This week one of my trainees at The Joffrey Ballet School asked me the following question:

Having trained exclusively in open classes and having taught for the past several years in The Joffrey Ballet School’s open class program, I have had many opportunities to observe what happens when a teacher is absent and has been replaced by “the sub”. I have looked at this situation from all three vantage points:

1) As the student who shows up for class expecting a particular teacher and being faced with a teacher who is completely unknown to me.
2) As the teacher who must miss a day of work and is handing over his students to trusted colleague.
3) As “the sub” who must walk into a nearly empty room and face students who were expecting someone else altogether.

I remember when I was training, how most of my colleagues reacted to an unannounced sub for an open class; they simply didn’t take class. This was something that I never quite understood. I was there for class. I was there to train; and daily training is essential to the success of a dancer. I may have been disappointed that my teacher (the person to whom I was trusting my professional development) was not going to be teaching but I always felt that the sub’s class would certainly be better than no class at all. And, of course, YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU MIGHT LEARN; even from a teacher that you might know (and might not like).

Teachers (good teachers) care very much about their students’ training and take their work very seriously. Handing off my students to a sub can be very stressful; my students’ growth and success is extremely important to me and I can honestly say that since I started teaching open classes, I have been absent exactly once. Also, teachers who teach open classes have an enormous amount of pressure on them to fill their class rooms. Studio owners and program directors need full rooms for their studios and schools to function, and in many cases (not all) teachers are paid a percentage of the monies collected on their classes. I have always felt that providing consistency to students is part of being a successful and effective teacher in the open class setting… and students expect you to be there…and so except in very rare and extraordinary circumstances, I am there.

I have, on a few occasions, been the sub for an open class. I remember hearing the murmurs of disappointment at the front desk as students checking in are informed that their teacher is out and that I will be teaching them that day (that does a lot for the ego). I remember teaching three students one Easter Sunday at Broadway Dance Center in New York City. I went to work on a Holiday. I had three students. And it was my job to teach those three students with every ounce of energy and professionalism I had. It wasn’t easy; but it was my job.

But sometimes class with a sub can be pretty great, and in once case for me it was a life-changing experience. A good number of years ago I went to Steps on Broadway to take class. There was a sub. I knew there would be a sub. The regular teacher of that class had originally asked me to sub that class for him but Steps had another teacher in mind. I had been trying to get a teaching career off the ground, but kept hitting roadblocks. No one seemed to want to hire me and I was becoming more and more frustrated with the dance industry in New York. And so, here I was facing yet another disappointment in my career. But I always felt “the sub’s class would be better than no class at all” and “you never know what you might learn” so I took that class. When I got to the studio, I found out that the class was going to be taught by Lisa Gajda, a legendary Broadway dancer with a staggering list of credits. I took my place in the back of the room (being the only dancer over 40 in the studio) and allowed the younger professionals and aspiring professionals to take the prime spots in the front. During the plies Ms. Gajda came up to me and asked “Who are you?”. “Nobody.” I responded. She then said: “Because I’m looking at you and I’m thinking that YOU should probably be teaching ME a few things”. After that class we chatted a bit on Facebook and I figured I had met a pretty terrific new person. And then, as often happens with these sorts of things…we lost touch. More than a year later I received an email from CAP21, the musical theater conservatory. They were offering me a job as a ballet teacher. They had gotten my name from LISA GAJDA. That job at CAP21 lead to employment at New York Film Academy, Broadway Dance Center and my beloved Joffrey Ballet School which has become my professional home.

Life changing.

There was a post made in which the following question was posed: “Is dance a sport?” and a colleague suggested that I give this topic some thought. So my initial opinion was “NO, dance is most definitely not a sport”. And being the type of person that I am, I looked up the definition of sport and this is what I found:

Sport: an activity involving physical exertion and skill in which an individual or team competes against another or others for entertainment.
“team sports such as baseball and soccer”

And then I looked up the definition of dance and this is what I found:

Dance: 1 : an act of stepping or moving through a series of movements usually in time to music. 2 : a social gathering for dancing. 3 : a set of movements or steps for dancing usually in time to special music. The samba is a popular dance of Brazil. 4 : the art of dancing “She is studying dance.”

