Body Dysmorphia in Retirement

I’ve been struggling with my weight recently. Now, before I get angry tweets or confused looks, I am aware that I am not actually struggling with my weight. Yes, I could lose about 5 pounds and be happy to see my six-pack abs return. But in the grand scheme of things, I probably look fit to the general public and my doctor would likely tell me that I am in the lower range of healthy weights for men my height and age. Taking all of these things into consideration, there is one more important item to note. I am probably not the image of the person I see in the mirror and that has changed drastically since I retired from the stage and began focusing my energy on choreography and teaching.

Throughout my 13 year performance career, I was always quite confident about my body. Yes, like any human being, my weight fluctuates up and down a few pounds from week to week. And back then, it may have swung a bit more if I had an extended lay-off or was recovering from injury. But I never felt stressed by these fluctuations. I knew that I would soon be back in the studio dancing for 7 1/2 hours a day and the image of myself that I wanted others to see would return. I didn’t have body dysmorphia then. I knew what I looked like and trusted the reflection I saw in the mirror. My stress, confusion, and acute attention with my perceived body image wasn’t an immediate response to retirement, though. It was a gradual shift in mentality after a few events that grew into mistrust about the person I saw looking back at me in the mirror.

Weight is a constant topic among professional dancers. While some of those conversations are serious, more of them occur in jest. Perhaps, this is in response to the stresses of a job where the central product is one’s fitness and ability to control every ounce of their body. I can actually note two singular comments that began my distrust of my own perception of self.

The first of these comments occurred as I prepared for the role of Puck in Balanchine’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. This role requires the dancer to wear a transparent, open-front vest attached to a glorified dance belt over swirly tights down to one’s ankles. The funny thing is that I didn’t even have this costume in mind as I prepared for the role. I had been heavier earlier in the season due to an injury that kept me out of the studio. So, it made sense that I lost that weight as the season dragged on. Also important to note, beyond my rehearsal days and performances that season, I was secretly flying on weekends auditioning to leave the company. All of this dancing and stress had taken a few extra pounds off me. It was after a particularly long weekend of travel that I found myself rehearsing with a Principal dancer who was playing the role of Oberon (the character who acts as my master in the work). While other dancers were rehearsing the part, this dancer pulled me aside and told me, “You look bone.” After I looked strangely at him, wondering if comparing me to a skeleton was a good thing or a bad thing, he must have caught the confusion in my eyes. He very quickly followed up by telling me it was a good thing. I looked in the mirror at my thin frame and sunken-in cheeks and smiled at the compliment. My lowest professional weight had now become my benchmark for physical success, sex appeal, and confidence.

Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Soon after this “compliment,” I moved on from Pacific Northwest Ballet, joined Ballet X, was let go from Ballet X, and started my life as a freelance dancer. With all of these changes and developments happening so abruptly, it took about a year after the bone comment before I had a moment to process all of the life changes I had experienced and allow my body to rest. It was also around this point that my freelance career began to take off and I careened on the wildest 4 year ride of my life.

One of the first stressors I noted during this period was that it was harder to stay in shape. I went from dancing 40 hours a week to rehearsing in bouts and taking expensive classes less frequently. Here, I began to see my strength, stamina, and weight fluctuate on a regular basis. If I was working a lot, friends would note that I was frighteningly skinny upon my return home. But after some time locally and not dancing due to extreme exhaustion, stress, and financial pressure, my weight would normalize or I would start to look a little soft around my torso. I controlled my frustration by telling myself that I needed the break, I would be working soon, or that it wasn’t as bad as I thought. I believed myself, even if I wasn’t at my lowest weight standard.

It took only one comment to destroy my ability to see an honest reflection of myself. My body dysmorphia was triggered during a guesting opportunity with Festival Ballet Providence. During this gig, I had befriended one of the dancers who was growing into the role of the company’s regular male lead. I hung out with him once or twice outside of work and had briefly met his boyfriend. After an open studio rehearsal that the dancer’s partner attended, he walked over to me and poked me in the stomach with his index finger. I still don’t understand why he felt this was appropriate. But after poking me, he stated that I was “looking a little soft.” While I tried to laugh it off, the stress I was experiencing in my new career style and the concerns I already had about my inconsistent work and how it affected my body sent me in a tizzy. Luckily, I’ve never been at risk for an eating disorder. But from this point forth, I’ve always been overwhelmingly conscious of my weight and how others view my current fitness versus how I looked at my lowest weight. The worst part of this unsolicited poke was that I lost the ability to reasonably judge my own reflection and the memory of what physical attributes made me feel happy and confident.

I handled this issue like I do with everything else. I stress about it and try to micromanage the situation, but have difficulty finding a perfect balance that makes me most comfortable in all areas. My body dysmorphia has only gotten worse since I retired from my performance career. It stressed me out to be dancing less throughout my freelance career. I’m sure one can imagine how it has gotten worse when I am in front of the studio more often than standing at the barre.

Looking at my post-performance career reflection in the mirror

The biggest challenge as a retired dancer with body dysmorphia is cultivating an honest, healthy image of what I look like to myself and how I think I should look as a former dancer. Should I hold myself to the skeletal standard that garnered me positive attention during my performance career? Am I expected to have six-pack abs as a choreographer? And, if I don’t, will I lose my sex appeal or get comments about the loss of my “hot” body? I don’t have the answers to these questions. But I do know that it is important to consider a healthy image of myself as I age. In my 30’s, I still want to look like the person I was in my late 20’s. But it wouldn’t be fair for my 45 year old self to try and maintain the gold standard I had during my dancing days.

This post is more explorational than it is informational. I don’t yet have answers for retired dancers and how they should handle perception of their bodies after their prime athlete days. But what I can share is that I am working to understand how I view myself as I age, while appreciating that wonderful time when my body was fit just because I showed up to work. It would be unfair to always expect to look bone. So, now I need to explore what looks good on me at 34. And after I figure that out, I’ll probably have to reconsider that answer every 5-10 years. Just like the changes our bodies naturally endure as we age, we must also consider the mind.

Teaching “One-Off” Classes

Come Learn from Me at Broadway Dance Center’s Dance Teacher Workshop

Summer is the time that most students attend summer programs away from home, visit open class studios in New York City, attend conventions at national competitions, and enjoy short workshops that bring guest instructors to their studios. While this is a very exciting time for young dancers, it is also a time when dance educators have a variety of opportunities to break out of their regular schedules and share our art form with new audiences. These experiences often come in the form of one-off master classes or short workshops where one doesn’t really get enough time to dig into true technique, style, artistry, or choreography. It can be challenging to cultivate your best classes and share your most important lessons when you only get one and a half hours with a group of aspiring dancers. I’ve taught my fair share of classes where I may never get to work with the same students ever again. For this reason, I want to offer you some tips and tricks that I have learned over the years to help you offer your best classes, even when you only get one shot to make your point(e).

