Dancing Through 2020 Without Guilt
Dance is freedom, so why can’t we escape ourselves?
Last year I danced every day. But dance is heavy now.
I haven’t danced in months, and I rarely listen to the music I love.
I’m wracked by guilt.
I feel guilty — I want to shake my body free while so many black and indigenous people suffer physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually by a racist, discriminatory world.
I feel guilty — I want to cocoon myself and ignore the context of struggle that enables me to listen to Afro-music and take part in dances from the African continent. I have the privilege to bury my head in the sand.
I feel guilty — COVID-19 has changed the world. And here I am in Canada, complaining about trivial things. My good intentions mean nothing. I’m a random nobody. So why all this guilt?
Amazing dancers flood my Instagram feed. I watch them bust out fresh moves daily. COVID-what?
Everybody’s living their best lives and doing so much. I know it’s all filtered. They’re algorithm-ready highlights. But it still hurts.
Now I’m doubly guilty.
I’m sitting on my ass, scrolling my life away. Other dancers are putting in work. They’re building skills, getting stronger, and becoming better dancers.
Me?
I’m rusting by the day. I’ve already forgotten what little I knew. Maybe the spirit of dance has left me forever.
Perhaps I’m not worthy.
If you’ve ever felt guilty for dancing, you’re not alone.
If you’re ever felt guilty for not dancing, you’re not alone, either.
I Was Afraid to Love My Body
As a kid of Asian, conservative Christian parents, the human body was a hotbed of sin. You were always one false move away from eternal damnation and the fiery BBQ pits of hell.
To dance was to die.
Dancing was the devil’s work. Provocative movements that weren’t art or expression. It was a gyration of the lowest, basest qualities.
So growing up, I never danced. Dance scared me.
“Boys don’t dance”, my negative voices would whisper.
I wanted to dance, but I was a coward. I watched people dance their hearts out on YouTube every day.
It hurt knowing how weak I was. I made excuses to cope with my unlived life.
“It’s too late for me to learn. I’ll never be good enough.”
“I’m too fat.”
“Everyone will laugh at me.”
I hated myself for years.
Nobody’s Judging You
University changed everything.
It happened by accident. Some girls invited me to take a free hip hop dance class. It was an opportunity to make new friends and try something new.
I lied to myself, “I don’t really want to dance, I’m being forced to by these girls.”
My lie was an excuse to protect my ego. I worried that the other dancers would kick me out of class, “you’re no good, you don’t belong here!”
Deep down, I wanted to dance.
Finally, I would be free from my prison of self-hatred.
That class was one of the best experiences of my life. For the first time, I didn’t feel judged for wanting to be me. The teacher brought such positive energy. The class was so supportive and all my fears vanished in an instant.
Dustin told us to try our best. He reminded us that dance studios have large mirrors because dancers are narcissistic — they’re not judging your moves, they’re too busy checking themselves out.
Class is for learning, not showing off. So make mistakes and have fun!
This is what I was so afraid of?
I saw all body sizes, grooves, and skill levels. For an hour, we were one — all learning together. A tribe. A family. It shocked me.
I didn’t know my head from my foot. But at the end of class, Dustin came up to me and said,
“Hey man, good stuff out there, I’ll see you next week.”
“Yeah, see you,” I replied, scared shitless.
In the changing room, I saw one of the seasoned dancers.
“Nice job,” he said, “First time?”
I nodded. I plucked up courage, “How did you get so good? You dance amazing!”
He laughed, “I’ve been dancing with Dustin for years. When I first came here, I was way, way worse than you!”
I shook my head in disbelief.
He continued, “Just come here every week and you’ll get better. Trust me. It takes time and effort, but your body will soon develop muscle memory. I know it’s all a jumble right now. But the longer you dance with Dustin, the more familiar you’ll become with his movement vocabulary. It’s like learning a new language.”
I nodded, “But it’s too difficult. I feel so lost.”
He smiled, “Good, that means you’re learning. Trust yourself. Trust the process. You’ll get better. See you next week.”
Stumbling Through 2020 and Rediscovering Dance
I believe that dance is alchemy.
Dance transforms the pain and mundane into something sacred, beautiful, and empowering.
Through dance, I’ve had the privilege of connecting with people from all walks of life. I’ve learned to share space and energy with people from places I will never know. I’ve learned that people are infinitely stronger, complex, and more beautiful beneath the surface.
Appearances mean nothing.
Trust others based on their energy.
I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know who decides whether you’re allowed to dance.
At its heart, dance is truth.
Dance reveals all lies. I cannot isolate dance from my life because dance expresses my life.
When I dance, the tears come flooding out.
Why is the world so unjust? Why is there so much hatred and mistrust?
Why did COVID-19 happen? Why am I so scared of the future? Why do I feel so weak and vulnerable?
Why am I so human?
Maybe that’s why I’ve stopped dancing.
It’s hard to dance with a smile when I’m lying to myself. Or maybe dance is my path to healing.
I don’t know.
Since COVID-19, I’ve lost my focus. I spent too much energy on things that don’t matter. Video views, Instagram followers, how I compare to other dancers… etc.
It’s okay.
We all lose our way sometimes.
“If you stumble, make it part of the dance.”
— Author Unknown
I’ve been stumbling for months — Mourning a world that didn’t turn out as planned.
Maybe you’ve been stumbling too. We can take baby steps forward together.
Yesterday’s gone. The goals we were so proud of last year no longer make sense in this Brave New World.
What’s available to us right here, right now?
Take time for yourself. Sit with whatever you’re feeling.
Embrace the good, acknowledge the bad. It won’t be pretty, but it’s part of being human. From that space, the seeds of dance will grow again.
Others don’t determine your worth.
What you failed to accomplish doesn’t determine your worth.
I invite you to treat yourself with kindness.
That guilt — that inability to move forward… it’s a reminder to be kind to the person you’ve been neglecting most — yourself.
You’re good enough. You always were. You always will be.
Your experiences matter.
Your voice is meaningful.
Take your time. Process what’s happening in your life. We’re living through this moment together.
And when you find the strength to express yourself, the music will be ready.
“Dance is the hidden language of the soul.”
— Martha Graham
