Becoming a Dancer

What does it take to become a dancer?

I just parted with my whole life’s worth of pointe shoes. My parents are moving, I’m always on the move, and quite frankly, I have no use for these shoes besides sentimentality. Thanks to my (unfortunately) excellent memory, I can remember which pair I wore for each Nutcracker and recital and class in college.

Looking at the pile of shoes made me think about what I have endured in pursuit of becoming a dancer. On the surface level, becoming a dancer takes hundreds of hours of practice (and pointe shoes). Boy, have I put in the work. From dance classes at night in high school to 8am ballet class to rehearsals that stretch well past midnight, those 10,000 hours of training have been grueling and exhausting.

But that’s not all it takes. I could dance alone in a studio for hours on end and never really get anywhere.

Last week, I participated in Los Angeles Contemporary Dance Company's Winter Intensive, and I spent three days working with a group of dancers. By the end of the experience, I had a new community, formed by the camaraderie of soreness and sweat. We joked that we will probably be sore for the rest of our lives, which is a bit unsettling, but feels more exciting to me when I think about my future in dance.

No amount of muscles soreness and lack of sleep makes a dancer - if that's all it took, I would have quit years ago. Becoming a dancer really is about community, about the support system of people who have stood behind me, believing in both me and dance.

I never would have stepped foot in a dance class if it weren't for my mom. Thanks to my bad eyesight and my good pediatrician, my mom enrolled me in a ballet class. On the first day, I refused to even go into the class, partially because I was afraid and also because the teacher was a man (not the ballerina I expected). After a long conversation about trying new things and the value of going to classes that are paid for (my memory is so good it hurts), I went back to the next class and have never looked back.

This does not mean that dance has been easy. In fact, dancing is perhaps the most difficult thing I have ever done. Maybe that's why I like it so much - it's elusive and unclear and I never fully perfect any of it. I have thought about quitting more times that I can count.

In high school, it became clear my body was not going to cooperate with ballet, and I despaired, believing it was ballet or bust. I made plans to run cross country instead. Again, my mom saved the day and found a dance studio that supported all body types and believed in ballet, as well as other types of dance.

I've come to depend on the countless analogies my dad makes between dance and football to prove that nepotism and politics happen in all fields. He always reminds me to keep fighting for my dreams, even when other people deem them impossible or unstable.

Still, I wanted to quit dancing pretty much my whole freshmen year of college. I did not get cast in the fall show, not even as an understudy. The remedial ballet classes I took during my first semester made me despair - I asked one professor if I could take the class en pointe to make it more difficult for myself, and she straight up told me I was not good enough. I cried a lot that day.

During the second semester of freshmen year, my love of dance was saved by another ballet teacher who believed in me. I have taken his class every semester since, and I wear pointe shoes for that class now.

It's easy to forget all the smaller times I've wanted to quit -  a really bad jazz placement audition that went so poorly I cried in the middle of the final combination, another audition that went well and I still did not get cast, a semester of classes lasting from 8am to 9pm every Thursday that nearly took the life out of me.

After each of these little struggles, I depended on the community around me to pull me up. Dance is not a solitary endeavor, though it can often feel that way. During one bad day, a friend held my shoulders while I cried and she said, "Gillian, it's just dance, and you love dance." I will never forget that moment.

I am so grateful for my dance teachers and fellow dancers who have held my hand along the way. I would not be here without them. Every time I have wanted to give up, they have reminded me that dance is about so much more than supposed success or failure. After a failed audition, a professor sent me an email with the message, "Dance belongs to you. It isn't owned by anyone but you. Dance is you."

I'm thankful for the people in my life who have financially supported my dance education. My parents and grandparents have supported me with generosity and kindness, even when they don't necessarily understand the path of an artist.

I'm thankful for Boulder Body Wear, my local dance store that has supplied all of my leotards, tights, and pointe shoes throughout the years. No online website can compare to the community I have in this store.

I'm thankful for all the people who come to watch me dance, especially those who may not care about dance but do care about me. It is you, the audience, that keeps dance alive.

So, what does it take to make a dancer? Sure, some of it is blood, sweat, and tears. But more so, it takes love and perseverance. Community and individualism. Strength and softness. Generosity and tenacity. And a whole lot of shoes.