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Go in with a game plan, but be prepared to be flexible: I like to go into classes with a set idea of what I am going to teach. Though, it took me nearly 5 years in this offstage part of my career to begin teaching at any tuition-based program where I knew who was going to show up from week to week. Working as an open class instructor, a master class teacher, and a sub at the beginning of my career taught me how to adjust my teaching plans on the fly. It is always good to have combinations planned or concepts you would like to get across. But, sometimes, you show up with certain expectations that don’t align with the students who show up to the barre. In the end, it is the teacher’s responsibility to adjust their plans and offer the best classes possible.

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Don’t be afraid to ask for etiquette/behavior, but be more lenient than you are with your regular classes: Over time, I have learned that many of the one-off classes I’ve been brought in to teach are my pathway to help students who don’t have access to professional level training fall in love with our art form. I’ve taught at schools where the students show up for ballet in shorts, t-shirts, and socks. I’ve had experiences where the kids talk over me while I’m teaching. And I’ve had a plethora of situations occur in classes that most professionals new to teaching wouldn’t even know how to handle. What I’ve learned is that every classroom has a different culture and I can’t expect any of them to adhere to my standards unless they work with me on a regular basis. For this reason, I set a baseline level of behaviors that I am not willing to put up with. And if any student in particular has difficulty adhering to these expectations, I offer them a “3 Strikes and You Sit” option. Some of these guidelines include: the classroom is not a playground, we treat others with respect, we support our peers, and the fun is in the work. But when things don’t go exactly how I prefer to run my studio, I try to give them an idea of my expectations and suggest that they consider certain things for the future.

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Think of your class like a sample at a grocery store: Even the best instructors can’t teach a year worth of syllabus in one master class. If you try to impart too much of your knowledge onto students, they may feel overwhelmed with information that they can’t retain. When I teach these types of classes, I try to get an overview of the students needs during barre or the contemporary warm-up. And from there, I choose 2-3 ideas that I feel will really help push the group forward. If I can get a group of students to understand that placement is more important than a high extension or that 3 properly executed pirouettes are better than 7 spins, I feel that I have accomplished something. When you go to a grocery store, they won’t let you sample everything you plan on buying before you walk through the check out. But chances are there will be a few samples of things that you never considered buying and end up really enjoying.

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Don’t expect everybody in the class to love you:  Alright! I admit it! I’m really bad at this one. There’s nothing that inspires me more than seeing students work hard, gain results, and smile when they reach new heights. Sometimes, students already know how to learn our challenging athletic art form. But many students have yet to cultivate the joy that comes in hard work and its rewards. Just like ice cream flavors, everybody has a preference. Some students (both as a group and individually) really latch on to certain teacher’s style of teaching, corrections, and energy. At other points, it can feel nearly impossible to make one person smile in a room or respond with an energetic “YES” when you ask if they are ready to go. Don’t assume that every good class ends with students begging for your photograph, eagerly asking where you teach regularly, or looking up your instagram handle. In reality, sometimes it is about connecting with that one student who you inspire to push forth and work towards obtaining a career in dance. So, be sure to do what you do and not what you think students want you to do.

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If taking public transport and you aren’t familiar with where you are going, leave a cushion of time: This one is pretty straightforward and one of the most important pieces of advice that I can offer. It can be stressful showing up to teach with little idea whether the advanced level you are about to teach is what you assume to be advanced. Cut yourself some of the stress of teaching one-off classes and take a bus or train that has you arriving earlier than your class is scheduled. I can tell you from experience: if you are going to take a bus that arrives just in the nick of time for class, it is at least 50% likely to be late. So, suck it up and take the bus that arrives a half hour early. It will give you a chance to meet the directors, get changed, see the studio space, mentally prepare, warm yourself up, and assess what you are about to experience. And, worse comes to worse, when your bus is 20 minutes late, you still have 10 minutes to get acclimated.

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Be sure to ask information about a school before you arrive: This is something that I’ve recently gotten better at since I’ve become faculty at Broadway Dance Center and had more and more opportunities to share my art form around the world. It is always exciting when a school thinks that you have something to offer their students. But in reality, this invitation isn’t about you. It is about their students. I’ve learned to ask simple questions to make sure that I am catering my classes to the needs of a school. Before I arrive, I ask simple questions to get a feel for the atmosphere I’m about to enter. Ask questions like: What have the kids been working on? Is there anything in particular that would be helpful to focus on? Are you preparing for any performances or competitions? What do you feel are your student’s strengths and weaknesses? Do you run a pre-professional, recreational, or competition program? By asking these questions, you are gaining more information to prepare yourself to offer the best experience you possibly can.

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Don’t be so serious that the kids can’t have fun: This was one of the biggest lessons I had to learn when I began teaching one-off classes. Coming from a background training in world-renowned pre-professional schools and dancing for some of the nation’s most renowned ballet companies, I had forgotten what it was like to be a young kid interested in dance, yet not so serious that I knew it could be a profession. Major schools and companies teach their dancers how to work efficiently and effectively; essentially cutting out the niceties, demanding high expectations, and offering indiscreet feedback with expectations of immediately applying corrections. Most of the kids I have worked with in a one-off setting are still in the process of falling in love with dance. And many of them don’t yet realize that dance can be a career and lifestyle. For this reason, it is important to remember that we teach these kids to help them fall in love with dance. Dance is hard, hard work. But we must cultivate what it means to perform that hard work over time. Otherwise, we risk turning young talent away from our art form. Our job is to teach kids about the rewards of hard work and to share our joy and passion with the future of dance.

Guest Post: But First A School

One of my goals in creating this blog is not only to share my own stories and experiences as I navigate my post-performance career, but to also offer a platform for my peers to discuss what life is like after they have stepped off the stage. My first guest blogger for Dancing Offstage is Michael Patterson, Artistic Director of Patterson School of Ballet. I met Michael while he was teaching in the Philadelphia area and have followed him as he moved to Erie, PA, eventually opening his own school. Read on to hear his story and the challenges he has faced as he traverses his second career in dance. Enjoy!

 

Guest Blogger: Michael Patterson

There are many roads to opening and operating a pre-professional ballet school. This is my story. Every story starts somewhere and mine began in Titusville, PA on my family’s dairy farm.

