Dancers in this new reality: Find a way to connect.

The social distancing measures in place around the world have millions of people facing a new reality that isn’t likely to change any time soon as long as national and local governments remain responsible. Here in the United States, our federal reaction has been dreadfully mismanaged, while I happen to live in a state that has taken the scientists and the precautions they’ve recommended seriously from the very beginning. It’s interesting even at this late juncture to see local governments in the United States realizing only this week that what we’re facing right now is unprecedented to any living human being.

When I sent the note out informing our clients that we were closing the gym, I said we would be closing for “two weeks.” I knew at the time that that almost certainly wouldn’t be the duration of the closure, but in hindsight that messaging seems comically naive. The truth is now, as it was then, that this is our new reality for the foreseeable future.

For dancers whose seasons were cut short, this time period can be one full of increasing angst fueled by an uncertain future and a sudden inability to rely on the routines that have kept one healthy, artful, and athletic. I think it’s important that we don’t pretend things are easier for dancers than they actually are. Locked out of quality in-person instruction, prevented from training with optimal equipment in the gym, and unable to seek the hands-on physical therapy treatments necessary to bounce back from injuries, dancers are facing an uphill climb to keep their instruments sharp. That’s the truth.

I’m not a dancer. I wasn’t a dancer. We do what we do at Present Tense because we saw a need in the dance community for strength and conditioning principles that we thought we could help address. So let me pause to acknowledge that before giving you a personal example of how this new reality is affecting me. (Let me also add that how this is affecting me matters a lot less than how it will affect the most vulnerable among us. I’m offering this only as a personal testimony, not a marker of significance).

My new reality here is that the foundation of my business is seeing people in person. Correcting form. Offering an encouraging word. Teaching people about their bodies. Having a quiet conversation about a tough day, allowing my clients to see my face and reflect back to them that I’m hearing them, seeing them. And in this current reality, I can’t do a lot of those things. (Our yoga teacher, Anna, continues to offer a lot of this via Zoom yoga sessions she’s conducting from home. It’s a real bright spot in all of this).

Many days I find myself unable to do something productive because I’m mourning the loss of what I knew how to do, what I knew brought value to people. But what that really is is an inability to grapple honestly with the fact that that old reality is gone for now. I’m here, in the—ahem—present tense, and my work now is to figure out how to be useful given the confines of this situation.

If I were a dancer going through something similar, I think the thing I would miss most is the opportunity to express myself. I mean, you’re an artist, and artists communicate. So after getting over the initial shock, I think the first thing I’d be trying to do is figure out how to still communicate, how to still reach an audience. You’re seeing companies doing these wholesale by streaming previously recorded performances, and you’re seeing some clever compilations by groups like the Dayton Dance Initiative. But maybe there’s room to use the confines of this situation for individual, isolated artists to similarly express their singular vision? What would you do, how would you move, if you could hire yourself as a choreographer to produce a piece for you? What would that look like? What would you want to express? How would you want people to feel? And then—make it. Take it as seriously as you would any performance in a packed theater for a Saturday evening show.

As the United States began taking the pandemic seriously, a legendary DJ named D-Nice began spinning sets from his home. The party he created—sometimes several hours long—became a phenomenon among black social media users before becoming a staple of weekend activity for people around the world seeking a good time, a few laughs, and a reprieve from the chaos. What I love about watching D-Nice’s livestreams is how specific he is about his vision. The sets are unmistakably black, and except for a few flourishes like his hilarious hat changes, stripped down to the bare essentials. The music. His taste. And his well-earned DJ’s ability to keep a party going. He’s using the most important of what he has as an artist to express himself and give people a respite from everything else going on.

A livestream from an individual dancer is unlikely to catch on the way D-Nice’s sets have, but my guess is D-Nice’s initial inclination to do something like “Club Quarantine” was deeply enmeshed in an unabiding need to connect.

Part of my work for Present Tense, then, is to figure out as D-Nice did how to connect. And part of your work as a dancer almost certainly is to keep that part of your fire burning. We published a no-equipment home workout guide, but that’s probably far less important to you than finding a way to express yourself in these times. That, in turn, will keep you inspired to continue working out, continue working on your physical therapy exercises, and continue preparing for your career as a dancer.

But first, find your way to connect, whatever it might look like.