again and it always does.  It may not end up coming out the way I originally envisioned, but sometimes that insecure moment leads to something even better.  Sometimes it doesn't, but it always leaves me more confident in my ability to handle what comes.

So this birthday, with so many things in my life feeling unsettled, it seems perfect that I just let go and see what happens for my birthday weekend.  So far, I've been asked to perform at El Cid on Saturday, the day after my birthday.  I know many of my Flamenca friends are throwing a brunch for me the day after that.  I love that the weekend has spontaneously come together and it feels very right that Flamenco is playing a big part in it.  

I also find it interesting that my actual birthday day is still wide open for anything.  I'm feeling a little unsettled about that, given that it's the big 4-0 and all, but I'm just going to breathe, listen for the cues, go with what comes, and know that it will be perfect.

​
*cuadro--the ensemble of Flamenco performers onstage.



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Are you turning 40 or have you already turned 40?  Feel free to share any insights or advice about this particular milestone.

If you have any other insights about aging or the unpredictability of life, feel free to share those in the comments below.

"...there is an erroneous message, I think, out there that art and the process of creating is very, very healing and therapeutic. And I don’t think it is. I think it’s cathartic. It moves energy. But there are certain songs, one of which is 'You Oughta Know,' where I have sung that song countless times onstage, and if I were to run into that person right now, I would feel horrified." --Alanis Morissette, interviewed by Tami Simon on Sounds True, 2014*

This quote really caught my attention when I first heard it.  It was an interesting thought.  The idea that art is healing and therapeutic, in and of itself, is something that I have taken as truth for a long time. Not only that, I hear my colleagues say it over and over again.  So when I hear a respected artist say the complete opposite, I have to sit up and take notice.

So I listened to the interview repeatedly to see if I could get the gist of what she was saying.  Then, while in my exploration, I came across an interview of Alanis by Oprah Winfrey on Super Soul Sunday where Alanis made this claim again:

"I actually think that art itself is cathartic, but it's not healing.  I thought that I could get away with writing these songs and it would absolve me and redeem and clean up, but after having sung, 'You Oughta Know' night, after night, after night, if I ran into that person I would have likely been catapulted right back to feeling uncomfortably terrified and awkward.  So it showed me that the process is cathartic, of creating and moving energy, and it can kick start, it can be a catalyst to investigate, but unless there's an actual relationship going on...there [is] not a lot of healing afforded".

Aha!  This was interesting and juicy.  I began to think about my own process.  In a recent school assembly, a child asked what inspired me during my dances.  I explained that there were various factors:  the lyrics of the song, the people I'm working with, but also my mood.  I told her that when I was in a happy mood, it was fun to dance the happy dances, but that when I'm sad or angry, it's just as fun to dance the sad or angry dances.  Why?  Because it's cathartic.  After having a particularly difficult week, maybe because I wasn't feeling well or because I had had an argument with someone, I would get an amazing release from dancing out my anger onstage.  It usually makes for a better performance too, when you channel that real energy and let it move you.  I always feel uplifted afterwards.

This is where we get the idea that art is healing--this feeling of catharsis when we've moved that energy through us, especially if it has moved something in our audience as well.  They get that catharsis too and in that moment, we are in relationship.  So yes, that feels healing.

However, I can admit that I have spent years dancing out the anger over people or situations that I have not forgiven.  Although I do feel like I've moved that anger through me and I have felt relief from doing so, I know full well that I have not healed that anger.  It rears its ugly head over and over again, and although it often feels good to use it for my dancing, it eventually gets old, and it most certainly doesn't feel good when it shows up in the middle of my every day life.  The only times I feel that I have actually healed my anger are when I have done the real work of forgiveness--when I have sat for hours and hours in meditation, with the intent to release that anger and forgive, and even more importantly, when I have actually done the work of having the conversation, meeting that person heart to heart, acknowledging my responsibility, and forgiving and letting go.

So yes, I guess Alanis has a point.  In the interview with Simon, she goes on to define healing as "the return to the original wholeness and original truth of what we are—that innate goodness".  In this definition, healing implies that we no longer see ourselves as right and others wrong.  We just see ourselves as one in the same, part of a greater whole, equally capable of being both right and wrong.  When I think about a lot of the professional relationships over the years, both mine and others I have witnessed, then I have to agree with Alanis. Our art has served as catharsis and part of a healing process, but not the healing itself.

So what do we do?  We continue to move our energy through our art and use it as part of our therapy, but we need to do the other work.  We need to do the work that allows us to see ourselves in the other and the other in us.  The artists that I know who seem the happiest overall are those who have done this in some way, whether it be through meditation, therapy, prayer, service to others, or a combination of all these.  Remember, art should bring people together.  That union is where the real healing begins.

