As a young child, I was enrolled in dance class by my mother, along with my three older sisters, no doubt in an effort to create some peace in her life. Little did she know that she was creating a space for a shy, seemingly invisible child to be herself without fear.
I immediately fell in love with dance and the dance studio. It was a playground for my mind to find patterns and rhythms; I was drawn to the beats and crescendos of music. I lost my first tooth and tied my first shoe at the studio. I knew right away I was meant to be there, although I didn’t know it would be forever.
Dance, for me, has always been instinct. My family can attest that when I was younger, if a good song came on, anywhere became my stage—even the aisles of the grocery store or the mall. I couldn’t control it and I didn’t want to. Now, I channel that instinct to expand my understanding of humanity. In this polarized moment, which at times feels void of compassion, I understand my responsibility to create a space where differences disappear and hearts are able to shine forward. We all have struggles, and we should not look past the emotions that make us uniquely human.
In a time when many of our mentors and shining lights are passing, I am even more empowered by the spirit of dance. Dance has been used to mourn, to celebrate, to honor, to protect, to repent, to bring hope, to transcend fear. I dance as a way to honor our ancestors, to tell stories of people whom, even if I have never met them personally, I have met through history. I am obliged to showcase the power and the possibilities of legends.
I am honored to be able to live and dance in legacy. I am reminded every day how sensitive, eloquent, vulnerable, and strong we are as I witness my co-workers at the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. We use our collective power to amplify voices that so often get lost, and to remember the forces that paved the way.
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