Titusville’s claim to fame is Edwin L. Drake who is credited with the start of the oil industry and football’s John Heisman. Had it not been for PBS, I never would have known that ballet even existed; there were no dance studios in Titusville. No one that I knew had ever seen a ballet before. But at the age of 6, my sister and I were watching our local PBS station and The Nutcracker came on starring Gelsey Kirkland and Mikhail Baryshnikov. I remember being totally mesmerized by their grace and strength and we were glued to the television throughout the duration of the program. I told my mom shortly thereafter that I wanted to take ballet. Her response was, “if that’s what you want to do,” and she went back to work.

At the age of 11, after losing interest in other activities (including baseball, soccer, and piano lessons), I approached my mom and again asked if I could take ballet. This time she signed me up for classes with my sister at Cathy Turner’s Dance Studio in nearby Franklin, PA. It wasn’t until I was 12, at the recommendation of my teacher, that I began studying classical ballet under the direction of Sharon Filone in Erie, PA. Later, I studied at the Central Pennsylvania Youth Ballet under the direction of Marcia Dale Weary and then joined Pennsylvania Ballet in 2002.

While dancing with this company, I was given many opportunities to perform lead roles and toured internationally (with Edinburgh International Arts Festival in Scotland being a highlight). Though I was progressing within the company, I was battling an injury that wouldn’t heal, even with time off. It was at this point that I left Pennsylvania Ballet and began teaching for the legendary American ballerina, Barbara Sandonato, whose daughter I had danced with in the company.

Michael w/Barbara Sandonato

Though I had taught at summer programs on lay-offs, this was my first experience teaching in a school where I was responsible for the long-term training of students. It was also here where I got a crash course in dealing with parents, staging choreography, and setting schedules. With Ms. Sandonato’s guidance, I was able to feel more comfortable in a classroom setting, as well as honing my abilities to produce results and mentor aspiring students. In 2013, I was approached by a local university back in Erie, PA to head their children’s dance program. This new proposition would also serve as an opportunity for me to resume my college education.

When I arrived in Erie, there were only three students enrolled in the program I was to head. In order to promote the school, I dropped off flyers at many of the local businesses and by mid-year had 12 students in my classes. The program was nearly self-sustaining when it was cut only nine months later due to an unforeseen financial situation at the university. I had already planned a summer intensive that had enrolled 20 students, and I was crushed. It was at this time that a family whose daughter was returning to the area (after many injuries at another school) asked if I was interested in starting a school. At the conclusion of my intensive, I decided to meet with a lawyer who helped me incorporate my own school. The Patterson School of Ballet was born on August 18, 2014.

In seeking a home for my school, I looked at many places. But due to financial constraints, I couldn’t afford to renovate a brand new space. As luck would have it, and with some persistence, I found a former yoga studio that was already equipped with a cushioned floor, mirrors, and had been modeled in a way that befit a dance school. The interior was a warm inviting atmosphere, reminiscent of a lodge, and didn’t have the clinical feel that most studios have. I wanted a studio where moms and dads would feel comfortable and guest teachers would feel welcomed. Also adding to the warmth of the studio was a gas fireplace, which is great for Erie winters, and double doors that can open during the summers to allow the warm lake breeze to pass through the studio.

There are many challenges in having a small business, especially a ballet school in Erie. First, the community is inundated with dance schools. I set out to make something different in our community using lessons instilled in me as a child . . . “jack of all trades, master of nothing.” Our students learn how to master classical ballet technique, which gives them the ability to evaluate other dance forms and learn them much more quickly. While they continue to make strides in their classical education, many of the students attend high schools in the area that offer other forms of dance as an alternative to their physical education requirements. So, our students still have the benefit of being exposed to other dance forms. As I mentioned previously, affordability prevented me from building the ideal studio I dreamt of right away. As the Patterson School of Ballet has grown, we recently held a successful fundraiser to raise enough money to build sprung floors in our studio, which will be much better for the long-term health of my students.

Students training at Patterson School of Ballet

When it came to scheduling our Fall classes for the first time, there were many factors that were also challenging. Our greatest challenge was the limitation on evening class times for students. It was difficult to keep up with the numerous school districts, as well as private schools, so I spoke with many parents about class times that would be convenient for them. It was important for me to have my students take the necessary number of ballet classes that a serious program requires. Another aspect that was crucial to the success of the program was finding a pricing scale that was competitive with surrounding studios. Most studios in our area charge very little for classes, with most charging as little as $10/hour. The Patterson School of Ballet’s tuition begins at $10/hour, but as students take more classes the price drops so students that are taking 14 hours of class have an hourly rate that’s under $6/hour. Unlike other studios in our area, our program is all-inclusive, meaning that students have regular guest/master teachers at no additional cost and there are no costume, rehearsal, or performance fees associated with our program. Any rehearsals are in addition to class time, so as to not take away from the purpose of our pre-professional training curriculum. As they say, you get what you pay for. At Patterson School of Ballet, parents make an investment in their training, without ending up with a closet full of costumes.

Students training at Patterson School of Ballet

The Patterson School of Ballet’s curriculum is unique to the area, as we keep small class sizes and a proven graded-level ballet syllabus. Our program offers superior training, but also provides many performance opportunities. Since our first summer program, Patterson School of Ballet has established a 5-week intensive, a super hero half-day camp, and an August intensive. We have had guest faculty and master teachers Theresa Crawford, Matthew Carter, Abigail Mentzer, Melissa Gelfin, Danae Patterson, Frank Galvez, Catherine Gurr, Halle Sherman, Bob Vicary, Elysa Hotchkiss Walls, and Barbara Sandonato (who serves as Artistic Advisor to our school). Our students have had the opportunity to watch company class with Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre, Pennsylvania Ballet, and the Joffrey Ballet, and have seen performances by them on numerous occasions. Our students also regularly participate in enrichment programs provided by Ballet In The City, where they’ve had the opportunity to work with Sonia Rodriguez, Francis Veyette, Lauren Fadeley Veyette, and other fabulous teachers. Performances include outreach with local non-profits in our area, in addition to our year end June Show. This year’s showcase will include Act II of Swan Lake with guest artists Catherine Gurr and Logan Martin.

Michael with a student of his

It can be hard to deal with the competitive nature of having a business in the local dance community. But at the end of the day, I wouldn’t give up my school. While there are many in our community who are incredibly supportive, unfortunately, there are always those from other local organizations that will do or say anything to discredit you personally and professionally. However, it is very important for me to not let that enter in through the doors of my studio. Although the students are not my children, I do have a responsibility to mentor them and help them become the best version of themselves, both inside and outside the studio. My mission is to enrich children’s lives and provide opportunities for personal growth and achievement by utilizing the skills developed in the studio. Any program should be an investment in a child’s future. It is not only our goal to train professional dancers, but to also give students a clear understanding of what it takes to be good at something, to take pride in knowing that you do it well, and to aspire to be more.