In looking at these two definitions, it would appear that dance is not a sport. But I have come across this question many times in my life and so I figure that there must be something more to this comparison. There are certainly similarities between sports and dance: both require enormous skill and talent, both require extensive physical training, and both generate enormous excitement for its audiences. There is, however, one enormous difference: the ultimate goal. The goal of a sport is to win. This is why a sport is played. This is what the fans come to see. It is the thrill of the win that inspires the excitement. It is the suspense of the competition that keeps the fans enthralled. The goal of dance, however, is different. The goal of dance is, in most instances, to create a work of art that moves its audience. It is the need for this artistic expression that keeps dancers dancing and it is the art that they make that thrills its audience. The world of competitive dance does blur the line somewhat; but even when dancers compete, I believe that the goal is (or should be) artistic expression. The “win” is secondary.

So why the comparison? Why have I heard the phrase “Dancers are athletes”? And why have I heard that phrase come from the mouths of dancers? I have NEVER heard an athlete say “Athletes are dancers”.

I think that this stems from how our culture views sports, how our culture views the arts and how we in the dance industry feel about these viewpoints. Clearly, the average American is far more likely to be interested in sports than in the arts and is certainly more likely to know the name of a star athlete than a great ballerina. When I was a child, I actually thought there was something fundamentally wrong with me because I wasn’t interested in, and had no aptitude for sports. There is, for the most part, an importance and status placed upon the athlete that is not shared by the dancer. And in response to this inequity, some members of our industry have suggested that “dancers are athletes” or that what we do as dancers is “harder than sports”. I remember many years ago an episode of the television series Fame, in which football players took a dance class with dancers. The dancers sailed through the class with ease while the football players failed miserably, thereby proving that the dancers were superior to the athletes in their abilities. But if you think about it, the comparison is a bit ridiculous. Dance requires training; grueling, strenuous, repetitive, meticulous training. Training that athletes simply don’t have. Of course the football players failed. And should the dancers have been asked to engage in the training that experienced football players undergo, they would have failed just as miserably.

Those of us who are serious dancers, those of us who have made dance our lives probably have this one thing in common: We did not choose dance. Dance chose us. We simply have to do it. We have no choice. And if we try to stop (as I did…for 9 years) it simply pulls us back. The love and the passion that we have for this art can be all-consuming. And since dance is so very, very difficult to excel at and to make a living at, why on earth would anyone CHOOSE it?

One of the benefits that comes with age is that one no longer cares what others think. When I was younger my peers’ opinion of me, my family’s opinion of me, and society’s opinion of me were all very important. But with each passing year I cared less and less. And when I finally stopped caring how others viewed me, my life changed, my teaching career took off and I started to be truly happy (for the very first time in my life). I think that we, as an industry, need to stop caring how we are viewed. We are never going to convince the “average American” that we are athletes and that what we do is as hard or harder than sports. We are probably never going to gain the admiration that athletes enjoy. We are probably never going to make the money that athletes make. And I think that every time we try to make the claim that we are “athletes” or that what we do is “harder than sports” we are, in a way, telling society that we, ourselves, hold sports and athletes in higher regard. If we did not, we wouldn’t be making these claims. As I said earlier, you never hear an athlete say “athletes are dancers”.

I do think that there is one more very important similarity between athletes and dancers: we both love what we do in a very deep and profound way. I think that athletes have the same drive and passion that dancers do. And what a gift that passion is! I can’t imagine what a life would be like without that passion. Even when I was not dancing, the passion was still there; smoldering just below the surface. So rather than trying to convince the world at large of our value, importance and status, why not just celebrate the beauty and joy in what we do? I would like to believe that if we make art with real integrity it will find its audience. We can best show the world our importance by simply being who we are and doing what we do. And perhaps one day our society may view us with the same regard, respect and awe with which they view great athletes. And perhaps they will not. And as far as I am concerned it doesn’t really matter because I simply no longer care. I get to live my life as a dancer. I get to bring this art form to my students. I get to live a life that is filled with passion for what I do. Is there a greater gift than that?

