Taking the Lead: Lessons From a Life in Motion Read online

  DEDICATION

  To all the people who have inspired, challenged, and supported me in my life. Thank you for your love and encouragement. You always remind me to believe in myself—the person I am and the person I want to be.

  FOREWORD

  I AM SO BLESSED to have gotten to know Derek, and honored that he asked me to write the foreword for his book. He’s the most amazing person—not just a choreographer, dancer, and teacher, but an amazing human being. Spending so much quality time together confined in a dance studio when we did Dancing with the Stars Season 16, I really got to know him well. I cherish his friendship, and I admire him so much for his work ethic.

  From the first time we met, I could see he was very passionate, and he brings that passion to everything he does. That resonates with the audiences both live and watching on TV at home. People build their entire schedules around being able to tune in and see Derek dance. I know I do! Millions have fallen in love with him, and it’s easy for me to understand why. He’s so generous with his heart and his spirit. Even if you don’t know him, you feel you can walk up to him on the street and strike up a conversation: “Hi, man! I’m a fan.” I will never forget how he would race out into the audience and pull people out onto the dance floor with him during our commercial breaks. The audience at home never sees this, but I got a front-row view. One time, there was this elderly lady in a wheelchair, and she told him that her greatest dream was to dance with him. So what did Derek do? He rolled her right out onto that stage and twirled her around. He gave her the dance of her life. She was so happy, you’d think Elvis had come back!

  But that’s Derek. He’s a giver and he never stops giving. He’s a perfectionist, yes, but it’s because he wants you to be the best you can be. He never criticizes in a way that’s harsh or knocks you down. Instead, his corrections were building me up, week by week. That’s a great gift that he has: to see the strengths in someone and bring them out. He saw things in me I didn’t even know I was capable of. He never once showed up to a rehearsal with a prechoreographed routine. He built each dance around me—what I could do, and what he knew I would be able to do with a little practice. How many pep talks did he give me before we went out onstage? I know I would have been lost without him.

  I’m so not surprised he wrote this book, because he’s all about inspiring and connecting with people. He is the most incredible motivator. My biggest fear doing Dancing with the Stars was disappointing him. In rehearsals, he’d seen me at my absolute best and my absolute worst. The audience hadn’t. He’d know if I gave it my all or not. I wanted so badly to give a great performance and make him proud.

  He taught me so many things, but the ones that stick out are the lessons about getting out there and doing. I had huge anxiety when we first started, and he helped me wipe that word from my vocabulary. He gave my anxiety a name—Anxious Annie—and he told me I couldn’t play with her anymore! He also taught me how important it is to keep moving, and to maintain even today the same mobility I had when I was dancing. When I move, it’s going to help me both physically and mentally. And if I’m able to, there’s no excuse not to, except that I’m being lazy.

  I think whatever the future holds for Derek, he will always be a part of something meaningful and that matters. There’s a big difference between being alive and living—and he’s the type of person who believes if you’re alive, then you should live to your fullest. I know that there is so much more he will bring to this world—and I can’t wait to see it.

  —KELLIE PICKLER

  INTRODUCTION

  I’M USED TO leading on the dance floor. The music starts, and I take my partner’s hand, guiding her into position, controlling the flow of energy, directing the movement.

  But when it comes to life, taking the lead isn’t so simple. It takes guts, but not the kind needed to jump out of an airplane from fourteen thousand feet or perform live in front of an audience of millions. Trust me, I’ve done both. It’s having the courage required to uncover the bigger picture. Where are you going and how will you get there? And most important, who will you become on your journey? Every mistake, every twist, turn, or total wipeout hands you an opportunity to learn and grow. Are you brave enough to take it?

