Since I started dancing at the age of 8, dance has always been at the forefront of my mind. Led by incredible examples and inspired by knowledgeable peers and teachers I was able to, at a young age, see the value of performance. I couldn’t tell you what about this art form grabbed me from the beginning, but I simply fell for it, like it was second nature.
As I step out of the present to reflect on the past and ponder the future, I have come to the conclusion that I never had one single dream within this work that could be accomplished. I’ve never made up my mind that one accomplishment, one opportunity, or one experience would mean I’ve achieved my overall goal.
What is my overall goal? I know I love what I do, but sometimes it feels like that isn’t enough.
What accomplishments are ‘good enough’?
Isn’t it worth something that I simply love?
The love can get lost on me. It’s easy to focus on counting accomplishments and trying to measure where success lies.
In the past years, my sister started nursing full time, working in trauma at a downtown hospital in Toronto. Watching her coming and going from 12-hour shifts, my view on dance within my world shifted. When she began nursing, she would come home and share stories about her patients and incidents on her floor. Sharing heart-wrenching, and honestly hard-to-hear facts, about her workplace.
Hearing her experiences made me cautious about complaining about my work around her. I started holding back my “I’m exhausted” exclamations because, in comparison, my work is laughable. She is saving lives, and I’m “wiggling” around in a room.
I don’t get to be tired like she is tired. Through this lens of gratitude, I’ve come to appreciate how “silly” dance is—and how lucky I am to do it.
When I step into an Uber and the driver asks, “Where are you headed?” and I respond, “Rehearsal,” I often receive weary eyes and a response like, “Do you make money doing that?” At first, I get offended and annoyed by the closed-mindedness. But then I remind myself that my day-to-day experience is not normal.
The immense privilege of being compensated for “dancing around in a room” is something most people can’t comprehend. It sounds like a fairytale, and this response, I totally understand.
Throughout these experiences, I have shaped this idea, this philosophy if you will, that dance is kind of stupid. This is dance in a nutshell: I go to class or rehearsal, music plays, and we move our bodies around. We sweat, get stressed, and even become emotional—all to create something desirable for an audience. It’s a strange concept and honestly kinda stupid.
Yes, I know this is harsh, but it’s important for me
to maintain some humility in what I do.
Without it, I can get too serious and lose sight of what truly matters in my world. I’m not saying dance isn’t important, but it’s not saving lives or solving crimes. Staying humble and grateful allows me to appreciate the privilege of my passion-driven job.
This realization changed how I approach my career. Yes, dance is stressful, hard, exhausting, and sometimes downright demanding. But at the end of the day,
we, as artists, are incredibly fortunate to do what we do.
By remembering this, it removes the self-inflicted pressure and disappointment and replaces it with gratitude. On the days I feel overwhelmed by dance-related stress or exhaustion, I try to remind myself of this philosophy. I’m not perfect at it…of course, negative feelings about dance still creep in sometimes.
But this reminder of gratitude helps me stay grounded,
and I’ll continue to embrace it.
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