I recently saw a video on YouTube which discussed many of the problems we are seeing with millennials and the difficulties that they are having in the workplace and in life. The video makes a point of stating that these problems are not the fault of this generation but rather places the responsibility on the hand they were dealt and the world in which they were raised.

The video touched on many of the topics that we as educators have discussed over and over again, among them: the endless praise that their parents have lavished on them making them difficult to teach and correct, their sense of entitlement, their impatience and their addiction to their devices. The video also discussed how dissatisfied and unhappy so many of them are and the difficulty they have in forming deep and meaningful relationships. And it saddened me; more than I could have ever expected.

I look at my students and I worry; I worry about their future success and I worry about their happiness.

When ever I teach the first class of the afternoon I see the same thing. I come into the studio 15 minutes before class. The students are scattered around the studio floor, finishing their lunch and looking at their phones. They aren’t really talking, interacting, bonding and forming relationships. They are engaging with a devise. This worries me. How can a young person who is more interested in a machine than their friends and colleagues grow and develop into a communicative artist? But the even more troubling question is: How can a young person who is more interested in a machine than their friends and colleagues grow and develop into a happy and fulfilled adult?

In addition to ballet and the Luigi technique, I teach dance history. I recently gave a lesson on Marius Petipa and the development of the classical pas de deux. (For my readers who are not dancers or dance teachers, suffice it to say that one would expect a full-time pre-professional ballet student to be fascinated by this topic.) After a short discussion I ran a video of the “Black Swan Pas de Deux” from Swan Lake, one of the most famous and beloved moments in all of the classical ballet repertoire. I, myself, was enthralled by this video (which I have seen countless times). About five minutes into the video, I turned to look at my students and noticed that several of them were looking at their phones.

I have mentioned this to many of my friends and colleagues and I have gotten the exact same response from everyone: “That is so incredibly disrespectful!”. And some have gone on to add “Did you take the phones away?.

Here’s the thing: I agree that this behavior is disrespectful. But to be honest, the disrespect doesn’t bother me that much. We can teach behavior. We can collect cell phones at the beginning of class and return them at the end. We can threaten to not give them credit for attending the class if we see a cell phone. We can fail them, punish them and create all sorts of penalties for this sort of behavior. And what will that do? It will teach BEHAVIOR. And, in this very particular situation, behavior is meaningless.

I want to know why a cell phone is more interesting and important to a full-time pre-professional ballet student than an exquisite performance of Swan Lake. This is unfathomable to me and this question has been haunting me since the day I ran that video. I remember, at 14 years old, setting an alarm clock at 3:00 AM in the middle of the week, so I could get up and watch Top Hat on television. We did not yet have a VCR. I had never seen it. I knew it was Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. I simply HAD TO SEE IT. This was the only means I had to educate myself about dance. It was far more important to me than sleep. There was no deterring me. Today, when I suggest to a student that they look at something on the internet, and check in with them a few days later, never…not once…in the last ten years…has the student followed my suggestion and made the effort. And the thing that troubles me so much is that for so many of them (not all) it is an EFFORT.

I see the lack of patience in so many of them. I see a reluctance to repeat an exercise over and over again, each time striving to find something more. I oftentimes feel “tolerated” by students as I painstakingly explain a fine point of technique. I feel them bristle if I ask them to repeat a phrase over and over again, trying to pull some artistry out of their steps. They want it fast. They want it now. They want the solo, the staring role, their moment in the spotlight and the accolades for their brilliance without putting in the work. I had no choice but to be patient. I waited until I was 26 to take my first dance class. The five year old inside of me, who saw that first mesmerizing Nutcracker on television, waited 21 years to take his first dance class. And when I finally started dancing it was the WORK that brought me joy. And from the time I took that first dance class, I waiting another 25 years to secure my dream job at the Joffrey Ballet School. But here’s the thing: no one had to tell me to be patient. I simply was. Apparently, I have students who can’t wait for a 12 minute video to be over to check their phone.

