The universe is indifferent

Dance, much like music, is more than a job or a career, it's a lifestyle. It's all-consuming. It's addictive. It decides why you do the things that you do during the day. It's personal and complicated and sometimes you hate it. Sometimes you love it. It's the medium for how you express who you are. It's nothing if not dramatic.

It's punishing, difficult, and disappointing.

If it was easy, everyone would do it. And we are not everyone. 

What is the tap dance lifestyle, then? It's really just a life-style. Practicing humility. Listening more than you speak. Acknowledging where you came from. Admitting that you don't know anything. Losing all fear to realize your full potential. Doing your best work.

As I reach more people through the studio, I realize that I have enough experience now, to become the person I needed when I was younger, when I was wound more tight, when I was too afraid to put myself out there. I've been through it. I can relate.

It's experience balanced with a healthy dash of coincidence and magic. The world put me in the same place with dance teachers who handed me lessons that I didn't even understand or reap the fruit of, until decades later, when I needed them most. Somehow, in their wisdom, they were the person I needed. They saw I needed the lesson then. Bugger for me, though, it took ME the decades of life and study to take the knowledge to heart. 

One of the most powerful lessons I ever received about dance and life came from Mr. Stephan, who I wrote about briefly in my introductory blog post about the Next Generation Dance Theater, and he also makes an appearance in my post about Maurice Hines

In those earlier posts, I wrote a little bit about how I didn't fit in with the kids at Next Generation. First of all, I was much younger than all of them. This meant that when they were talking about boys and parties and high school, all I could offer to the conversation was how much I liked Babysitters Club books. Second of all, I was a much worse dancer than all of them, years behind them in training. I've never been a super extroverted person to begin with, and at 11 years old, awkward, shy and hopelessly uncool, my defense mechanism was to hide. 

I guess Mr. Stephan noticed it long before I did, because when he finally said something about it, he was SUPER annoyed at me.

One Saturday afternoon, at the start of his jazz class, I creeped into the studio, shut the door quietly, and scurried to the back of the room. I wasn't doing a great job of disappearing, though. In true 90's dance fashion, I was wearing those enormous "garbage bag" pants that made 80-pound me look like I was encased in a powder-blue space suit. Plus, those pants squeaked! (So tragic!)

I hear a loud voice.

"WILL YOU *PLEASE* STOP TIPTOEING AROUND AND RUNNING TO THE BACK OF THE ROOM? I CAN'T STAND IT!"

Me?

Oh no, it's me.

Commence me trying to smile to hide the tears that were about to start falling.

"WHEN YOU WALK INTO A ROOM, WALK INTO A ROOM!" "WALK INTO A ROOM!"

"YOU SHOULD NEVER ENTER A ROOM LIKE A SILLY CHURCH MOUSE!" (yes, he said that...seared into my brain).

"AND WILL YOU PLEASE TAKE OFF THOSE PANTS THAT YOU'RE HIDING BEHIND!"

Mr. Stephan made me remove all my practice clothes and walk back into the room with confidence, some attitude. I think I did a sad jazz walk, while everyone stared. I was mortified. Everyone was snickering. It made the punishment even worse. The extra attention and his attempt to help me had no impact on me at all, then. I wanted to dance, sure, but I didn't want to be seen. I'm not sure I wanted to be seen for YEARS after that, although dancing was all I did.

It's a dance and life lesson: if you have something vital to say, you have to be 100% OK with being seen. Even more than that, you have to have a strong, passionate desire to WANT to be seen. It's not ego, it's survival. 

Why? Because the universe is indifferent.

Also?

The universe is competitive.

And it's brutal.

It's full of people who want to be seen. It's full of people who want to be seen but who have nothing to say. For that reason, they are also deeply afraid. If these outwardly-arrogant-but-inwardly-insecure people sense fear, they will take that opportunity to win, to take advantage of you, to take what you want to say and make it theirs. Why? It's easier than facing their own fears. No matter what you do in life, these rules are pretty consistent. 

(And now I know why LaVaughn Robinson only ever taught ONE combination in class. ONE. That's all he was giving up).

Anyway, scurrying to the back line like a church mouse isn't going to make anyone say, "aw, isn't that cute?" Even at 11 years old, it's a blaring signal that you don't believe in yourself.

Years upon years of dance and life experiences later, I have to say that this is the lesson I've had to learn and re-learn the most. What I wouldn't have given to have learned it on that day when I was 11 years old! But, I think it's all part of the process, it's just the task of taking on the lifestyle and embodying the purpose that we are all individually given. You have to face the insecurities, come up against yourself, and take giant steps forward, all the time. It's not ego, it's survival.

And, if there's anything the universe is indifferent about, it's tap dance. Only a few of us do it, because, it's not easy. It's up to us to plant ourselves in the front line.

Build a tap floor, too, maybe.

All of it.