*The link to the Tami Simon interview can be found here: http://www.soundstrue.com/store/weeklywisdom/?page=single&category=IATE&episode=9909

You can watch the Oprah Winfrey interview here: 

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I think what Alanis said makes for an interesting dialogue among artists.  What do you think about Alanis's point about catharsis vs. healing?  Do you agree or disagree?  I would love to hear your thoughts in the Comments section below.

When I was still an intermediate level Flamenco student, I was given some of the best advice I have ever received, that stays with me to this day.

It happened when I was trying to drill a llamada, or opening "call" step that you use to call the musicians and singer in for the next section of the piece. Because they serve this function, llamadas are usually exciting and punctuated with percussive heelwork that comes to a well-accented close.  Then there is a breath...
and the next section begins.

So you can imagine, the llamada must be executed clearly, without hesitation.  However, when you're a student still in your early days, these steps often seem intimidating.  Thus, a fear can set in and this is where you can get stuck.

So one evening, during a rehearsal at the dance studio, I was stuck in one of these moments.  I couldn't get a llamada por Alegrías (the rhythm of "Joy" of all things) to come out, even though I had done it a bunch of times in class.  The stress of having to do it by myself while others were watching was just too much for me.  It just fell apart after the first few counts.  I was about ready to cry from anger.  It was the complete opposite of what I was supposed to be channeling.

Then the words that have stuck with me for years came out of my fellow student, a tiny, but fierce dancer.  She smacked one fist into her other palm and said, "In Spain when that would happen to me, my teacher told me the problem was that I was afraid of the step and that as long as I was afraid of the step, it would never come out.  You actually already have it in you; you just need to let go and let it come out.  So just go for it.  Just do the step.  Don't fear the step.  Don't fear the step!"

Don't fear the step.  Just go for it.  It's already in you, you just have to get out of your own way.

How perfect is that, not just for dance, but for life?  That's why I still remember it.  I have continued to use that advice throughout my Flamenco career and studies, but I also think of my fearless friend when I have a challenge in other parts of my life, such as this new Lupus diagnosis.  The fear is what keeps me stuck, but when I am willing to let go of the fear, I get out of my own way and find that the step I am so afraid of is what will lead me to the next breath, the next verse, the next calling.

Now remember, there will always be steps in dance or in life that are more complicated than you are technically prepared for, and you will have to do the work to acquire those skills.  But when you know you have diligently done the work, and something still isn't quite right, it might be time to ask yourself, "Am I afraid of the step?  Do I need to just let go and see what happens?"  I bet you'll often find that's all you needed to do to get through that step and into the next breath.

And yes, by the way, that is what happened for me that night.  I let go and it turned out I did have the step.  And yes, I breathed a big sigh of relief and got a good joyful laugh too.


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Is there a step you know you need to take, but you're letting fear hold you back? How do you think you can "let go" and just take the step?  I'd love to hear from you in the comments section below!  Let me be your cheerleader!

The meditation center I go to has an annual intention-setting ceremony on New Year's Eve.  I haven't been to it yet because usually, I either have to work or I go to a family party.  However, last year one of the teachers held a daylong class in January where she held the same ceremony.

Basically, rather than listing New Year's Resolutions, we picked one word that described our intention for the year.  For me it was "welcome".  With my husband beginning his job in Chad near the end of 2013, we were barely turning the page to a new chapter in our life together.  Transitions are hard. This was the first time in our then 12 years of marriage (15 of being together) that we would be apart for a significant amount of time.  Due to extraneous circumstances, we essentially moved in together after only three months of dating, so you can imagine how this change has been shocking to us.  

Add to this that before now, I have never lived alone for an extensive amount of time.  Suddenly, not only is my husband far, far away, I am now fully confronted with what it is like to live with me.  There is no one else to direct my attention toward.  In the silence I hear all my thoughts, fears, hopes, desires, joy, and rage.  It is sometimes deafening.

Through my practice, and through Flamenco as well, I have come to learn how to be in the moment and accept what is, or at least to try.  So I decided to fully embrace it.  Hence, "welcome".  In 2014 I welcomed the new lifestyle, the new challenges and struggles it would create, but I also looked forward to the new opportunities.  One amazing opportunity was my visit to Chad: 
https://mercedesfinallymakesittochad.shutterfly.com/

However, over the last year, I had to learn that part of the practice of welcoming, is to welcome the unwelcome.  In July I was hit by a drunk driver and my new car needed tons of repair (luckily I manged to escape with just a bruise on my arm).  I also had to make the choice to leave behind some of my regular gigs because I felt they were not serving me, either financially or spiritually.  On my way to Chad, my original flight was canceled and my replacement flight left me stranded in Istanbul for two days.  Throughout all of it, I had to remember "welcome".