  I wasn’t. Honestly, the idea of writing a book about my life scared the hell out of me. I didn’t think I was ready to go there. It felt overwhelming—a lot of memories tangled up in emotions. I wasn’t sure the timing was right (I was competing in Seasons 17 and 18 of Dancing with the Stars) and I wasn’t convinced I knew what to say or how to say it. So I did what I do whenever I’m stuck on a dance and I don’t have a clue how to choreograph it. I break it down. I look at it, not as a whole, but as a series of steps that come together. Somehow, seeing each phase of my life this way brought it all into focus. The lessons became clear, the experiences came flooding back in vivid detail, and I felt empowered.

  I think I’ve just begun stepping up and owning my life, and I have a long way to go and lots of things I want and need to accomplish. But at least I’m headed in the right direction. I’ve started seeing my journey as a work in progress—sometimes I’ve rocked it, sometimes I’ve stumbled or tripped over my own feet. But every move I’ve made has shaped me into the person I am today. I believe life isn’t about finding yourself, but creating yourself. My friend Tony Robbins asks, “What if life isn’t happening to us? What if it is happening for us?” I believe that when you seize control, you’re nobody’s doormat or punching bag anymore—not even you can stand in your own way (and I am harder on myself than anyone else is). You open yourself up to endless possibilities.

  Not many people know that I was bullied as a kid. By bullied, I don’t mean teased or picked on or called names. I mean terrorized for a long time. I stayed silent until now—not even my parents knew the extent of the physical and emotional abuse I suffered. When I shared my story with them, they were shocked and saddened. Why didn’t I come to them? Why didn’t I ask for help? Truthfully? I was paralyzed. Even as a grown man, I find these memories hard to revisit. But I see now that taking the lead means reclaiming who you are and taking back your true self. It’s taking off the blinders and letting go of whatever is holding you back. It’s embracing the moment for what it is and for what it teaches you. It’s putting the past behind you and clearing a new path for the future. I can’t change what happened, but I can change the meaning of it and how I look at it.

  Fear is a great motivator. I tell that to my partners on Dancing with the Stars all the time. Go on, be scared. Get out of your comfort zone. Align yourself with your fear and use it to propel you to progress. Look your demons in the eye and kick ’em to the curb. For Kellie Pickler, it was learning to get out of her own way. For Ricki Lake, it was finding something she loved in the mirror. For Maria Menounos, it was dancing through the pain of injury to discover an inner strength she never knew she had. For Jennie Garth, it was her first perfect score and knowing nothing could hold her back anymore. For Amber Riley, it was truly believing in her own greatness. Each and every one of these ladies took the lead in their lives. Mirror Ball or no Mirror Ball, in my eyes, they’re all winners.

  Looking back on my life up to this point (because believe me, I’ve got a lot of living left to do!), it’s been quite a trip. I’m not the skinny, awkward little boy from Salt Lake City anymore. I’m happy with the man I’ve become, and I owe a great deal to the people who have influenced me and inspired me along the way. These have been my friends, family, coaches, and mentors, the ones who pushed me to push myself. They’ve even been my rivals—the dancers who were so good, they made me want to be better. Every obstacle has been a reaso
n to keep moving forward. Paring this book down to the most important moments in my life was no easy task—I could write ten books, not just one, of everything I’ve experienced! But these are the experiences that resonate with me the most: the ones that have made me stop, take stock, appreciate, and affirm the person I want to be.

  I hope in reading my stories you discover or rediscover who you are and learn how to take the lead in your own life. I hope you learn to channel your passion, harness your power, and connect with your joy. Joseph Campbell, the American mythologist, lecturer, and writer, believed you should “follow your bliss.” This is what I do and what I’ve always tried to do. Life is a dance, but it’s much more than mastering the steps. It’s pushing your boundaries, shattering your limits, and exploding in a breathtaking burst of light.

  * * *

  REFLECTING ON DEREK

  “Derek Hough is magic. You can see it in the way he dances, the way he speaks, and the way he brings out the very best in others. He is a true leader and I am inspired whenever I am in his presence.”