Clearly I don’t see these problems in all of my students. There are certainly those that are passionate, committed and hard-working. But I find myself worrying more and more about the others. These students are placed in my hands and I am charged with the task of making dancers out of them; I am charged with the task of nurturing artists. I can teach them to put their phones away. I can teach them to follow my suggestion and look at various performances on the internet. I can teach them dance history. I can teach them music. I can teach them steps. I can attempt to cultivate some artistry in them. But sadly, the way things are now, I am starting to feel that I will not really be successful.

Every time I step foot into the studio to take class I see it as an exploration. I am always looking for new feelings, new ideas, new discoveries that I can bring to my classroom and use to help my students grow. But now I am exploring new territory. I am looking for ways to inspire my students to see the work, the diligence, the patience, the richness of their art as far more important than anything else in their lives. When a 1978 performance of Swan Lake makes them forget about their phones, when they can endlessly examine their arabesque looking for ways to make it more beautiful, expressive and expansive, when they can work happily and tirelessly to EARN a solo or a starring role, then they will begin to have the goods to develop into an artist.

I am far from perfect and I don’t pretend to have all the answers. There is so much that I do not know and I am always looking for new ways to inspire and guide my students. There is one thing I do know: Until the art is of paramount importance to the student, until there is no room in their mind or their heart for anything else, they will never be able to reach and move an audience. Unfortunately, telling this to students will not help them. They must come to it on their own. They must find it for themselves. And when they do, they will soar.

I have always subscribed to the belief that every student who walks into my studio deserves my full attention. I have always held fast to my desire to give every student enthusiastic encouragement. Now, I know that I have many colleagues that have told pre-professional students that they “don’t have a chance” and that they should perhaps be considering some other career goal. I know that they believe that they have the student’s best interest at heart and that they are trying to spare the students years of frustration and disappointment. But I was a “hopeless case” and I know only too well that the pain of failure and disappointment is nothing compared to the pain of wondering what “might have been”. And so if you come to me for training…regardless of body type, age, ability or talent, I will train you.

But I am human. And I make judgements. And naturally, I have looked at students and thought “Never in a million years…”.

As my dear friend and colleague Richard Pierlon has so often said “It is not my job to crush their dreams, it is my job to teach them”. And so regardless of what I may THINK about a student, I keep my big trap shut (something that can be very difficult for me) and I teach them.

The bulk of my day to day work is comprised of teaching ballet (and some jazz) in college and pre-professional dance and musical theater programs. And typically I am assigned classes in the later years of the programs, rarely teaching first year students with any regularity. I am, however, often called upon to sub first year classes. Some years ago I subbed such a class for a few weeks and encountered a student; a student who I judged. “Never in a million years will this student have a career on the stage”, I thought. This kid had nothing that anyone would consider to be the makings of a performer: a poor body type and lack of ability or talent all seemed to be pointing toward a life best lived in some other pursuit. But every student who comes to me for training…

A few years later this student’s group showed up on the roster of my regular classes. I would be the ballet teacher assigned to teach all their technique classes for a year. On the first day I was struck by this students’ body transformation that had taken place in the intervening years. I was struck by the razor sharp focus. I was struck by the ferocity with which this student worked, learned, absorbed, grew. And as I worked with this student throughout the year I thought: “Hm…well would you look at that…well maybe…”

Some time has passed since this student graced my studio. I try, as often as possible, to attend my former students’ performances and so I recently went to see this kid (who on first encounter I thought a hopeless case) perform. I took my seat in the last row, sitting next to a dear friend and colleague. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw that evening. This former “hopeless case” exploded onto that stage with a command and confidence that sent a ripple of energy through the audience. There was a new body, a new attitude, a new confidence and and a new radiance that glowed with an inner pulse of excitement. What now stood before me was a fully polished performer on the brink of what will hopefully be a long and satisfying professional career. And I sat in my seat, and I sobbed.