Check out more about Patterson School of Ballet at www.pattersonschoolofballet.com

 

 

10 Things I’ve Learned Since Retiring

There are so many lessons to be learned in this life. In the past few weeks, I spent some time with a handful of my students coaching them while at the Youth America Grand Prix competition. I was so impressed to see how they held their own under the pressures of competition, and a handful of them even placed (one of them won the Grand Prix, two won 2nd & 3rd place in their categories, and a handful placed in the Top 12). While my job was to warm my kids up, hone in their focus, and provide support no matter the outcome of what happened onstage, I learned a very important lesson. Read on to see what that lesson was along with a handful of others I’ve learned since retiring from the stage.

Two students I choreographed contemporary solos for at YAGP (Allison Chen – L, Elisabeth Beyer – R)

1. One of the most surprising lessons I’ve learned since retiring has been that I don’t have to take class every day to maintain my technique. As my schedule has become overwhelmingly booked with teaching, coaching, choreographing, podcasting, and blogging, I have had difficulty making it to class as often as I would like. But taking class 2-4 times each week (as opposed to 5-6 times) actually allows my body to recover and feel better from day to day. While there are a few areas I feel that I’ve lost ground in (adagio and extended stamina), I can still perform a majority of the feats I executed daily during my stage career. And if something isn’t working one day and it stresses me out in the moment, I just remind myself that I’m retired from the stage and class is now wholly for me again.

See! I can still get a leg up!

2. With no intention for any negative connotation, a performance career is very selfish. In order to perfect one’s art, we must spend countless hours working on ourselves and focusing great attention to personal detail. Beyond this, due to the brevity of our careers, we tend to feel that we need to achieve every goal we set, gain every opportunity available, get cast in every role we dream of, and climb up the promotion ladder as fast as possible. It has been liberating to step outside the selfishness of my own performance career and to allow my focus to include others. In the past few weeks while coaching a handful of students to compete at Youth America Grand Prix , I suddenly became very aware of how invested I was in the success of my students. I was so extremely hopeful for them to perform well because their success and happiness was also mine. This post-career life has taught me that the success of many is greater than the success of one.

3. This may sound odd since my attention has shifted from fully focusing on my own instrument. But my technique has improved greatly since I began teaching and coaching dancers. While teaching my students, I often have to find unique ways to express muscle engagement, joint movement, placement, balance, coordination, and more. I find myself evaluating my own work in class much more meticulously as I explore the best way to convey information to students while teaching. This has netted an overall positive in my own dancing, as I have a greater understanding of many things that I hadn’t grasped during my performance career.

4. I didn’t always notice this, but there were many times that I wish I had a certain type of support, guidance, or mentorship during my career. I left home at the age of 17 to train and I moved across the country into my own apartment at the age of 19 to start my career with Houston Ballet. As I transitioned to Pacific Northwest Ballet, became an adult, and eventually navigated my way through a national career as a traveling freelancer, I often wished that I had more support in many ways. Now that I have stepped into a more educational leadership role, I have been baffled by the number of dancers who have reached out to me in need of physical, emotional, and financial support. If these are the dancers that are asking for help, I can’t imagine the number of dancers who don’t ask. One thing that has become abundantly clear to me is the need for support in our community and the lack of resources, access, and assistance available to help our the real-life culture of our country.

5. Throughout my nearly 13-year performance career, I gave up a great deal to fulfill my life’s biggest dream. From saying no to social events to avoiding activities that had even the slightest risk of injury, traveling for 4 years away from the comfort of my friends and family, and avoiding foods that may add that extra pound of weight onto my body, I sacrificed much to enjoy what I still consider one of the greatest experiences of my life. Now that I am officially retired from the stage, I have been able to enjoy my time in different ways. I now see that there is so much more to life than dance. But that doesn’t mean I love it any less. It is still the focal point of much of my attention. But I don’t limit myself in ways that I used to and I don’t feel like I am missing out as much.

6. While there is often a great deal of competition and comparison throughout a performance career, all former professional dancers share a special bond that connects them once offstage. One of my favorite experiences in recent history came while teaching a master class at Uptown Dance Company in Houston, TX when a former colleague with Houston Ballet took my class. She had been a long-time soloist with the company when I joined as a young apprentice and I looked up to her and respected her time put in. Since I was younger, I remember feeling shy around her. But now that we are both retired and have shared similar career experiences, we shared some good conversation and laughs while reminiscing about our past career lives.

7. When you retire, some aches and pains go away and other aches and pains get worse (The ones that get worse are usually when you are teaching – see previous blog post about this here). But the stress and anxiety that accompanies minor to moderate pain or injury is not nearly as great as when you are preparing to perform.

Papa Bear

8. When I was finishing up my career in my early 30’s, I was often considered older for a dancer. By my late 20’s, I already found myself a guiding force for younger dancers entering the field. In fact, at one gig, I was jokingly referred to as Papa Bear. When I finally decided to officially retire at the age of 32, I suddenly became young again. I can’t tell you how many people have mentioned how young I am for a teacher and choreographer at my level, even at the age of 34. It was quite surprising to see how quickly I went from being old to young again. Perhaps, retirement from a performance career is the real fountain of youth.

9. Dancers are the face of our field. But as I have started to experience how I am treated (whether locally or traveling) as a choreographer and dance educator, I have come to see how absolutely undervalued and mistreated dancers are. When I freelanced around the country as a performer, I had to fiercely negotiate a livable wage, deal with questionable housing accommodations, and handle situations in and out of the studio that most professionals in other fields would never find themselves in. Since I have begun working in my post-performance career, I have been treated much more respectfully when it comes to salary, travel, accommodations, and treatment. This is definitely something that I would like to inspire to change in our field. I am still baffled that dancers, the face of our art form, are so often the least valued commodity in dance.

10. I’m actually more in love with dance than I have ever been. I thought that getting to perform my dream roles in my dream companies would be the pinnacle of my love for the art form. But while those experiences were amazing, there was a certain level of stress and anxiety that went hand-in-hand with preparation activities and live performance. Now that I have succeeded in my performance career and have moved on to teach and choreograph, I get to enjoy every part of the dance world that I love, leave the parts that I don’t love behind, and make sure that almost everything I do is for me, because I want to do it, and to share my passion with others.

