On Dancing for Joy! (And not to be truly great)

 I am currently on a fantasy kick.

I began reading Ninth House earlier this week after borrowing it from the library. I’m a huge DarlingtonxStern supporter already; I’m hooked. The Secret History by Donna Tartt was a favorite book of mine in my teenage years and Bardugo’s book reminds me of it, but it’s also startlingly different and exquisitely darker.

I’m late to the game reading this book, I know (a quick aside: this is notorious for me. I’m late to a lot of trends, just like I’m late to everything, including becoming a dancer which will be the focus of this article).

Keep reading, if you’re still with me. I’m getting there. It’s going to make sense.

In Ninth House, without giving too much away, “talent” is a central theme. Questions are posed about it’s murky origins: when is it duly or unduly earned, when is it natural, do all have the privilege to acquire it? To explore it?

A passing quote took hold of me and still hasn’t let me go. A supporting character says to our FMC Alex Stern:

“I will not accuse you of false humility. I trust you to know your own talents.” … “The world is quite hard on artists who are good but not truly great. So. You wish what? Stability? A steady job?”

I really do wrestle with this. I know I’m decent – good but not great – as a dance artist. I’m self-aware enough to see this, and yet I still care so deeply that I’m not better, to the point where I think it actually stops my dancing from being better. Because at times, due to all the pressure, there’s a lack of joy behind it.

To explain a little bit about this conundrum I am thinking back to a particular moment in time:

In 2019, I found out a so-called (at the time; thank goodness no longer) “friend” of mine had told someone else I’m close to “Iris is kind of a bad and awkward dancer, yikes,” after seeing me perform in college. This of course wasn’t the only criticism I’ve received, and I don’t take all of them to heart like this. However, it hit home because this comment was so opposite to how she acted towards me, to the praise she levied my way to my face.

To be fair, I knew at the time that realistically, yes, I wasn’t good or even great. I’d started taking dancing seriously only in 2016, at the age of 19, and wasn’t super technically trained. (Also during this particular show, I would like to note that I had mono and was recovering from a badly sprained ankle). Still, it was a huge knock to my confidence. I’d been cast on stage. I was putting myself out there. It’s an incredibly vulnerable feat for anyone. And getting knocked down like that…well, it hurts.

So, it stung. It still does. And what hurts even more than all that is the fact that, try as I might, I no longer often trust people who now say my dancing is good or even great. I find it extremely hard to trust my friends or my loved ones, even if they perhaps genuinely mean it. And that’s sad. Because this same girl was so kind to my face, and so degrading when I wasn’t looking, it has left its mark on my faith in both myself and others.

What makes me sad most of all, is that I’m realizing something puzzling on its surface but obvious underneath. Simultaneously, my lack of trust has become interlinked with a desperate seeking of validation (cringe). I so wholeheartedly want to be great, want no one to criticize me in that way ever again, that I’ve forgotten how to dance for joy in every instance. Of course, it’s partly the fault of our times – dance is so linked now to social media, to influencer culture, to visibility, and highlight reels, and shock factor. People get noticed because of how many followers or likes they have. But when (and more importantly, why the fuck) did I stop caring if I even felt happy when dancing and only cared if other people approved?

I’m trying to let go of it. If one person likes what I do and everyone else hates it but I’m experiencing joy, I’m having fun, then screw it. That’s exactly how I’m going to keep dancing. For joy.

And you should too!