Through sheer determination and hard work this student made this metamorphosis happen and it was the faculty of our school that opened the door and showed the way. I am so pleased that I got to be part of that journey. My mentor Luigi often said “I don’t train dancers, I make stars.” On this point I have always disagreed. Stars are not made, they are born; all we can do as teachers is pull back the curtain and show them how it’s done. I’m proud to say that ALL of the schools at which I teach do NOT accept students based on their body type and they do NOT accept students based on what they can do at the audition. They accept students based in their POTENTIAL. I believe that if a school is only accepting students with perfect equipment and nearly finished techniques, the job of molding a professional is not that difficult and the schools’ graduates’ employment rate will certainly be high. But we are not concerned with employment rates and we are not concerned with with finding perfect students. We are concerned with identifying POTENTIAL and giving the students the opportunity to develop it. We aren’t always right with every student we select. And not every student with the potential is prepared, willing and able to do the required work. But when this potential is placed in the body of a relentless, hungry, unstoppable student, the results can be staggering. And so, as the “self proclaimed champion of the hopeless case” I look forward to many more years of sobbing in the dark as my students take the stage and astonish me.

I love to be proven wrong.

I read a post in a dance teachers’ chat group about handling students who have become a bit of a “Diva”. I, myself, am actually dealing with a student who is exhibiting this behavior. And as I read the various responses and the various strategies for dealing with this personality, this behavior; I came to a realization: We all, as artists, have an “Inner Diva”.

This “Diva” lives inside us. She thinks that she is there to protect us, support us, defend us and truly believes that she always acts in our best interest. Some of us keep her deep within ourselves while others allow her to reside closer to the surface. But as I read these posts, and I thought about my career journey over the last seven years, I realized that keeping my Diva under control literally paved the way to my career goals. When we allow her to come to the surface (and we all do, at times) it can be for any one of many reasons ranging from insecurity, fear and poor self image to entitlement arrogance, and an inflated sense of one’s own abilities and talents. But whatever the reason, be it positive or negative, our inner a Diva is not really there to help; she serves only to sabotage and destroy.

When I first returned to dancing after a nine year absence from the industry, I started taking class from a very well-known teacher at an extremely prestigious studio in New York City. One day this teacher asked me if I wanted to sub for him. I had never really thought about teaching, but to say I was thrilled would be an understatement. However, the studio had “other plans” for a sub that Tuesday afternoon. I was incredibly disappointed. And the my Inner Diva started whispering in my ear:

“Well you aren’t going to take that class are you? That is supposed to be YOUR class. YOU are supposed to be teaching that class. YOU were the choice of the regular teacher. If you had any self respect at all you would steer clear of that studio today.”

But I pushed her down, as deep as I could. Some other voice was telling me to go to the studio that day; to swallow my pride and take class with the sub who was teaching in my stead; the job that I should have had. And so I put on my “Big-Boy Pants”and I went and took that class. The teacher was Lisa Gajda; and if you don’t know her name, let’s start with the fact that she has 17 Broadway shows on her resume. 17. I stood in the back of the room, quietly doing my plies. She came up to me and asked, in a somewhat accusational but also humorous tone. “Who are you?”

“No one” I responded.

“Because I’m looking at you” she said, “and I’m thinking that there are some things that YOU should be teaching ME”.

After the class we chatted briefly. I told her what had transpired regarding the regular teacher asking me to sub. We exchanged email addresses; but didn’t really stay in touch.

One summer morning, two years later, I woke up, opened my email, and read the following message:

“Dear Bill,

I am the chair of the dance depart at the musical theater conservatory CAP21. We are in need of a ballet teacher on Monday and Wednesday mornings and we got your name and email address from Lisa Gajda…”

TWO YEARS LATER.

And my Inner Diva tried to sabotage that job.

One day I got a call from a colleague asking me the following question:

“Would you like to play Drosselmeyer in a student Nutcracker ? The pay isn’t very much but I thought I would ask”.

And there she was, my Inner Diva, getting ready to say:

“Are you out of your mind? I was a PROFESSIONAL! Why on earth would I play Drosselmeyer in a student production for almost no money? How insulting!”

But instead, I quickly put my hand over her mouth and said:

“I’m not sure I have time to do it, but I can certainly meet with the choreographer.”