My latest cohort of adult dancers in my Absolute Beginner Workshop at Broadway Dance Center – Next Workshop is 4/8/ – 5/27 on Sundays at 6 pm – Sign up at BroadwayDanceCenter.com

Sharing Your Art – Perfectionism vs. Pretension

Sharing our art form with some of my students at Greenwich Ballet Academy

As professional artists, we have worked very hard to perfect our art. In fact, for many of us, our entire lives have been dedicated to perfectionist acts in order to understand, live, and share our art form. For me, it sometimes feels like there is nothing more important than the refinement process in the studio, the artistic process in the psyche, and the exploratory process in the form of play, trial, and error. But at times, I catch myself sharing my artistic practices (something I care about very deeply) as if they have more value than anything else in the world. I’ve wondered over the years whether this makes me impassioned or gives off an air of pretension.

During my time dancing with Pacific Northwest Ballet, I was extremely unaware of the insular artistic bubble that I existed in. While dancing for this high-end organization for 7 seasons, dozens of highly qualified artists worked diligently daily beside one another using collaboration and competition to boost one another to the next level of perfectionism. This works well on an insular level. But it also tends to dissolve an artist’s reality outside of this bubble, as it requires an intense level of commitment and effort. Striving for perfection daily along with constant peer-to-peer comparison creates an atmosphere of exponential growth. But it also cultivates a sense of judgment that (while helpful and understood within our tight-knit community) bled outside of our thickly insulated bubble. This often led to intense scrutiny of all things across our art form as if they were all being judged by the same standards as we were, albeit not sharing our company history or budget. It took me leaving this intense, safe atmosphere to recognize the benefits and downfalls of having a mentality that the work we were doing was more important than most anything else. This was a place where anybody who wasn’t achieving an equally high standard as we were could be judged using words including bad, fat, unmusical, cheap, awful, weak, unqualified, and a variety of other negative descriptions. While this may appear as perfectionist behavior within one community, it may project as pretentious if these unwelcome opinions are shared.

Every dance artist has to start somewhere. Aside from maybe one or two prodigies in every generation that passes by, practically no dancer naturally begins performing technical exercises with perfection, maintains perfect physical form at all times, dances with immaculate musicality, or exudes the inner soul of every character they portray. Most of us start out with recreational intentions. And many of us do so without regards to how our feet are pointed, how fit we are, or how it makes us feel emotionally. All of these characteristics plus passion must be cultivated within an artist over a period of time without judgment beyond constructive individualized criticism. Similarly, all audiences must be shown why it is important for them to be involved in any cultural institution. If we present artists with expectations of pure perfection before they are ready to put that pressure upon themselves, it will be impossible to build the future of our art form.

Sharing a lighter moment w/my dancers at Columbia Ballet Collaborative (Photo: Eduardo Patino)

In my own personal practice as a dance educator and choreographer, I have found myself exploring the practice of making our art form important to my students without coming off as pretentious about the need for extreme effort, motivation, and artistry. Just because I had success in my performance career and love what I do doesn’t mean that anybody who enters my classroom will share the same sentiment as me. Just because I tell a student that something is important doesn’t mean it actually is to them. What I try to do is slowly educate those in my classes about all aspects of our art form. By adding interesting trivia questions at the beginning of class, I subtly educate students on American (and sometimes international) dance culture. Whether listing off major, regional, and civic dance companies, to explaining the company rankings, offering details on full length and one act works, the internal administrative and artistic workings of a company, and choreographers of note, I offer information that a student can take home with them and research if they find it interesting. Beyond this, I use other tactics to motivate physical and artistic development. Only when we pique a blossoming artist’s interest can dance become something more than an after-school activity.

When I first started teaching, I expected dancers to work hard because I already had them in my classroom. What I found was that many dancers didn’t understand why they had to work hard or know how to work hard in a way that was effective. My perfectionist tendencies would project onto students and come off as pretentious because they had not yet bought into the process or the need to create a sense of importance around their work in the studio. It is necessary to buy-in to do many tasks that artists do. Why do I care that I am holding my leg at or above 90 degrees for 8 counts? Why does it matter if I do or don’t let my standing leg give out in a pirouette. Lately, I have found myself telling students that, in the grand scheme of the world, it isn’t important that they want to do these things. But in order to accomplish these feats, it is integral that in those moments they are working in class or onstage that they feel that the work is the most important thing on earth. Only then can we accomplish superhuman feats. But it is also important while working with impressionable students (young to senior) that we remind them that there is a reality outside of our beautiful art form that must be recognized.

Looking at the separation between pretension and perfection in our art form also lies in who we are interacting with and how we respond to others that we feel haven’t yet obtained the same level of execution or understanding that we have. If something is important to me, but not you, and I really push the point, I may come off as pretentious. We too often share the tendency to tear down others in their process of finding artistic excellence, especially without consideration for where they came from and where they are going. I remember when I first started my 4 years freelancing with multiple established and fledgling professional organizations across the country. Only having the standards that surrounded me during my time dancing at PNB, I judgmentally felt that anything that wasn’t on the level of work that I had been a part of during my tenure there was either bad, dysfunctional, or laughable. I was afraid to share some of what I was doing publicly for fear of humiliation when viewed through the eyes of my former colleagues. But what I learned throughout this period was one of the most important lessons I’ve learned throughout the entirety of my nearly 16 year career, thus far. We must remember that we are not all dancing along parallel tracks of artistic growth and expectation. We all exist in different stages of our art form and all have different purposes that can grow or reroute at any time.  A great example of this can be seen in the differences between dance organizations across the country. Some regional dance companies are still in the audience education period of their organization’s growth. Yes, their practices may currently be flawed. Yes, the quality of their performances may pale in comparison to companies with multi-million dollar budgets. But most of the nation’s finest cultural institutions started this way. Look at American Ballet Theatre. When they were merely just Ballet Theatre touring around the country by bus and performing in any and every theatre possible, they probably didn’t have the finest quality productions. Additionally, there was no nationwide comparison to vouch for the quality of these dancers. But look at them today. They are one of the leading arts organizations in the world.

The important thing to recognize here is that all artists are an important part of our community, whatever stage they are at in our art form. And in order to continue cultivating dance into a sustainable place, we must develop the importance of perfectionist actions through a carefully curated process that neither pushes potential artists away from the art form, nor tears down working artists that are not quite as far down their professional path as you are. If a young dancer stops training because the teacher doesn’t slowly allow them to explore why our art form is important, we have failed. If younger arts organizations try to force their audience to understand our art form too quickly, people will look at the organization as if they are pretentious and the company may begin to lose support. Without community support an arts organization can no longer exist. Pretension is a turn off that slows down or completely halts the progress of our art. For this reason, it is so important that we don’t let our own personal or “insular-bubble” perfectionism project unto others. Instead, I find it best to offer a helping hand that is ready to offer guidance and insight only when an artist is ready to accept it.