Now I am starting the new year with some physical complications that are due to a possible back injury.  I am still dancing, but I am now making the choice to only do work that serves my whole well-being.  In the meantime, I am also navigating a health insurance system that still wants me to jump hurdles to get the care I need.  Welcome.

It has not been easy.  I have been struggling the whole way, sometimes crying, sometimes ready to hit somebody, all the while wondering why I have to be so gracious. Yet, when I remind myself to welcome everything, there is a subtle peace that comes.

So in this process, I realize that in order to welcome anything new, I have to be able to let go, to stop resisting, to surrender.  So for 2015, my intention is to surrender.  

I remember more than a decade ago, in my early years as a Flamenco student, a more senior student once told me that the reason I was not getting a step was because I was afraid of it.  She told me, "just let go and do it".  So I did; I surrendered to the step and finally got it.  In that moment, I welcomed myself into a new understanding of my craft.

So now I surrender to my latest reality--to living two-thirds of the year alone, to dancing in fewer, more meaningful gigs while experiencing some pain, to growing.  In doing so, I hope I will truly make way to welcome whatever lies ahead.

"I mean, writing is my craft and my profession, but the real, central journey of my life...has been trying to figure out how to live well. Trying to figure out how to not succumb to darkness. Trying to figure out how to be a better friend to people. Trying to figure out how to find destiny and live it in a way that feels bold and important.

That’s kind of what I’m about. Writing is—I don’t want to diminish writing by saying it’s “just what I do,” but writing is my vocation. But I think I have a higher vocation that I respond to, which is living." --Elizabeth Gilbert, Author of Eat, Pray, Love and The Signature of All Things.

This quote was one of the first things Elizabeth Gilbert said during an interview with Tami Simon on the Insights at the Edge podcast*.  Once I heard it, I was hooked.  I knew I found the beginning of an answer to a years-long meditation.

I've been wrestling with the question of identity--identity as a human being who happens to be an artist.  I love my art.  I love being creative.  I love sharing my creativity and my passion for my chosen form of expression.  What I do not love, however, is the way of living that comes with an over-identification with the label of "Artist". 

I do not love living in the world of "Who is better?" or specifically in my profession, "Who is more 'Flamenco' or 'Flamenca'?".  I do not love living in the world where this question then leads to constant gossiping about our fellow artists in an attempt to prove that we are the one who is "more".  I do not love living in the world that it so over-identified with the "suffering artist" or "suffering Flamenco" stereotype, that we spend hours abusing alcohol, ourselves, and each other, in order to prove we belong or don't belong--whichever seems truer to our artistry at that given moment.

Now before you think that I am sitting here in judgement of my fellow artists, please know that I am including myself in this honest critique.  I have been just as guilty as anyone.  I too get wrapped up in this, "aren't I amazing and unique and original because I've chosen this niche art form that is so niche it's hard to make money, but that's okay because that just means I'm a truer artist and Flamenca?  Aren't I, aren't I, aren't I?"

They say the teacher teaches what she needs to learn.  I believe this is what is behind my writing.  I am writing about this because it is a struggle of mine.  I have spent the last few years working very hard on figuring out who I really am.  Through meditation, through reflection, through volunteering and even through my dancing and teaching of dance, I have been exploring what my life means if I am not "Flamenca" or not "an Artist" or not "Bohemian" or not "a Gypsy-in-spirit".

What if I were stripped of all these labels and I was just a human who happens to dance?

This is one of the scariest questions in my life.  I overcame so many obstacles in order to become a professional dancer.  I have done years of training.  I study various aspects of Flamenco and the Flamenco culture.  I have done and continue to do the work that gives me some modicum of credibility in my field.  I have dedicated so much of my life to Flamenco and dance itself that it seems crazy not to completely identify with it.

And there is nothing wrong with enjoying the accolades you receive when you have done all that work.  You should be proud of getting to a place that shows you've put in your time.  I have often had the joyful conversation with fellow artists that starts with "Remember when we didn't know anything?  Look how good we've gotten".  Those conversations are worthwhile.  Those conversations celebrate the process, not the labels.  Those conversations celebrate each other.

The problem comes when we lose touch with the process, when we lose touch with the time when we were just a curious dabbler, a beginner.  Do you remember the joy there was in discovering something new that was so amazing to you it piqued your curiosity and all you wanted to do was learn more?  Remember when all you did was enjoy your time learning and dreaming of when you'll be good at it?

