This post is also available as a podcast here: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/s-p01/episodes/Dance-e2b6n3g

This is about my kind of dance. There are so many styles and approaches, but this is about my experience, perspective, and motivation. Dance is like my church. I feel more grounded through dance; it provides me a space for tuning into my mind and body, processing what I find, and releasing things that hold me down. It lifts my spirit, lightens my burden, gives me peace. Without dance, I lose my center.

I think it’s important for people to find things that fill them up, and for me that thing is dance. I probably started dancing before I could walk, but I started training when I was 3. I was a chubby little 3 year old doing gymnastics in a mall, if the photos are what they seem. I loved gymnastics and jazz dance; that’s where I started. I told the story of my at-home performances where I demanded the attention of my entire family; I found a new home taking classes and performing on a stage.

I was never a competition dancer; I am grateful that I grew up in a very artistic community that didn’t emphasize technique as much as art. I was able to be my colorful, artistic self and be embraced for it. That time truly set the tone for my approach to dance and performance for my entire life. I struggled a lot when I had to audition for dance roles because I wasn’t as “trained” as other dancers. I had the heart, but not the technique. It hurt. I kept dancing.

In high school, I finally took my first ballet class. I spent 7 years in gymnastics and jazz, then we moved. I spent 3 years without any consistent dance, and those were also the toughest years of my childhood. I auditioned for the high school dance team, and made it – just in time to move, again. I was lucky there was a dance program at the new high school, I got into the advanced class quickly and joined their dance team – but technique was holding me back. So, I went to the studio in town with my grandma. Classes were too much for us to afford, but the owner let me clean the studio after classes to get reduced tuition. I think she saw potential in me, and I’m grateful that my grandma found a way to pay the reduced fee – I learned a lot.

When my “real” home life was in chaos: school, theatre, and dance were my home. I survived on adopted family when I couldn’t turn to my given family. I don’t say that with any intention of throwing my family “under the bus,” they did the best they could, and so did I. I loved school, and I loved all my activities. I am grateful for them. Between the three, I was on campus from 6:45am to 11pm some days. College classes before high school, regular high school, dance team practices, theatre rehearsals, then tech work. Home, rinse, repeat.

I’m still not a great technical dancer; my dance is from my heart. I stood out when I went to classes in college. I rarely got cast, but I kept dancing. I choreograph a lot, and if I didn’t choreograph – I would not have been able to keep dancing. Art helps us process pain, so choreography was one of my best outlets in high school and college. In my years before, without dance, I was writing some truly dark poetry as my outlet. I still have the journal… it’s dark. Choreography was better. My choreography kept me dancing through college because I was able to choreograph for shows, and that kept me in the community. Because I was in the community, I got to dance in a piece here or there – it kept me going; kept my spirit alive.

Ballroom also kept me dancing in college. I started ballroom in high school, and I was pretty awful at backleading until college. Backleading is where the follow leads the movement instead of, you know, following the lead. Friends also kept me dancing. The advanced dancers and teachers were cliquey and kept me as an outsider, but others went to ballet classes with me at the student rate – my best ballet friend still holds a special place in my heart, she knows who she is (If you’re reading this, I love you so much! Thank you for keeping me in ballet and being an amazing friend in the process!)

I’ve never been the lead in a play, or the lead dancer in a piece. I got a lot of “no”s in my time. For someone with RSD, that was hard to take. Honestly, I don’t know how I would have survived without dance and theatre, though. Despite the many no’s I received, I lived for the art. My last year in college, I thought I’d finally gain acceptance in the dance community, but they pushed me out. It wasn’t cool to like me; it wasn’t cool to accept me, and the immature social dynamics kept people from accepting me in the group. I made individual friendships, but the group always won over the friendships. I appreciated kind words from the few, but the rejection was too deep. Graduate school was the time I hit my peak, oddly enough.

The first year of graduate school is intense – there was no time for dance. But, I started getting into the local theatre community after my first year and that connected me with dance in the community. I took classes, I taught classes for the first time, I performed in plays, and I started feeling like I could find a home again. There was a path of 20 hours a week of training in ballet, pointe, jazz, modern, gymnastics, and hip hop. I joined my first adult dance company, and I had a dance “home” while I was working on my PhD. Note: You might notice a pattern here… I work a lot. Like, 60 hours of math, 20 hours of dance, then 10 hours of cooking and baking, plus whatever else I could fit in. What is down time? Right.

In my last few years of graduate school, I discovered my biggest dance mentor, and my world exploded. My technique leveled up, my heart opened, and I danced better than ever before. I trained 6 hours a day, 4 days a week. I was in the best shape of my life, and I have beautiful photos from the dance company photoshoot that I love and admire from that time. That was my peak dance level, and I love every dancer I worked with in that time. I would hug every single one of them and tell them how amazing they are, because they are all amazing humans. (If any of you are reading this, Chaotic Collective, you were the best!) Love.

Then, I took a job in another state, womp womp. I had to start over. I was in my best dance shape, but I was starting over. I found a lovely studio whose owner has amazing technique, but she also dances from her heart. Her studio became my new home. I still drop in for classes with her because I love her, too. My dance mentor opened my heart in ways that I will never close. I love my dance community here. There are amazing dancers who are beautiful humans and I’m not embraced as a company-level dancer here, but I am embraced. I get to choreograph and share my heart with people that love and accept it.

All my choreography is built on connection with the audience. I choreograph to make people feel something. It’s my feeling that all art is created to instill feeling in us, feelings make us human. So, I want to connect with your humanity in my art. I do it in all my creations, including this blog. If I show you my humanity through this art, maybe you’ll connect to something within it. Maybe you will feel something, and that will take you deeper on your own journey. Maybe you will notice something; a choice, a lesson, or an inspiration, and that will give you a place to go from here. Maybe it will do nothing, and that’s okay too. I hope you know that I do it all in the hopes that it will give you something.

My story this week is about a dance performance I did for my class in Genocide and Mass Persuasion.

I mentioned previously that I had a sort of compulsion to understand how the public were persuaded to commit genocide. I was fascinated and disturbed by the actions so intensely that I spent my entire undergraduate experience studying evil, genocide, ethics, and mass persuasion. So, naturally, a course called “Genocide and Mass Persuasion” was going into my schedule. I don’t remember the assignment exactly, but I do know that we had to do something in public and record the responses then write a paper about it in the context of the course.

So… I danced. I dressed in all black, head to toe. Hood over my face, gloves over my hands, etc. I removed the ability to “see” me, set up in the city square, and danced with a camera operated by my partner in the project. The compulsions of people who wanted to know who I was… it was baffling. I had people walking up to me, while I was dancing, trying to remove my hood to see who was under it. I can’t imagine people coming up to touch me like that without the head covering. It was an enlightening experience of the dehumanization created through anonymity.

Art is an expression of our shared humanity. Removing the distinct features of that humanity gave me a form of an object instead of a peer. I would not have been safe without my partner. We need that humanity, we need that connection. Our shared humanity builds our community, it makes us safer. The mass persuasion involved in genocide is designed precisely to remove those pieces of shared humanity. It’s designed to create a sense of “other” instead of a sense of “together.” My dance is created to build that connection, to feel like we are together in this experience. Art is, in many ways, the savior of our sense of community. Art reminds us of our humanity.

Find something that fills you up and connects you to this greater community, and let it grow your heart.

With Love, as always. -S.