Teaching Hurts

Demonstrating Contemporary Movement at a Private Lesson

As professional athletic artists, we come to expect to be in some sort of minor or major pain for a majority of our performance careers. Whether these aches are caused by day to day muscle fatigue or a more acute injury that requires rest, recovery, and healing, we are educated from early on in our training that these issues are a common hazard for dancers. I remember moments throughout my career where I dreamt of the days after I retire from the stage (of course, I hoped this would be after a prestigious performance career) and imagined myself guiding students through the rigors of professional track training free of pain and worry. Well, this day dream clearly wasn’t a reality because one of the biggest lessons I have learned in the early stages of my career as a dance educator is that teaching hurts!

Working with my niece

Every one of us who has built our technique to a professional level knows how strenuous dance training can be. But what many instructors don’t realize is that, while not completely the same as a student in class, teaching is also taxing on the body. I have a particularly unique perspective here since I teach both ballet and contemporary technique classes to students ranging from recreational to professional. While there is a different approach to teaching each of these distinct styles of dance and level of students, I have found that I am in pain and at risk of injury just as much, if not more, than I was throughout my performance career. Why is this?

Being a younger instructor, I can still perform most of class at a high level. Even teachers who have been out of their performance careers for some time know how to fully execute the entire range of dance vocabulary and can still perform exercises with aplomb. Often, in our efforts to demonstrate for students, we forget that we weren’t warm to start with, we were warm and aren’t anymore (which is common when teaching multiple classes in a row), or we are constantly showing exercises on one side of our bodies (creating fatigue and imbalance in our muscles). It may not seem like a big deal when you are giving a plié or tendu exercise. But as we move to more extensive parts of class that include higher extensions or batterie, petite allegro, and grand allegro, we are likely to forget that we aren’t properly prepared to execute these steps. Giving class often tricks our mind into thinking that we are taking class because we go through the same pattern we did every day as a kid, teen, and professional. Only we aren’t performing these combinations beyond showing them to students. And in a moment where we are trying to convey the appropriate execution of a step to a student, we may forget that our ankles, legs, hips, and backs are not properly warmed up to show and share our physical knowledge.

While not always possible (some days I teach first thing in the morning), I endeavor to take morning class or to arrive early and give myself a barre before I teach. I have found that this helps me in the same way that warming up did when I was preparing for rehearsals or the stage. Sometimes, in my company life, I wouldn’t have rehearsal the first few hours of the day. But as long as I took class in the morning, my body only required a very short half barre to feel good enough to work through rehearsals. I find this helps greatly.

Working with Columbia Ballet Collaborative (Photo: Eduardo Patino)

While this approach is generally helpful for my ballet classes, I am still navigating a safe approach when teaching contemporary technique. I have found that I am more at risk here due to the nature and structure of these types of classes. Over the past year and a half, I have been developing a codified contemporary training syllabus that is excitingly gaining traction. Where my classes first mimicked the format of a master class (warm up, technique exercises, choreography combo), they have grown into codified steps that can be strung together into combinations in the same way a ballet class does. Since I am currently the only one that knows these exercises (hopefully not for long), the movement is foreign to most people. In order to effectively teach certain movements, it is necessary for me to show steps full-out for much of class. With contemporary movement tending to be more off-center and less upright, it can really take a toll on one’s body. While I warm up earlier in the day for ballet classes with ballet, I need to be extra warm for contemporary classes right as they start. Unfortunately, my schedule rarely allots me this luxury. So, this is still a work in progress. While I prefer to walk around and correct my students, sometimes I find it necessary to join in performing exercises to make sure I am getting warm and staying warm. It is a tricky line to walk to ensure that my students are getting the most out of my classes and making sure I am warm enough to protect my instrument. One step I hope to take in the near future to counter stresses put on my body as a contemporary instructor is to cultivate enough dancers who know my technique to offer opportunities for students to assist in my classes. This will help me train dancers without risking injury and hopefully increase the longevity of my career.

One major commonality I have noticed among my colleagues is that teachers tend not to take care of pain and injuries in the same way that performers do. While dancing for Pacific Northwest Ballet, I had access to world class physical therapy, had regular massages, and addressed even minor aches and pains at onset of symptoms. Under the assumption that my teaching career would be easier on my body, I didn’t really head to the front of the studio with a game plan on taking care of myself. I remember the first time I spent more than an hour and a half at the front of the studio. I came home in shock, awe, and OW that I was so physically and emotionally exhausted. But this experience didn’t lead to an immediate sense of what my body required to continue teaching pain-free. Just like many dancers working professionally, it took my first real injury as a teacher to really raise my awareness and to take better care of my body.

While I am still not as good at taking care of my physical self as I would like to be, I see a chiropractor almost weekly, I am seeking a physical therapist I can reach out to without having to go through my doctor, and I try to get massages here and there. Of course, there is always the burden of affordability and financial stability. But as I move deeper into my career as a dance educator, I see how important it is to have a game plan and figure this out. It was really eye opening for me to realize what my teachers had gone through to pass on our incredible art form to me. And I am learning that if I want to do the same, that I have to be sure to take care of myself to ensure longevity in this second stage of my career.

(How do you take care of yourself in and out of the studio? Feel free to leave your answer in the comments)

Should I Teach “Hands-On?”

Teaching my Contemporary Ballet Workshop in Anchorage, AK (Photo: Pamela Montgomery)

I was probably about 15 years old when this conversation occurred. It happened around the time I became extremely serious about the prospect of having a dance career. The director of my local dance school, seeing my drive and ambition, asked me to work as a teaching assistant for one of the main ballet instructors. She had asked to meet with me to discuss the details of my new job. Initially, she explained what my role was in the studio, expectations of me in the position, and more. But as we approached the end of my meeting, I wasn’t expecting the conversation to take the serious turn that it did. “Now, Barry, I need you to be very, very careful about how you work with these young girls. Kids are sensitive and, especially considering that you are a man, if you correct them in a way that can be viewed as sexual by either a student or a parent, even if you didn’t do anything, you could be jeopardizing your future as a teacher and in this field.” The look on my face must have been utter shock, as the prospect of losing my job or getting sued over sharing my art form had never crossed my mind. This forever changed my perspective on being a dance educator and I still find myself overly cautious about the way that I work with my students today.

