Just Dance

I did not want to watch Dancing With the Stars. Reality TV fills me with a visceral horror. At weddings, the prospect of hurling my body around the dance floor in front of hundreds of strangers paralyzes me with existential despair.

But when my stepmom turned down dinner with me—and she LOVES dinner (and me)—due to her constitutional inability to miss a single episode of this show, my curiosity was piqued.

 Reader, I am now four seasons deep. Here’s what I’ve learned, which has little to do with ballroom technique or the drama / general blech of reality TV, and everything to do with work, art, breaking boundaries, and coming alive:

Anyone can dance—whether they’re a 4-foot-11 Olympic gymnast or a 6-foot-10 NBA star, a 16-year-old Marvel superhero or a 59 year old comedian, a deaf actor who feels only the vibrations of the music, an actress with MS who dances in a blindfold to cut out the visual noise, or a literal dancephobe.

Play to your strengths. Singer? Carry over that rhythm and musicality. Theater background? Lean into the story and perform your heart out. Bodybuilder? Bench press your partner. Model? Show off those abs. Dance background or no, you can always find a way to express, captivate, and succeed.

Trust your partner. One of the most moving parts of the show is the bond between the celebrity contestants and their dance pro mentors. Through bad scores and bad press, stage fright and mistakes, injuries and heartbreak, they have each other’s backs—and are often literally somersaulting, handstanding, and playing drums on them.

Be yourself. As empowering (and entertaining) as it is to dress up as Elsa, Gamora, Marge Simpson, Elvis, Prince, and James Bond, the real magic is in the performances that tap into something true and vulnerable—like the dance one football player dedicated to his late coach, or the Bachelorette who reenacted a painful breakup.

Break down to break through. The Olympic rugby player sobbing on camera after messing up a move, the influencer breaking down on the studio floor in a tough rehearsal—we can be so hard on ourselves, and it can look like all is lost. And then the next week we come back with a killer Argentine tango to a row of 10’s and a standing o.

Have no shame. Even when standing there covered in gold paint as the judges excoriate you. Even when fangirling over Alyson Hannigan on reality TV. Even when you’re scared to dance at a wedding.

It’s never too late. My dad and stepmom went through difficult divorces, and turned to ballroom to help them through. They met each other on the dance floor. I will not be taking up ballroom anytime soon (sorry, parental units)—but I do take comfort in the notion that no matter how long and dark the winter, or what season of your life or career, or what injuries, critiques, and setbacks you’ve endured, it’s never too late to lift your head, point your feet, grab your partner’s hand, and leave it all on the floor.