Here is one of my latest hooping videos for "The Hooping Game" Facebook group, which is a great practice incentive.
I quit drinking May 6, 2012. I started hooping two months later in July 2012. The timing of hooping coming into my life was absolutely crucial; I really don't know how long I would have lasted in a sober state without hooping. It was 4th of July weekend, and Matt and I headed down to Rehoboth Beach for a long weekend of camping with two girlfriends who were hoop dancers. I was edgy--there were triggers everywhere, especially in the party town of Dewey Beach. We hit the beach and I drummed on the djembe for my hoop-happy girls as they did their thing. I couldn't wrap my head around how they were doing all those crazy tricks or why they were into such a weird activity. I figured I had to investigate this odd sport. I quickly figured out the "why" -- because it's damn addictive! -- but the how was completely different story.
Kristin, one of my oldest and closest friends, gave me her hoop and walked me through some lessons. She and I met when we were 6 years old in ballet class. We grew up together, doing pirouettes and tour jetes at the Delaware Dance Center in Wilmington. We lost touch after I quit ballet at 16 years old to focus on my music, only to reunite later post-college through mutual friends. Kristin brought her friendship, and hooping, to me at just the right time when I needed it most in my life. Yes, everything happens for a reason.
On that beach in July, I spent an hour trying to keep Kristin's hoop on my waist, only to fail over, and over, and over again. It was embarrassing. It was annoying. It was unacceptable. I was on a mission to keep that damn piece of circular plastic revolving around my waist, even if it killed me. Part of it was prideful stubbornness. Part of it was my desire to do all the cool tricks that Kristin could do. And part of it was that it was just something to do other than drink.
It took about two weeks for me to become addicted to hooping. It was frustrating, exhilarating, blissful, and incredibly challenging. I watched endless online video tutorials on how to do certain tricks. I stalked the YouTube channels of Shakti Sunfire and Hoopalicious, two of the world's best hoop dancers, and studied their videos in slow-motion over and over and over to deduce hand placement, hoop direction, foot work, and speed to learn just how the hell to do that reverse elevator and the one-leg pop.
I sucked for the first three months. Slowly, I got better, only to plateau in my abilities around month twelve. I was very frustrated, and would yell at myself: Damnit why aren't you as good as everyone else?!
Then I heard Hoopalicious--the mother of modern hoop dance, a finalist on America's Got Talent--say something remarkable in an interview: she stopped doing talent shows, contests, and competitions, and she only hooped when she felt the music, because people misunderstood why she hooped, and so had she. She realized she was out to impress everyone else with her hooping instead of doing it to fulfill herself. She was on display for everyone's amusement and entertainment, and not doing it for her own self actualization. She expresses this beautifully in an amazing performance - watch her amazing video here.
The above video and her comments changed everything for me. Who cares if I can't do a back body roll, or if my flow isn't as "flowy" as someone else's? Who am I doing this for? No one is paying me. I'm not on display, and this isn't a race. This is for me. That was a very, very hard lesson for me to learn, considering the music business is based largely on the value that other people--fans, music consumers, A&R reps, managers, booking agencies, venues--put on you. You HAVE to be good. Push harder. BE BETTER. GO GO GO. As a performer - first as a ballet dancer, then as a musician, and later as a hula hooper - this idea gets drilled into you. You MUST BE THE BEST. Especially in today's culture, with all the contest-based shows like American Idol, Survivor, the Bachelor, Project Runway..... you're shit if you're not the shit. (Or shiznit.)
Failure has never really been my thing (is it really anyone's thing?) If hooping has taught me anything, it is that it is okay to fail. It is okay to be yourself. It's okay to drop the hoop (there is a saying: "If the hoop ain't flyin', you ain't tryin'). It's okay to fail at hooping because it's a hell of a lot better than failing at drinking. Because if you fail at drinking, you end up in the hospital, or dead.
As soon as I learned this secret to literally not give a shit about how good at hooping I am, I actually got better at hooping. (Go figure, right?) My flow improved and I got better doing harder tricks. I learned to LET GO. Am I the best hooper in the world? No. But who the hell cares? It's made me healthier, more focused, less stressed, calmer, and happier. It's helped me make new friends, given me better looking arms and a cuter butt, and it's kept me sober.
Last week, when I was busking in Brown's Bay in North Shore, NZ, a kid came up to me while I was hula hooping and said "Wow you are amazing! You should try out for New Zealand's Got Talent!" I smiled and said thank you to him. Inside, I was smiling even bigger, because I knew I had already won "the prize", and it's bigger, better, and more important than any talent trophy.
