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Why I Chose to Suck at Salsa

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🕒 read time: 3 minutes

Welcome to The Pressure Zone, a weekly newsletter with tools and mental models for those who play life on hard mode.

Today’s Zone Brief

This week: Why I'm paying $200/month to be terrible at salsa, and what my flooded basement taught me about emotional damage control.

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Words I Keep Coming Back To

I’m terrible at salsa. Like, genuinely awful.

My Dominican partner floats across the room elegantly, while my body moves as if apologizing for its existence. I’m counting the steps out loud like a kindergartener learning math.

And weirdly, I think this is precisely where I need to be.

Let me explain. I grew up in Türkiye, a beautiful country that gave me a lot. But dancing? Body awareness? Not on the syllabus.

I started salsa lessons recently so I could dance with my girlfriend, who has been doing this her whole life.

This isn’t my first attempt, either. Two years ago, I surprised her with bachata classes. That went reasonably well, which gave me the confidence to try salsa.

Big mistake.

Salsa is objectively harder. And this week, I almost quit.

Why? Because I couldn’t stand being the worst in the room.

Correction: I ABSOLUTELY HATED being the worst in the room.

In most areas of life, I aim for “Exceeds Expectations”. I study the game tape, optimize every bit, and don’t stop until it’s A+ or nothing.

But that mindset? It can become a trap.

This trap convinces high performers to only play games they know they can win. We stay in our lanes. Build moats around our strengths. Protect our image at all costs.

But the real growth comes from making mistakes and being embarrassed at times.

Seeking excellence is a powerful drug. And like any drug, it can make you avoid the very experiences that would make you stronger.

You may ask: Did knowing this make the class any more enjoyable?

Nope. I still hated it.

But I didn’t quit!

Here is the truth: If you're always the smartest, smoothest, or most competent person in the room...

You're probably in the wrong room.

Framework: The Spillover Effect

Last Sunday, my basement home office flooded again, for the fifth time.

Picture this: 7 am, I wake up, make my morning espresso, and head downstairs to spend a productive day knocking things off my list.

Instead, I find myself watching water rushing down from above. If you’ve been following along, you know I was already dealing with mice scratching around above the drop ceiling.

Now I have to watch my beloved musical equipment, books, and electronics float like dead fish and spark their final breath.

Needless to say, it was a less-than-ideal way to start my Sunday.

By afternoon, I was still rage-cleaning, rage-texting, and rage-mumbling curses like dishing out candy on Halloween.

By evening, I’ve lost more than just equipment. I’d lost the entire day to frustration.

The flooding had stopped long ago at that point.

My frustration? Still flooding my body and soul.

Here's what I learned. Every crisis creates two floods:

1. The Actual Flood (the water, the damage, the mess)

2. The Mental Flood (the anger, frustration, and downward spiral)

The first one has natural boundaries (walls, drains, gravity). It obeys physics.

The second one has no limits unless you create them.

That’s the Spillover Effect.

When we don’t actively contain stress, it leaks. It spills over from one part of life to another—work, relationships, training, and so on.

The water knew when to stop.

I didn't.

New rule: every crisis gets a maximum of two hours. Then I’m shutting the valves. Inside and out.

The Pressure Test

Ask yourself: This week, where are you willing to look foolish for growth?

Now, go do it.

I’d love to know how this newsletter is landing. What part of this week’s mental rep stuck with you, or what would you want me to explore more deeply next time?

Just hit reply. I read and respond to every message, and your feedback shapes the next issue.

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