In this same interview, Elizabeth Gilbert goes on to say that art is a place to process our pain, but that the process of creation itself shouldn't come from pain, but from joy.  She also says that the process comes from pain when an artist feels they have to suffer in order to create.  When art comes from a pained creative process, you're sharing that energy of pain with the world rather than sharing your love for your art.

In my experience, this is exactly what happens when we get caught up in the labeling and unnecessary competition.  We start to approach our art from a place of fear, resentment, frustration, and anger.  Doing the thing you love suddenly becomes a chore, even an annoyance. 

We often get confused, thinking that Flamenco makes room for the dark emotions.  After all, the mother of all the rhythms is the Solea, or the dance about loneliness, but that is not what I am talking about. 

I am the first to say that I prefer the jondo in Flamenco, the songs about sadness and anger.  However, when I create my solos or when I go to my shows, I always set the intention that I am channeling these feelings in order to tap into something greater.  I hope that I am stepping into some divine stream of consciousness where I can communicate the universality of my feelings with anyone who is watching because I know they feel this way too.  And I hope that together, audience and I, can find some resolution.  However, I'm also aware that this may not happen.  I could come to the most amazing resolution and an audience member can simply arrive at, "well, isn't that pretty?".

I love to remember this because ultimately, I am no more special than the non-dancer audience member who is watching me.  For all I know, they save lives.

So again I come to that question of identity.  There was a time when we weren't the professional artist we have come to be.  Who is that person?  The sister, the brother, the daughter, the son, the friend.  The audience member.  Who is the person beyond even those labels?  Who are you...really?

Yes, these questions are scary, but when you really think about them, there is so much freedom to be found.  There is the freedom to do what you love, simply for the sake of doing what you love.  There is the freedom to choose who you will work with, where you will work, and how you will work--the freedom to create healthy boundaries and relationships.  The freedom to create art from a place that heals you and others.

Finally, Elizabeth Gilbert quotes Tom Waits as saying that when he starts to take himself too seriously he reminds himself that as a songwriter he is simply making "jewelry for peoples' minds".  Nothing more, nothing less.  It is beautiful, yes, but it is adornment.  We artists make life more interesting and we do fill a necessary role, but we are not above and beyond anyone else.

While doing my hospice work, I always remind myself, "This will be you one day".  One day, I will not be able to dance.  In fact, that could even be tomorrow.  So then, why take my "Artist" self so seriously?

Instead, I would rather do what Gilbert says in the quote at the beginning; I'd rather "figure out how to be a better friend", daughter, sister, wife, aunt, teacher.  Even more than that, I want to figure out this human business.  And while I can, I'll do it all while dancing.

*If you identify with any of what I'm saying, I highly recommend listening to this interview:  http://www.soundstrue.com/weeklywisdom/?source=podcast&p=9535&category=IATE&version=full

I attend a weekly meditation class and we've been doing a gratitude practice. There is a lot that is going on with me lately, that I will be writing about soon, but I'm not quite ready yet to reveal all of it.  In the meantime, I think this practice of gratitude is a good one to set the stage for my future writings and announcements.  Also, it's Thanksgiving season so the gratitude practice is very timely.

Our class' practice has consisted of writing daily lists of things for which we are grateful. I figure I will do the same here, but keep it within the scope of Flamenco and dance.

I am grateful for:

-the training and study of music and dance that I had as a child. Without it, Flamenco would have taken even more effort than the massive effort it has already taken.

-Intro to Flamenco being the only class that fit my schedule that Spring quarter at UCLA back in 1995.

-my teachers throughout the years, primarily the most influential:  Raquel, Marta, and Nelson, my piano teachers with whom I spent the first half of my life; Ms. Brown, my high school dance teacher who planted the seed in my mind that I could be a professional dancer; Liliana de Leon-Torsiello for being the teacher who introduced me to Flamenco and started me on the path; Gabriela Garza for continuing me on the path and for giving me my baptism by fire in the tablao; Inmaculada Ortega for introducing me to the world of study in Spain; Manuel Reyes Maya for giving me the professional level skills that gave me the confidence to dance at a tablao in Spain and to return home to pursue my career, and finally Linda Andrade, for spending a year coaching me on the details that have made me the dancer I am today. 

-my husband because he is an adventurous spirit who dropped everything and went on the Spain adventure with me.

-our four years in Spain and all the growth we experienced there.

-all the friends and family who have supported my Flamenco life.

-the studios and studio owners that gave me a chance to teach.

-the students who have attended my classes.  I have learned as much from them as they have learned from me and they are the ones who have made me the teacher I am today.