  —TONY ROBBINS

  * * *

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Foreword by Kellie Pickler

  Introduction

  1 Indiana Jones and the Brothers Down the Block

  2 Girls and More Girls

  3 Standing Up

  4 Real Men

  5 You Win Some, You Lose Some

  6 My Second Parents

  7 The Ballas Brat Pack

  8 Wild Thang

  9 Change Partners and Dance

  10 The World in My Hands

  11 Cutting Footloose

  12 Reaching for the Stars

  13 Pushing Through the Pain

  14 Staring Fear in the Face

  15 Nobody’s Perfect

  16 Life Is What You Make It

  17 Next Steps

  Photo Section

  Ask Derek: Q&A

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  INDIANA JONES AND THE BROTHERS DOWN THE BLOCK

  I AM A FIRM believer that you are the sum of your parts—which is why my family history is important to me. People are always asking me if my dancing ability comes from nature or nurture. I think it’s both; I’ve killed myself training over the years, and I have the bumps, bruises, and bulging vertebrae to prove it. But I must admit that there is dance DNA pumping through these veins.

  My dad was born in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, and his mom, Grandma Coke (her real name is Colleen, but she was nicknamed for her love of hot cocoa), taught dance for her church youth group. My granddad, “Bubble Head Bob Hough,” was a rock and roll deejay—so he would book record hops and spin the tunes kids danced to. My mom’s parents, Don and Romaine, worked as dance teachers in Idaho Falls, Idaho, for a short while.

  My parents’ first date took place on a dance floor (the irony of this doesn’t escape me). It was a school winter social at Ricks College at Brigham Young University. Dad had some pretty smooth moves—or at least he thought he did! He joined the ballroom dance team, not because he loved to cha-cha, but basically because he heard there were good-looking girls in the club. That’s where he and Mom met. They were never actually partners, but Dad always had his eye on Marriann, the pretty fraternity “Dream Girl” (a title she won in a pageantlike competition). He kept asking her out and trying to walk her to class, and as many times as she politely said no (she had a boyfriend serving a Latter-Day Saints mission and was doing her best to stay loyal), he always asked again. He finally wore her down with his relentlessness. Her friends didn’t nickname him “Bold Bruce” for nothing!

  Things moved pretty quickly from that point on. They dated for four months and were engaged in June. They got married two months later, on August 19, 1976. My mom had my sister Sharee when she was barely twenty—no more than a kid herself. But she could handle it. She was the only girl in a family with three brothers and she prided herself on being tough. Both my mom and dad were raised Mormon, and they brought us up very Mormon. We went to church every Sunday and fasted once a month. There was absolutely no swearing allowed in our home. If I let out a cuss, I’d get my mouth washed out with soap. At Christmas, we brought meals to the needy, and before every dinner, we said grace. At night, I would kneel down at my bedside and pray. I’m not sure if I understood what our faith was all about back then—my prayers were mostly things that I had memorized and recited, and I would say the words without knowing their meanings. Nonetheless, my parents insisted that religion be part of our daily lives.

  This didn’t stop us, however, from being a pretty wild family. We were faithful, respectful, and ritualistic—but we could also explode into craziness whenever music started playing. Any time Bruce Springsteen, Bob Seger, or Billy Joel came on the radio, my sisters and I would start dancing around the kitchen, knocking plates and glasses off the shelves. My friends used to tease me about how much I loved oldies music. Truthfully, it reminded me of my grandparents’ houseboat and the times we spent there in the summers. Those were my glory days. We would have huge family reunions there with my dad’s side of the family—all my aunts, uncles, and cousins. At times, there were thirty of us there having a huge party on the lake. We drove twelve hours to reach the boat—my parents, my sisters, and I all stuffed into a red van with a crummy, old portable TV lodged between the passenger and driver’s sides. We’d watch movies driving up and listen to U2’s Joshua Tree. Its songs became the anthems of my childhood.

  When we arrived at the houseboat, my dad became a different person—someone I barely recognized but loved to hang with. He worked in radio and later started a satellite communications company, so he was often traveling for work. But when he arrived at the houseboat, he was transformed. He cut loose, sang karaoke, acted like a complete dork. I’d sit there watching him and think to myself, Who is this man?