So an appointment was set, and I arrived at the Manhattan Ballet School. It was a tiny little “Jewel Box” of a studio; completely lost in time…like something out of The Red Shoes. The owner of the studio had danced with the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo. She had to be close to 90 years old. There was a picture of her in the studio dancing with FRED ASTAIRE. She threw her arms around me and welcomed me to her school. And during our conversation about her Nutcracker she offered me a teaching job! Once again, I got a teaching job that my Inner Diva tried to prevent.

When I first returned to the dance industry after a nine year absence I was extremely overweight, middle aged and looked nothing like anyone’s idea of a dancer. One day I rolled into the Joffrey Ballet School to take an open class. I signed up for “Intermediate Ballet”, put on my sweat pants and bit T-shirt and took my spot at the barre. The teacher came into the room, took one look at me and assumed I belonged in the “Adult Beginner” class and had wandered into the wrong room. She asked:

“Have you ever danced before?”

“Yes” I responded.

“Ballet!?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes” I responded.

“OK” she said, with a tiny bit of a smirk and a bit of an eye roll.

And my Inner Diva, once again, started clawing to the surface. She was dying to say:

“Excuse me…but you do not know who you are talking to. I was a professional dancer with musical theater, concert dance, music video, television and commercial credits. Who do you think you are?”

But again…I stifled her. It wasn’t easy. I felt slighted, insulted, judged. But I made sure that my Diva said nothing. I saw the look of surprise on the teacher’s face when I did that first plié. And it was this teacher who became a cherished friend and helped me secure my position at my beloved Joffrey Ballet School; a position that literally changed my entire life and a position that my Inner Diva once again tried to prevent.

As I got older I began to look at things differently. As I got older my priorities changed. And one of those changes was that I really no longer cared that much about what other people thought. And that change certainly makes it easier to control my Inner Diva. I often tell my students:

“Every time you get hired to dance in New York, there are dozens of other dancers who are better than you, standing outside that studio door, waiting for your job. No one is THAT good.”

I have seen fine dancers lose jobs because of their Inner Diva. I have seen fine teachers lose jobs because of their Inner Diva. She is not there to protect you and she is not there to help you. The help that you need in this brutal industry can only be supplied by your authentic self: the REAL YOU. The YOU that has shortcomings, the YOU that has insecurities, the YOU that has kindness, compassion and humility. Those are the characteristics that will allow you to bring something rich, interesting and beautiful to the stage and to the classroom. Those are the characteristics that people want to hire and work with. Those are the characteristics that will pave the way to your career goals.

I read a post in a dance teachers’ chat group about handling students who have become a bit of a “Diva”. I, myself, am actually dealing with a student who is exhibiting this behavior. And as I read the various responses and the various strategies for dealing with this personality, this behavior; I came to a realization: We all, as artists, have an “Inner Diva”.

This “Diva” lives inside us. She thinks that she is there to protect us, support us, defend us and truly believes that she always acts in our best interest. Some of us keep her deep within ourselves while others allow her to reside closer to the surface. But as I read these posts, and I thought about my career journey over the last seven years, I realized that keeping my Diva under control literally paved the way to my career goals. When we allow her to come to the surface (and we all do, at times) it can be for any one of many reasons ranging from insecurity, fear and poor self image to entitlement arrogance, and an inflated sense of one’s own abilities and talents. But whatever the reason, be it positive or negative, our inner a Diva is not really there to help; she serves only to sabotage and destroy.

When I first returned to dancing after a nine year absence from the industry, I started taking class from a very well-known teacher at an extremely prestigious studio in New York City. One day this teacher asked me if I wanted to sub for him. I had never really thought about teaching, but to say I was thrilled would be an understatement. However, the studio had “other plans” for a sub that Tuesday afternoon. I was incredibly disappointed. And the my Inner Diva started whispering in my ear:

“Well you aren’t going to take that class are you? That is supposed to be YOUR class. YOU are supposed to be teaching that class. YOU were the choice of the regular teacher. If you had any self respect at all you would steer clear of that studio today.”