-all the audiences throughout the years.

-all of the venues, the venue owners, and the producers of the shows of which I have been a part.

-all of my fellow Flamencos and Flamencas. No matter what ups and downs we have had in our community and with each other, no one else in this world fully understands the love we have for this art form that we do. We are a family.

-all of those who have come before us for preserving the art and passing on their knowledge.

Ole a todos.

"Don't dance around the perimeter of you want to be; dive in fully."--Gabrielle Bernstein

I encountered the quote above the other day while surfing around on You Tube.*  I immediately fell in love with it.  Gabrielle was talking about not being afraid to listen for your calling and then doing everything you can to pursue it.  I loved it because I always need a good kick in the butt reminder and I also loved that the quote uses dance as metaphor.  For a future blog entry, I'm going to apply the quote to dancing itself, but for now I'll stick to life purpose.

Lately I've been getting a lot of people who, upon finding out what I do for a living, comment on how great it is that I get to do what I love.  I agree.  I am absolutely in love with my life right now. 

The thing is, I also get the sense that some of the people congratulating me, don't think they could do the same for themselves. There is often this implication that I'm somehow braver, crazier, luckier, younger, older, fill-in-the-blank comparative.

None of that is true.

Everyone has a reason and a purpose in this life on this planet. Deep down most people have an inkling about what their purpose is, but many shy away from it, thinking it's too scary, risky, or impractical to do. Worse, they think it's selfish.

Anyone who has known me for a long time knows that I used to be terrified of the idea of dropping everything else and just doing my art for a living.  I was surrounded by people who were great examples, who were in love with their lives, and I too would say that they were somehow braver, crazier, luckier, younger, older, fill-in-the-blank comparative.

Comparisons are what keep us stuck.  What keeps us going and truly in tune with our life's purpose is to remember that we are all the same and we all deserve happiness and therefore we are all capable of pursuing and achieving that same happiness. We just need to remember that we each have our own path to get there and so we can't compare our path to someone else's.  If it seems it took us longer, who cares?  That was our path.  Who knows what the speedier person went through to get to their destination so quickly?  That was their path.

I didn't really become a Flamenco soloist until I was in my 30s, long after most other types of dancers have retired (one of the reasons I love Flamenco is that it actually values the life experience of the dancer). I finally got over the "too old" excuse because I realized everything else I was doing was taking energy from me, rather than feeding it to me.  I felt most nourished when I danced.  That nourished feeling is the feeling of being happily alive.

And as for being selfish, forget that. I have always been grateful for seeing a beautiful piece of art or having a teacher share their experience with me. It is more selfish to not answer a calling that would inspire others.

So what makes you feel happily alive? Is it being a writer or an artist, being a mom or a dad, being successful at business? Whatever it is that gives you energy, focus on that and "dive in fully".

I know I have not written in a long time.  There's a big part of me that has been very resistant to writing this blog.

You see, years ago I had an anonymous blog that I wrote during a time when I was very self-destructive and frankly, self-absorbed.  In fact, the self-important side of me likes to tell people I had a blog before blogging was a trend.

So although I do look back on that blog and accept it for representing who I was at the time, and I can acknowledge that I like some of the writing, it has left me with a sort of distaste for blogging.  I've been working very hard the last few years to be more positive and to be more of service to others, so I didn't want to fall into something that made me get caught up in my ego at that level again.

However, I've been told that people have enjoyed the little I have written here and are wondering when I will write some more.  Those new to Flamenco, say they see it as useful, that I've helped them understand a little more about what we Flamencos do and why we're so into it.  Some have told me I have also helped them to understand what they're looking at when they're watching a performance.  So o.k., you nudge, I move.

Here and now I set my blogging intentions.  I will write regularly and from the heart.  It will mainly be about Flamenco:  things I've learned along the way, tips, my process, artists I like, my take on the art form, etc.  It will also include other things in my life because Flamenco informs much of my life, just like much of my life informs my Flamenco.

In fact, Flamenco is what saved me from that former self.

Don't get me wrong, my Flamenco experience has not been all rosas y lirios*.  I'll probably write about that too.  What I am saying is that the transcendental nature of Flamenco, which has survived from ancient roots, helped me to transcend and grow as well.

I am a happier and more positive person thanks to the art of Flamenco--even if I do like to perform the sad and angry stuff.  I hope that by sharing the joy that Flamenco brings to me, I can help bring a little joy into the lives of my students, colleagues, friends, family, audiences, and to you dear reader.

Much love,

Mercedes

*Roses and Irises--Reference to a traditional Alegrias lyric that, loosely translated says, "When you walk...roses and irises spill in your path".