  My mom’s job was raising us. She cooked, cleaned, and kept us entertained. I don’t think any of us made her life particularly easy—there were five kids in all: my three older sisters, Sharee, Marabeth, and Katherine; then me and Julianne. Sharee had a very strong personality and was opinionated about everything, probably because she was the oldest and wisest (or at least she thought so!). Marabeth was quiet, and Katherine had a wild sense of humor. We used to call her Lucille Ball because she was always cracking us up. When I picture my older sisters as teenagers, they were the funniest eighties stereotypes: big, curled hair and neon wristbands and headbands. I fell toward the middle of the Hough pack, and you know the reputation middle children have: always trying to get attention, always making mischief. That was me, big time. I remember constantly jumping around, leaping off the furniture like it was my personal jungle gym. We have dozens of videos of me dancing around the living room and ricocheting off the walls like a pinball.

  They teach you in church that idle hands are the devil’s workshop. I don’t know about that, but I do know that I always had the feeling that I needed to be doing. My mom referred to it as ants in my pants, but it was more than that. I just couldn’t sit still. I worried something important would pass me by if I did, and my imagination never allowed me downtime. I suffered from major FOMO: fear of missing out.

  My sisters and I were always making movies and commercials with a camcorder. The slow-motion button intrigued me—I loved to watch myself suspended in midair. I would crank up the music from Mortal Kombat and do a running front flip off my bed. I studied the playback: What if I put in a bit more torque or a little more rotation? Would it make me fly higher? Would I stay in the air a few minutes longer? I was very scientific about it. Even though I hated science class in school, the physics of the perfect flip fascinated me. I wanted to be a Ninja Turtle.

  I felt like there were kids around me who were much more physical and could do more than me, so I’d try and figure out how they did it. My imagination was on the entire time;
I never hit the off button. It felt as if I were living in a movie: from the moment I woke up I could hear the soundtrack in my head, and I assumed different characters. My sisters and I would re-create scenes from movies that we loved, like Labyrinth or Legend—all the mystical fantasy stuff.

  My mom let us have our fun, and she had the patience of a saint with me. No matter where I was, I wound up in trouble—or the emergency room. One time, I was at a playground, racing up and down a metal slide. I was with my cousins on the top of the slide and I called to her, “Mom, watch me! Watch me!” I wanted her to see me barrel down on my stomach. She wasn’t paying attention, and my cousin was losing patience and wanted her turn. So she pushed me. I remember it all in slow motion, and I’m not sure when I blacked out. I fell sideways down the slide, and I remember the pain of my head smashing into a metal bar. There was a lot of blood and my mother screaming. I remember getting stitches in the emergency room and fading in and out of consciousness.

  For years, I made a joke about it. If a teacher scolded me for not getting an answer quickly enough in class, I would just shrug and say, “Well, what can I tell you? A piece of my brain must have fallen out of my head when I cracked it open—it’s not my fault!” A bishop, one of our local church leaders, once came over to our house and told my mother, “Your job is to keep that boy alive.” He wasn’t wrong. In retrospect, I was probably hyperactive, but no one formally diagnosed me. I think Mom had her suspicions, and she took matters into her own hands.

  She knew that she had to keep me busy. She got me a drum set one Christmas and signed me up immediately for lessons. Every day I had another activity: baseball, soccer, karate, even art classes. Sometimes, she’d have to drag me kicking and screaming to them—I never wanted to stop playing for something as trivial as karate class. I’d pout all the way in the car, but once I was there and into it, I was glad I’d come. My mom knew it might be a fight, but she had to find ways to channel all of my energy and hyperactivity into positive outlets. I give her credit—I was never bored. She has refused to see my hyperactivity as a disorder, so I don’t either. I see it as an advantage. If your mind is always running, all you have to do is train your body to keep up with it.