Why Do You Dance?

By Chelsea Visser

Why do you dance?

Some people dance because they've danced all their lives, and this is the natural continuation of a lifelong love. Some people dance because it's something they've never thought of doing and they see it as a way to try something new. Some people dance for the exercise—a jive lesson is some of the best cardio I've ever had. Others dance for a sense of community, or perhaps a chance at interaction with that cute kid in the ballroom jacket you see around campus every Thursday.

So. Why do you dance?

I started dancing as something new to try, and I fell in love with it almost instantly. It's a great way to meet people and get some exercise, and it's a pretty cool conversation starter.

I've spent countless hours at the rec working through steps beat by beat until I'm gliding across the floor. I met my former roommate through ballroom, some of my best friends.

When I tried out for the competitive team at the beginning of my second year, I was mostly thinking about all the extra dancing I would be doing. It was perfect—improving my dancing and spending more time with some of the coolest people I knew. There was a period last fall where I danced every day of the week, and for all that I was constantly on the move, it gave me some of the best times I've had in college.

Competitions, however, were a bit of a sticking point. I've never been a competitive person—I joined the team for the chance at improving, and the idea of getting to see the dancing of other people from college teams across the Midwest sounded like fun.

When the first real competition came around, I was an anxious wreck. I spent the whole time worrying about whether or not my makeup was right, or if I would remember to stay left, or if I could get through a round of quickstep without tripping over everything. It's okay, I told myself. The next competition will be better.

The next competition … wasn't much better. Neither was the one after that. I had fun, and I was glad for the experience, but so much of the competitive atmosphere made me anxious and upset that I started to wonder if it was worth the effort.

At the beginning of this semester, I went to an informal practice. Half the team was there, and we practiced for a while. I was rusty from a summer off and enjoyed the chance to move my feet and catch up with friends. Things started to fall apart when we started talking about goals: everybody was talking about what events they wanted to win and what their expectations were for themselves and for the team as a whole, and suddenly I felt sick.

I walked home after practice, closed my door, and decided that I was through with competing. The first rule of the team was always to have fun, and somewhere along the line, I stopped having fun. I stopped remembering why I dance—to get outside my room, to make friends, to have fun. I know plenty of people who really enjoy being on the team, who enjoy pushing themselves further and helping our group grow. But I've figured out that that's not why I'm here.

Everybody has their own reason for dancing. Yours might not be the same as someone else's, and that's okay. I'm still at ballroom twice a week, practicing my steps and working on my technique. I still love dancing, and I'm still eager to get better. The stress is gone, and I'm back to enjoying every lesson.