“Pirouette batma and… leap!” my dance teacher yelled out excitingly to a room of electrified little girls at the dress rehearsal. As we left the stage, my friends ran up to each other, eager to perform the choreographed dance. I was excited as well but didn’t share their same level of enthusiasm; instead, I was off putting my own steps together secretly, seeing what I could create without any artistic direction. The night of the recital, my foot hit the stage glowing with blue and red lights and I could vaguely see the faces of the audience. Standing in the front row blinded by the spotlights, my iridescent costume glistened. Counts automatically started in my head, “5, 6, 7, 8” and I didn’t miss a step; my seven year-old self was proud and so were my parents. As the girls skipped off stage in celebration, I smiled a little, and shrugged my shoulders.
It’s not that I didn’t love dance; I spent hours working to master the pirouettes, aerials and grand jetes. As a little girl my favorite part of dance class was when the music played and I was able to create my own movement feeling the freedom to dance unencumbered. I didn’t care who was watching; in my mind I could become a fairy godmother, prima ballerina, or snowflake. As the years passed, however the focus became mastering choreography, which left me feeling more robotic than creative. Apparently, we had outgrown the freedom to be creative. I knew something was missing from the sport I loved since the day I put on my pink ballet shoes but I couldn’t image my world without dance. Meanwhile, alone in my bedroom I still was secretly putting together my own steps.
It wasn’t until high school that dance found its true meaning to me. At the first rehearsal of the dance team, I was surprised when the captains didn’t present set choreography for us to learn. Rather, we originated our own eight counts, individually and as a group. I finally found a group of girls who felt the same way I did and it was a breath of fresh air. We found a way to make modern flow into jazz, and lyrical to meld with hip-hop. These blended into one expressive dance, which meant something to each and every one of us. I was fascinated by how the same piece of music inspired different emotions and movement, and yet we were able to collectively represent them all by blending them together. I no longer felt the need to create my steps in secret and my passion for dance was reignited when the creative collaboration outweighed the rigid confines of pure technique.
Now I recognize that studying dance in a studio has its merits. If it weren’t for my teachers, I wouldn’t have the technique to dance at all. However, it is the freedom of expression that I truly love. As a kid, when you are taught to count, there is no interpretation of the numbers that you learn; six follows five, and five comes before six. The beauty of dance is that those “numbers” that are so formulaic on paper, can be interpreted in infinite ways, with endless styles and feelings. Whenever something is going wrong, or even when something is going amazingly right, dance is something that I can turn to, to express my feelings. It has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember and feel incomplete without it. Although my relationship with dance has had its complications, I finally understand that it’s not just the final performance with the sparkling costume and spotlight that I crave but the creative and collaborative process that happens along the way that I truly love. I no longer feel the need to create my own steps behind closed doors; I feel free to simply dance.
