Taking the Lead: Lessons From a Life in Motion (4 page)

In the beginning, I was a rebel at the studio. Most of the students had religion and were so upstanding and moral. I found the pack of boys who were troublemakers and joined them. They taught me a lot: if I didn’t have spare change, I could stick my hand up the chutes of the vending machines and steal chips and a can of soda. Fighting was fun—even if it occasionally got too heated. We would roughhouse and wrestle in the dressing room until our coach, Rick Robinson, would come in yelling, “Break it up! What are you trying to do, kill each other?”

We’d start little fires in the grassy area behind the studio (not to burn anything down, just because it was fun) and break into high school campuses at night. It was all in good fun—we weren’t thinking about how dangerous it could be. We just liked the thrill of doing something we weren’t supposed to do and the rush of potentially being caught.

Autumn was a good girl, and her family saw past my occasional bad behavior and welcomed me. I stayed over a few times at their house and put on quite a show. I used to have night terrors—I would wake up in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder. In the morning, I wouldn’t remember any of it. So the first morning, I came to the breakfast table and Autumn looked at me like I had two heads.

“Are you okay?” she asked, gently. I was flattered that she seemed worried about me, but I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

“Yeah. Why?” She told me I had scared the heck out of the entire family with my screaming. I seemed awake—my eyes were wide open and staring into space—but nothing they could do or say would calm me down. I was in some kind of trance, thrashing around and seeing an imaginary threat that I was helpless to stop. After a few minutes, I settled down and went right back to sleep. Experts say it’s like sleepwalking—you’re never aware of it—and that it’s common in young children, especially ones that are stressed. That didn’t make me feel any less mortified in front of Autumn.

I shrugged and tried to make it seem like no big deal. “I’m fine,” I insisted, and stuffed my face with pancakes. I knew I had some fears that were surfacing at night through my dreams, but I didn’t want anyone—especially Autumn—to know.

At the studio, I could put it all behind me and live in the moment. Because I could master any move they threw at me, I quickly became the teachers’ pet. This was a new one for me. I had
never
had a teacher think of me as anything but a goofy good-for-nothing. In the studio, I wanted to excel. If they said, “Jump!” I’d say, “How high—and do you want me to do it backward and blindfolded?” No arguing, no distractions, no veering off in a million different directions. I’d found the solution to my hyperactive mind. I felt focused in a way I’d never been before, as if someone had suddenly changed the radio station and there was no more static. I wanted every dance to be perfect, so if anyone talked or joked around during class, I told them to shut up and pay attention. The older boys didn’t appreciate it and called me a kiss-ass, but I wasn’t. When I was in class, I was in class. I was there to work and grow. The kids might not have liked me for it at first, but at least they understood where I was coming from. We all had a similar goal.

I wanted to win a dance competition. At this age, it wasn’t about the affirmation. It was more about being a member of the studio and the team effort. I wanted to belong. I definitely felt a seed being planted in me. The way the music made me feel, and having the ability to communicate and magnify it through my physicality, was thrilling. If I look back, that’s where my passion was born, in those early days at Center Stage.

Though all my sisters danced, I was the only one competing with a partner. It meant more hours in the studio, more training. I counted down the days till our first competition. It was at some random high school in Utah, a small competition to show off what a studio could do. Autumn wore a pink ruffled dress and I was in this horrific skintight turtleneck and black trousers. I was so skinny, and I looked like Gumby in that getup. Utah has lots of rules about dance competition costumes—nothing too sexy, nothing too slick—but we had definite flair despite the lame outfits. We owned it.

Most ballroom competitions work the same way. You have about a hundred couples competing, so two hundred people in total. At the beginning of the day you each get a number on your back (from 1 to 100) and based on your number, you dance in a certain heat. Heat 1 goes first, and the type of dance is announced—usually the rhythmic and fast-paced cha-cha to start things off. The cha-cha is a pretty stationary dance, but when you move into samba, it’s a traveling dance. You move counterclockwise. You’re certain about your partner, but not about your competitors and where they’re going to maneuver on the floor. A couple might cut in front of you and you’ll have to adjust the routine to go in another direction. Your partnership has to be solid so you can trust each other, communicate, and do this without looking like you’ve messed up.

