LIFE: An Intricate Dance.

When I imagine myself dancing, I’m on stage. I feel the warmth of the fluorescent stage lights on my skin, the chill in the air, and the absolute silence in the theater. I often think about how remarkable live performance is. In a space filled to the brim with people from all walks of life, when you’re on stage, you feel like you’re the only one there.

In my experience, dance has always been something that connected me with others. I grew up naturally dancing to all kinds of music, so joining dance classes seemed like the right thing to do. As a shy kid, these classes broke me out of my shell. Friends taught me about performance, precision, and the power of movement. I learned how to be confident to a fault, a hard worker, and a loyal classmate. 

It seems so long ago that dancing was without consequence or expectation. It was pure fun.

As a 2020 college graduate, I was excited to begin putting my training to the test at dance company auditions. I had my spreadsheet ready with the names of each company and their corresponding audition date. Something in the back of my head told me that being in a professional dance company wasn’t exactly what I wanted even though I had been training for it my whole life. 

But, what if that wasn’t what I was always training for?

When I was a young dancer, I had many teachers with different types of training methods. Some would sing my praises and talk about my “potential” and others who would make remarks about my body shape or lack of focus and technique. Like many dancers, I was told I was the weakest in the class and to stand at the end of the line or in the back of the class. I think my passion for dance in some ways was an act of defiance. Of course, I loved the social aspect and learning from others, but I wanted to prove that I wasn’t just wasted potential. I wanted to prove that I was worth something.

As I grew older, dance became my escape. I would often go to the studio to clear my head or to even try to understand myself better. Even my time at the ballet barre was both quiet and meditative. It allowed me time away from the world. Dancing alone and improvising in studios allowed me to fully express myself without the watchful eyes of my peers and teachers. I could let it all go. Many times, I went to the studio to process. To heal. To eventually understand.

Of course, like with many things, dance wasn’t always perfect for me. There were many times I felt like I was trying to fit inside of this impossible, tiny, and perfectly made box. I struggled with my self-confidence and compared myself to others or even younger versions of myself. I struggled with feeding my body what it needed to survive - mentally and physically. I struggled being the only black girl in my dance classes all the way until college and feeling out of place everywhere I went. I struggled with constant comparisons and competitiveness. The same drive and tenacity that led me to fall in love with dance, was often the thing that held me back. I saw my worth as a person on the same level as my worth as a dancer. It’s difficult when you put all of your effort and self-worth into one thing. Who are you without it?

Fast forward to today. It’s been almost a year since I’ve taken a class with others in a studio space. I always thought that if I were to take a step away from dancing as a career, it would be on my own terms. COVID-19 had other plans. Being a dancer is a large part of my identity and has been for years. This past year, I’ve craved the social aspect of dancing in a class with others and feeding off the energy in the space.

I told myself that I would be nothing without dance. During the COVID-19 pandemic and having graduated from college almost nine months ago, I’ve been finding it harder and harder to find the motivation to take classes online. I admired others for keeping up their practice, but I felt lost. I felt my identity as a dancer slipping through my fingers. Memories of who I was faded, until I felt as though I was both, in a way, nameless and purposeless.

I’ve thought long and hard about what my time in dance classes has taught me outside of pointed toes, stretched knees, and the like. It’s taken time for me to reflect on my love for dance and how it had made me who I am today and I’ve come to realize that I will always be a dancer even if that’s not all that I am. 

What if my dance training was preparing me for what lies ahead and perhaps teaching me how to live despite trials and tribulations?

Could it be that everything I’ve learned in the studio thus far has allowed me to learn what it means to really live? 

When I really think about it, through dance, I’ve learned how to take risks, how to build confidence, how to fail, how to love. I’ve learned how to take criticism and to look at every experience as something that is informing you for the next one. I’ve learned how to stand strong in my uniqueness without hesitation and to stand up for what is right. Of course, absolutely none of these things came easily and there are still a fair amount of things I’m still recovering from concerning dance, but nonetheless, I’ve learned how to face adversity bravely.
Throughout my time dancing, I’ve had the privilege of studying with and under some of the most amazing people I’ll ever meet. Through dance, I traveled domestically and internationally. I’ve taught and been taught. I continue to meet people that inspire me to grow, not only as an artist, but as a person. Dance truly made me who I am today, for better or for worse.

Someone wise once told me that sometimes you are the only thing standing in the way of you and your dreams. For me, understanding that our lives are meant to be lived, not pricked and prodded, was life-changing. Of course, I still have trouble leaving negative thoughts behind, but that is part of the journey, I think. 

The fact is, I’ll never be the person I was a year ago, or five years ago, and that is perfectly fine. I’m growing into a more full and well-rounded human who knows that the possibilities are endless.

I’ll be back on stage - I’m sure of it - but until then, I’m falling in love with the idea of discovering that there is more to me in addition to being a dancer. It’s the chance to say not only “who am I?” but “who do I want to be?”