Finding a Home on the Dance Floor

A Rapid Initiation Into the World of Ballroom

By Timothy Zaitzeff

All too often those of us in the performance world forget how foreign and alienating our day-to-day routine can be to those outside of it. As someone who now takes the consistent stress of auditions for granted, it was shocking to feel so clueless in a performance environment.

My ballroom dance career began about three months ago, so arriving at the Ohio Star Ball was a new and exhilarating experience. After signing in, there was a brief amount of time to practice, which was naturally accompanied by a nauseating wave of self-consciousness as the reality of all the pairs of eyes that would be watching me set in. Many students were preparing for the day ahead of them while a few dancers were going over technique on the floor and administrators pieced together the last of their setup. The room was filled with a nervous energy but I felt that everything was quiet.

Eight a.m. arrived, and the dance machine roared to life. The on-deck captains began furiously scribbling on a gigantic whiteboard beside the entrance for lines and then proceeded to yell out for couples to show their numbers and get in line. My experienced — and patient — follow hustled me to the line and placed me in what took me a moment to realize was number order. The heat before mine finished and the first chunk of the line, including me, were unceremoniously motioned to move onto the floor. Frantic, I did my best to enter the performance space with a smile and as straight a back as I could manage. After placing my follow in what I hoped was a strategic position, the music began to play. In a single moment, I tried to find the timing within the music, initiate a warm invite, recall the beginning of a waltz, and maintain posture, all while smiling and pretending that the process was completely simple and natural. My follow, with the patience and understanding that comes from a healthy mix of experience and sympathy, smiled and accepted my invite. Realizing that standing would not win any competitions and irritate the other dancers, I let my many hours of practice take over for the next minute and a half.

Even though it was short, my time on the floor required immense focus and energy to balance technique and presentation, leaving me drained as I exited. However, the competition’s structure ensured I would get all my dancing done at once. Instead of going through my normal routine of evaluating and analyzing my performance, I had to quickly rush to the next event. The whole two days blended into a series of high-octane moments composed of the run to get into line, a performance, and anxious glances at the callback board, followed by long periods of sitting and cheering on teammates. These more laid-back moments brought a lot of opportunities to build camaraderie with my teammates as we collectively experienced the highs and lows of the competition. Although I did not do as well as I’d hoped in the competition, it was exciting to jump into the unknown with people who have become my friends. And, as always, it was fun to dance.