After the opening cha-cha, there’s usually a long break before the next time you hit the floor, because all the heats have to dance. When you’re up again, it’s a different style of dance—the samba, followed by the waiting game again. In the course of the day, there are five dances: cha-cha, samba, rumba, paso doble, and jive. If you make the semifinals, you dance all five back to back. The finals are the same, only with fewer bodies. It’s relentless; you’re going from 9
A.M.
till midnight. And you have to dance full out, keep up your stamina, and show that you are skilled and unique enough to be a champion.

Autumn and I might not have been the most technical dancers, but we always tried to be entertaining. I owe that to Coach Rick. He was all about the energy and dancing full-out. “If you want to get down on the floor and do the worm, then do it!” he told me. This was extremely unconventional for a Latin or ballroom competition. He gave me permission to follow my instincts, so I decided we were not going to play by all the rules or follow the status quo. Other studios prided themselves on their technique, but our studio felt like we were “the Performers.” If that meant in the middle of my jive I suddenly busted out doing something crazy and unexpected, then so be it.

Inspiration tended to strike when I least expected it. I remember once during a competition, I saw someone in the audience holding a bouquet of roses. I ran out and grabbed a single stem and put it between my teeth. Another time, I stole a glass of water out of someone’s hand and took a long sip. Those were the moments when I started to create an identity for myself as a dancer. If an instinct hit me, then I just went with it. I might get knocked down for technical points, but the audience would eat it up. All I could think about was the next competition . . . and the next . . . and the next.

LEADING LESSONS

March to your own beat
.

Dance competitions were always about following the rules—but that never seemed to hold me back. I didn’t always stick to the required elements or do what everyone else was doing. My teachers were very encouraging about me putting my own unique spin on things. That lesson stuck with me. Today, if something is expected of me, I’m going to challenge it. On
Dancing with the Stars
, I hate being complacent, which is why I do things that are a little outside of the box. Sometimes I take a hit for it; sometimes I get a perfect 30. Case in point: the paso doble I performed with Kellie Pickler and Tristan MacManus in Season 16. Okay, it was a little avant-garde and edgy; my idea was to create this parallel universe. Len got a little heated up (“It was a hodgepodge!”); he thought it was lacking some technical aspects and gave us a 7, while the other judges gave it a perfect 10. Their disagreement got a lot of press.

So here’s the thing: If you go through your life always trying to please everyone, you’re going to let yourself down. You can’t rely on other people to make you feel good. You have to own your choices—good and bad—because they are yours, and regardless of the outcome, if you choose to, you’ll learn from them. One of my challenges is that I
do
like to please people. But I have to remind myself to be true to who I am, what I feel, and what my instincts are telling me. Often, those instincts are very faint and quiet; you need to listen for them. Even if people don’t understand or approve of your choices, in the end, they’ll respect you more. I never intend to push the envelope; I intend to push myself. The fear of not improving and growing is greater than the fear of displeasing a judge. It’s more important for me to feel I’m progressing and creating new things.

Figure out your passion and everything else will fall into place
.

As a kid with raging hormones, I started out thinking that passion meant having the hots for someone. I quickly learned it’s much more than that. It’s the key to finding your purpose and igniting your soul. Everyone has a passion, whether or not they realize it at this moment. It’s there, but sometimes you have to try different vehicles to arrive at something that connects to you. It’s almost a magnetic field, pulling you in a direction, not pushing you. It doesn’t feel forced or strained in any way. It’s natural; it’s genuine; it’s effortless. One of my greatest mentors, Corky Ballas, showed me that a dance without passion is stiff and awkward; a life without passion is gray and empty. Other people were more technical and skilled dancers than I was, but I learned at a young age that’s not what it’s all about. It’s the fire—the energy, the charisma, the commitment to your emotions—that transforms your performance into something worth watching.