Peter Martins (Photo: Jakob Dall – NY Times)

Unless you’ve been hiding underneath a holiday blanket, it has become abundantly clear that we are undergoing a massive cultural shift here in the grand ole U.S. of A. It started in the entertainment industry, then shifted to major corporations. Sexual misconduct in the form of harassment and assault that had been swept under the rug for years began to bubble to the surface. Things began to boil quite quickly and those interested in our performing arts world were beginning to speculate if something was going to be brought up in our tight-knit community, especially considering the hands-on approach that teachers have with students, dancers have with other dancers, and artistic staff has while coaching employees. I had to sit on my own hands for over a month as I was given a heads up that a major news publication was working on an exposé about Peter Martins and his many abuses (which had been quietly circulating around our dance community for years). While the subsequent investigation into Mr. Martins’ behavior has yet to be complete, this has reignited my childhood concern about misinterpretation of touch in a class or rehearsal setting.

I’ve struggled throughout the entirety of my career as a dance educator with the decision on whether I should be a hands-on teacher or not. Dance is essentially the art of ultimate control of one’s own body. Understanding how to use your body correctly could mean the difference between an amazing feat or a debilitating injury. For example, proper execution as a student lifts their leg in adagio could result in greater height, better line, and exaggerated lift in the working leg. But more important than how it looks, a student who is not properly supporting and lifting their leg at superhuman heights can cause bulky muscles, seizing cramps, painful hip tendonitis, or worse. Sometimes, a teacher has to put their hands on a student to show them what their body should feel like when they aren’t properly aligned or are supporting themselves incorrectly. I know for a fact that this is effective. And I look back fondly on my teachers who were willing to get hands-on to show me how to work properly and assist me on my path towards my performance career. For this reason, I have made the decision to be one of those teachers that shares a very hands-on approach to teaching. Though, to be completely honest with you, I’m frightened by the idea of a poorly placed correction or an extremely sensitive student misinterpreting the intended purpose of physical adjustment.

I feel that this item isn’t as much of an issue for female teachers (though, I do know for a fact that they also have to deal with concerns about physically touching students for corrections) because of a few sensationalized cases of inappropriate teacher/student contact, which historically have been committed by males. In fact, there was recently a guest instructor who was arrested on the premises of a well-known New York dance school for sexually assaulting an underage boy at another one of his jobs. I was shocked to hear about this just as much as anybody else, especially considering that he hired me to teach master classes at his school in the past. But what was most disappointing for me here was that it gave dance parents fresh reason to be concerned that their kid’s teachers could act inappropriately towards their young ones. It is easy for protective parents to focus on one negative story. But for the few stories that have ever come out about these unfortunate circumstances, there are millions of positive experiences that students have with their teachers every day. It is important that schools focus on this and cultivate a safe environment that also includes educating parents/families on what is happening inside their studios.

Since dance is the art form of controlling our own physicality, we require students to wear skin tight clothing that shows physical alignment and muscle movement. This uniform leaves eager to please, impressionable children and teens exposed in a way that wouldn’t be acceptable in many places outside of a dance studio. If a student’s school isn’t educating their student body and their respective families about what is happening in the studio, this could lead to a more sensitive environment that could potentially be harmful to a qualified teacher’s career. Every school that I work for must have a waiver that is signed by all parents explaining that physical touch is an integral part of the learning process of dance. I refuse to work for a school that doesn’t have this protective measure in place. Beyond this, it is important that schools have regular parent observation days. Allowing parents to take a step into the learning process can offer them a better perspective on why certain practices are necessary.

Hands-On Teaching (Photo: Pamela Montgomery)

I feel that my hands-on approach has really helped push my teaching career forward at a faster rate, especially in my open classes at Broadway Dance Center and Steps on Broadway, where corrections are often less frequent than other educational settings. Like I said, I am still a bit nervous that a misplaced hand or a sensitive student could cause issues. But I have enforced a handful of practices that I hope will continue to protect me as I offer the best training I can in ballet and contemporary dance techniques. First and foremost, whether I am giving a private lesson or conducting a large master class, if there are no windows into the studio, I will try to keep the door open. I have nothing to hide, so I feel that an open door policy allows anybody to view the classroom/rehearsal process. From here, I try to fashion the touch in my physical corrections into the most obvious, non-sexual type of touch possible. If I am working with a group of students that are not used to my physical corrections, I will often ask the student before I adjust them, “Are you comfortable if I move your body to show you how to do it correctly?” This is often met with a positive response. Though, I am respectful if the student tells me no. When correcting, I adjust students with the sides of my hands or with my palm while my fingers are glued together like a spatula. Fingers tend to be more touchy-feely and can have misinterpreted intentions, so I try to avoid using my fingers as much as possible. If I do absolutely need to use my fingers, I will make sure they are rigid and avoid any inappropriate places. When a student requires corrections anywhere near any private area, I absolutely do not apply physical corrections. Instead, if it is a correction near or on the pelvis, I will show by pointing to myself. If it is close to the chest area, I will often pretend like there is an invisible string attached to their chest and imitate the act of pulling on the string to get them to shift their chest placement. If there is anything involving the rear-end, if it is along the sides of the hips or high enough like the gluteus medius, I will use the sides of my hands or a knuckle with my fingers tucked into my palm. The final protection that I enforce as a dance educator is that I will ABSOLUTELY NOT follow a student into a private place. If I need a student who is in the dressing room or in a bathroom, I will ask a parent or a peer to get them. This way there is never any question that I have been around a student in a private setting.

There is no better teacher than one who can build you up with confidence as they teach you our deftly difficult art form. It is pertinent that students receive information with clarity. I honestly don’t feel that anybody can become a professional dancer without any physical adjustments. Our American culture tends to be touch-sensitive, which can sometimes leave students feeling extremely cautious about any type of physical adjustment from teachers. I made the decision at the beginning of my teaching career that I would be one of those teachers that risk their livelihood to offer the best training to my students possible. And, it has worked thus far. But I would be lying if I didn’t say that I approach each and every classroom I teach with tentativeness and an ounce of fear that one of my well-intended corrections may be misinterpreted as the worst of intentions. What has your experience been with physically correcting your students? Do you do it or not? And, if so, how do you approach making these corrections and protecting yourself as a dance educator?

Do I Stop Dancing When I Retire?

