So I thought I could Dance

People have been dancing forever. We danced for the gods, for our ancestors, to celebrate a bountiful harvest or special occasion, and in many cases, just for the hell of it.

There is a show on television called “So You Think You Can Dance” in which dancers compete against each other, much like on “American Idol.” The show is entertaining enough, until the judges and viewers start criticizing beautiful dancers for missing a jump or a turned in foot.

If you asked these dancers why they are on the show, they may say something like how much they love it or how it is an outlet for expression. But if that were true, I would be up there with them.

In today’s world, people dance because they are talented.

We all know them, the kids who have been ballerinas since they were three and dropped out of school to join professional companies. The girl who eats a quarter cup of cheese on her salad. Their feet bleed and they never sleep, all for the love of dance.

But not everyone can have this life. Only the select few, the lucky ones, who are talented enough to compete professionally. The ones who live by an idea that in my opinion, ruined the art of dance. They are the ones with perfect technique.

So where did technique come from? I highly doubt the Native Americans or African tribes were concerned with proper technique. By “technique” I mean the list of rules that all talented dancers must follow, like point your feet or spot your turns. If you ever watch an episode of “So You Think You Can Dance” you will get a big lesson in technique.

Personally, I blame it on the emergence of ballet in 15th century Italy. It began as a dance of the court, and as it spread across Europe it became the first dance with its own rules and vocabulary.

While I have been in and out of class and the stage for over 7 years, I would hardly consider myself a “dancer.” Any talent I possess is pure consequence of hard work and extremely good coaching. I do not pretend to have any natural talent or predisposition for dance. Or any concern for my “technique.”

A longer history of music lessons and choir classes has given me a well-trained ear for musicality and rhythm. But none of that can get you to switch leap.

People who know me now would probably never guess it, but I was a child of the theater during high school. The thrill of tech week and opening night, being the chorus girl. This is where my experience with dance began, when I was fourteen. They were some of the greatest years of my life. But the only downside of doing musical theater, were the other performers.

Only after leaving for college do you realize how silly some things are. Like foregoing homework for late night rehearsals. Like dropping ten pounds in one month and acting like its no big deal. Like loosing track of where the stage ends and the real world begins.

People who perform tend to be a bit over dramatic anyway. They are people who need every emotion they have at their beck and call. It is no wonder why most of them cannot control it. But the unfortunate part is the amount of personal investment performers put into their success. As if some how the ability to hit the high C or triple pirouette says something about their personal worth.

And its no surprise they act this way. Every dance flick ever made has a message reading something like this, “You can accomplish anything if you just believe in yourself and want it badly enough.” There are some obvious flaws with this reasoning.

While confidence is key, just “believing in yourself” is not going to fix everything for you. My bad hip eliminates my ability to do any sort of impressive high kicks or extensions without severe pain. No amount of confidence will fix that.

But because making performing arts a real profession is so competitive, young performers are taught to build confidence. And confidence breeds egos. Big ones.

It is not the sort of person I’m keen on becoming anyway.

So I try to embrace the way I am, to be proud of how much I have improved and how hard I have worked despite my short torso and creaky hips. I love my average abilities and remind myself of this every time I walk into dance class and I see the dance majors whose talent is often far superior to my own.

It is hard sometimes to have a hobby when people assume that because you are dancing, you must be a “dancer.” It is much more easier for young people today to pick one thing and excel at it than to experiment with several different talents. We are raised to avoid the things we’re bad at. The kids picked last for kickball were not the ones who wanted to play the least; they were the least “talented.”

For those of you who have ever wanted to try something new: play soccer, go rock climbing, sing karaoke, or even take a dance class, do not let the “talented” ones stop you. Do not be afraid of failure. Be afraid of becoming someone who never takes risks, or quits because they don’t have a natural turn out.

If you love what you do, talent is never going to really matter.