Your passion doesn’t have to be a massive goal—not everyone dreams of being a rock star or an Olympic gold medalist. As a kid, I put a lot of pressure on myself to keep winning, but now I see it’s more than that. You can find passion in many small ways, on a day-to-day basis. Your passion can be making someone smile or performing an unselfish act. But in each of these small victories, you’ll gain momentum in feeling good about yourself, and that’s when your ultimate passion—what you’re meant to be doing and what truly fulfills you—will reveal itself.

Surround yourself with positive influences
.

When I think about the times I’ve excelled the most in my life, I was always around people who were like-minded and pushed me in a positive way. In order for a plant to grow it needs to be in the right environment and it needs nourishment. My coaches and my fellow students at the studio gave that to me. Likewise, if you put a plant in the dark and you don’t ever water it, it’s going to die. And if you’re not growing, you’re dying! So be aware and cautious of your surroundings: Is this the right place for me to grow? You can’t choose your family, but you can choose your peers. Love your crazy siblings and parents, but don’t hang with people who try to distract you and pull you from your path.

Kids act, adults analyze
.

Or I should say we
over
analyze. How many times have you talked yourself out of doing something because it wasn’t convenient, practical, profitable, etc.? Recapture that impulsiveness you had as a kid. There was never any psychology behind it; you were simply going with what excited you and living in the moment. No hesitations or apologies. My greatest flaw now is that I think too much, and while I’m busy thinking, an opportunity may pass me by. What happened to that little boy who used to leap before he looked? I’m not saying be reckless, but remember what it was like to act on instinct. Never lose touch with your inner child who understood that some things are definitely worth the risk.

REFLECTING ON DEREK

“Derek and I started dancing together when we were ten years old. I will never forget our first competition. We were competing at BYU in March of 1996. We were offbeat the whole time and ended up placing eighth in the cha-cha. We were so proud of ourselves! After that we improved quickly and it didn’t take long for everyone to notice how extremely talented Derek was. We had so much fun dancing together and traveling to many places I never would have gone if it weren’t for dance. One of the things that inspired me the most when we were young was the fact that he gave 100 percent every time we danced. Derek was always pushing me to dance the best I could just to keep up with him. I always knew that he was going to accomplish great things in his life. I am so happy for all of his success.”

—AUTUMN DELGROSSO

STANDING UP

C
OMPETING STARTED OFF
being fun for me, but once I got a taste of winning, a switch flipped in my brain. I didn’t want to fall backward; I wanted to win every single time. I started to look at dancing as a sport, and I pushed myself harder and harder: What else could I do that I hadn’t tried before? What could I do better? I wouldn’t say I was
obsessed
with competing—let’s just call it hyperfocused. I wanted to be the best I could be, and nothing else would do. My parents instilled that in my sisters and me.

My mom is a never-take-no-for-an-answer kind of lady. One day, we pulled into a gas station to fix something that wasn’t working with the car. The mechanic tinkered with it for about an hour and told us it was fixed. But only a few miles down the road, we realized that wasn’t the case. We had to go back; something still wasn’t right. My mom tried to explain the problem, but the mechanic was being rude, dismissive, and unhelpful. The guy obviously hated his job and was doing poorly at it. He couldn’t have cared less if my mom was unhappy with his work. He took no pride in it whatsoever, and I don’t think he had a clue what the words
customer service
are supposed to mean. He made a few more adjustments and sent us on our way. Again, the problem wasn’t fixed, so back we went a third time.

As we stood there waiting for him to poke around under the hood some more (and likely do nothing), my mom was getting more frustrated by the moment. Finally, she grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the gas station in a fluster.

“Derek, I don’t care what you do,” she told me. “You can be a garbageman, a mechanic, a plumber—whatever you want! Just be the best at it.” I didn’t quite understand what she meant at the time, but those words stuck with me. She wasn’t passing judgment on that mechanic—it was a perfectly fine career to have, if he put his heart into it. She just hated to see someone give up, throw in the towel, and not try. My mom could tolerate a lot of things, but a lack of purpose was not one of them.