 

Patricia Barker in her famous tendu curtsy

I remember one of the first times I stood onstage as a colleague experienced retirement from their illustrious stage career. This didn’t happen to be any casual final bow. The lady that stood before me, our company, and her adoring audience had been one of the major factors in increasing Pacific Northwest Ballet’s visibility on the national stage and building the reputation for it being the feet and leg company of the United States. Patricia Barker, now the Artistic Director of both Royal New Zealand Ballet and Grand Rapids Ballet, had been dancing at PNB her entire life. She was home-grown talent that became internationally-known as a Balanchine Queen. Even into her 40’s, she was dancing quite well and proved this by dancing an entire evening of works that represented her career and importance to this institution. When the curtain rose one final time, I clearly remember watching Patricia curtsying bent over in a tendu en croisée devant with her famous feet, which she often liked to do. As I watched bouquets of flowers launch onstage out of the darkness, felt the tickle of confetti pour over my head, and clapped my hands numb for what must have been 20 full minutes, I remember thinking, “Wow! This is the end for her. Does she just stop dancing?” When the woman we often affectionately called Patty returned to PNB a few months after retirement, I remember a short conversation that still plays clearly in my mind. Patricia had cut her famously long, blonde hair to about chin length, she had spent a ton of time in Hawaii learning to surf, and she had not taken class since the day she took her final bow. Now, the hair and the surfing, I totally understood. You have to maintain a certain type of appearance for the stage and you have to be very careful about your outside activities to protect your body from unnecessary injury. But prior to this I had never thought that once a dancer steps offstage that they just stop dancing cold turkey.

For almost every professional dancer out there, taking class most mornings is as much a morning ritual as brushing your teeth or drinking a cup of coffee. When you first start taking class, it is commonly in the late afternoon or early evening as an after-school activity. If you are lucky enough to make it as far as your finishing training, your schedule begins to resemble that of a professional dancer. The first class of the day for most pre-professional training programs is either before or concurrent with company class. Once a dancer becomes a professional, they spend nearly every morning waking up at barre, refining their technique in center, and warming up their body for the rest of their rehearsal day. By the time that any dancer has had any substantial career, this means that they have likely been taking ballet classes daily for anywhere from two to three decades. If a dancer retires and decides to break that pattern immediately, my assumption is that there must be physical, emotional, and neurological consequences.

While I had always dreamt that my exit from the stage would be at least half of what Patricia had, I didn’t expect my career to end the way it did. After 7 seasons with Pacific Northwest Ballet, a failed transition to Ballet X, and a 4-year national freelance career, I became badly injured. Beyond the fact that I was trying to stabilize my career away from freelancing to avoid traveling so much and I wasn’t always dancing in appropriate conditions, I truly think a major reason for such a devastating injury was due to severe burn out that I had not addressed. I gave myself some time to recover by taking a hiatus to direct Alaska Dance Theatre. Since I wasn’t sure if this was going to be my transition (and if it wasn’t, I fully expected to return to the stage), I continued giving myself class most mornings before my work day began. When I decided not to continue on with that organization after my interim contract had expired, I returned home to Philadelphia to prepare my return to the stage. It was January, so I had some time before audition season would arrive. I got back in class, I spent the longest period of time at my home in 4 years (5 months), and I began coming up with a game plan for audition season. I was still coping with the injury that had derailed my career nearly 9 months earlier. But, even worse, I couldn’t wake up in time for the morning open classes I would often take during my freelance career. And when it came time for the evening open classes, I would often come up with excuses to avoid them. I didn’t want to take class, but I felt guilty that I wasn’t following my plan. To remedy this situation, I began giving myself class at my local gym a few times a week.

Prepping to give myself class at the gym

While I was depressed and avoiding most structured classes (which I didn’t realize was a result of my burn out), I spent 8 months staying in shape doing pliés and tendus in an aerobics studio planning my return. I was essentially retired at this point, but there was absolutely no chance that these words were going to come out of my mouth. I hadn’t resolved my career, nor had I moved on. But I was still taking class, even if it was my own. I didn’t even realize it, but I was cultivating my future as a teacher and continuing my daily ritual without having to define the parameters of retirement. By the time I started super commuting to New York City and started to fall in love with taking class again (thanks to the inspiration of Nancy Bielski), I finally saw through the smoky, hazy fog that had been hovering over my career for nearly 2 1/2 years and decided to officially call it quits from the major part of my performance career. Luckily, I had already laid the ground work for my post-performance career, which included continuing my ritual comfort of taking class as often as possible.

I’ve had this conversation about continuing to dance a handful of times over the past year. It seems that there is almost an understood notion that once a dancer retires, they should no longer be a dancer. And, to be completely honest, that hurts my soul. I’ve discussed on my podcast how a dance career is a major relationship and how the end of a dance career can feel the same as a divorce or major break up. On many occasions, when a relationship that deep ends, the two parties feel that they must sever the things that once connected them so strongly. But what too many people often figure out down the road is that the relationship changed them for the better in many ways. And to ignore what got them to that place would only hurt them in the long run. I know this is a roundabout way of getting to my point, but I feel that taking class and continuing to dance as a retiree is the same thing.

PNB Company Class (Photo: Kurt Smith)

We spend most classes staring in the mirror, assessing our needs and criticizing our art. It just happens that our art is our very being. When our body starts to betray us (whether weight, injury, or age), we often become negative about our relationship with dance. Add the fact that most days a dancer enters the studio, they are either physically exhausted, mentally exhausted, or both. So, when a dancer finally gets a chance to release themselves from the commitment of our daily ritual, they go full out and remove it from their lives altogether. But in my own personal journey, I am so very glad that I didn’t have an official retirement, as it likely prevented me from accidentally removing my class ritual from my life.

When I take class most days, I find that my body feels and functions better and I am much happier and more positive. From my own personal experience, I am convinced that former professionals NEED to continue taking class for their own physical and mental health. I’ve read studies that the brain creates pathways with repeated actions in order for more economical function. If a dancer stops taking class for a few weeks, the brain doesn’t necessarily notice that this pathway has been neglected. But if a dancer stops using this pathway altogether, I believe it is disruptive on a cellular level. I’ve talked to retired professionals who stopped class for an extended period of time, only to find themselves back in class after suffering severe depression and increased body pain due to lack of movement in their daily lives. There must be something to be said about this.

One of the most validating conversations I’ve had in recent years was with an established choreographer and good friend of mine, Val Caniparoli. As I began transitioning my focus to teaching and choreographing, I asked him if he missed dancing. In his special form of sass, he turned to me and exclaimed, “What do you mean? I am still a dancer. I dance every day.” In that moment, it was so important for me to hear him say that. I had been grappling with the idea of losing my identity as a dancer because I was no longer performing for audiences numbering in the thousands nightly. But the reality here is that I am still a dancer, I am still in the studio moving every day, and I love continuing to learn about my body, technique, and art daily. We need to take away this idea that the dancer part of us ends with our dance career and remind ourselves that we will always be dancers. Just like a tattoo imprinted onto your skin, it is practically impossible to remove all that we become when we embark on a career as a dancer. The only difference here is that dancer isn’t a label, it is a human trait . We will always have a sense of being a dancer in our muscles and minds. And we should do everything we can to acknowledge that and provide our dancer selves the physical nutrition we require.