But I pushed her down, as deep as I could. Some other voice was telling me to go to the studio that day; to swallow my pride and take class with the sub who was teaching in my stead; the job that I should have had. And so I put on my “Big-Boy Pants”and I went and took that class. The teacher was Lisa Gajda; and if you don’t know her name, let’s start with the fact that she has 17 Broadway shows on her resume. 17. I stood in the back of the room, quietly doing my plies. She came up to me and asked, in a somewhat accusational but also humorous tone. “Who are you?”

“No one” I responded.

“Because I’m looking at you” she said, “and I’m thinking that there are some things that YOU should be teaching ME”.

After the class we chatted briefly. I told her what had transpired regarding the regular teacher asking me to sub. We exchanged email addresses; but didn’t really stay in touch.

One summer morning, two years later, I woke up, opened my email, and read the following message:

“Dear Bill,

I am the chair of the dance depart at the musical theater conservatory CAP21. We are in need of a ballet teacher on Monday and Wednesday mornings and we got your name and email address from Lisa Gajda…”

TWO YEARS LATER.

And my Inner Diva tried to sabotage that job.

One day I got a call from a colleague asking me the following question:

“Would you like to play Drosselmeyer in a student Nutcracker ? The pay isn’t very much but I thought I would ask”.

And there she was, my Inner Diva, getting ready to say:

“Are you out of your mind? I was a PROFESSIONAL! Why on earth would I play Drosselmeyer in a student production for almost no money? How insulting!”

But instead, I quickly put my hand over her mouth and said:

“I’m not sure I have time to do it, but I can certainly meet with the choreographer.”

So an appointment was set, and I arrived at the Manhattan Ballet School. It was a tiny little “Jewel Box” of a studio; completely lost in time…like something out of The Red Shoes. The owner of the studio had danced with the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo. She had to be close to 90 years old. There was a picture of her in the studio dancing with FRED ASTAIRE. She threw her arms around me and welcomed me to her school. And during our conversation about her Nutcracker she offered me a teaching job! Once again, I got a teaching job that my Inner Diva tried to prevent.

When I first returned to the dance industry after a nine year absence I was extremely overweight, middle aged and looked nothing like anyone’s idea of a dancer. One day I rolled into the Joffrey Ballet School to take an open class. I signed up for “Intermediate Ballet”, put on my sweat pants and bit T-shirt and took my spot at the barre. The teacher came into the room, took one look at me and assumed I belonged in the “Adult Beginner” class and had wandered into the wrong room. She asked:

“Have you ever danced before?”

“Yes” I responded.

“Ballet!?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes” I responded.

“OK” she said, with a tiny bit of a smirk and a bit of an eye roll.

And my Inner Diva, once again, started clawing to the surface. She was dying to say:

“Excuse me…but you do not know who you are talking to. I was a professional dancer with musical theater, concert dance, music video, television and commercial credits. Who do you think you are?”

But again…I stifled her. It wasn’t easy. I felt slighted, insulted, judged. But I made sure that my Diva said nothing. I saw the look of surprise on the teacher’s face when I did that first plié. And it was this teacher who became a cherished friend and helped me secure my position at my beloved Joffrey Ballet School; a position that literally changed my entire life and a position that my Inner Diva once again tried to prevent.

As I got older I began to look at things differently. As I got older my priorities changed. And one of those changes was that I really no longer cared that much about what other people thought. And that change certainly makes it easier to control my Inner Diva. I often tell my students:

“Every time you get hired to dance in New York, there are dozens of other dancers who are better than you, standing outside that studio door, waiting for your job. No one is THAT good.”

I have seen fine dancers lose jobs because of their Inner Diva. I have seen fine teachers lose jobs because of their Inner Diva. She is not there to protect you and she is not there to help you. The help that you need in this brutal industry can only be supplied by your authentic self: the REAL YOU. The YOU that has shortcomings, the YOU that has insecurities, the YOU that has kindness, compassion and humility. Those are the characteristics that will allow you to bring something rich, interesting and beautiful to the stage and to the classroom. Those are the characteristics that people want to hire and work with. Those are the characteristics that will pave the way to your career goals.