After a dance career of 20 years, it would be easy to wax poetic about the indescribable magic I feel onstage or in the rehearsal studio. While there are moments when it truly feels like a dream come true, the reality is that there are countless times when the magic fades, and the difficulties of […]

Yet since transitioning from primarily a dance artist to primarily a choreographic artist, I’ve found my collaborators and mindset shifting from week to week. Going on the road to work on multiple projects a year, living out of a suitcase, isn’t the easiest lifestyle. You are perpetually encountering new artists and spaces. With that comes the dreaded impostor syndrome: Am I experienced enough? How will people receive what I’ve created? Will the dancers connect with what I’m building? Those questions had been holding me hostage.

Dance was inescapable in my childhood. My parents are dance teachers and ran a school out of our New Jersey home for more than 40 years. When I was old enough to answer the phone, instead of “Blackstone residence,” I was instructed to say “STUDIO!” Photos from an early ’90s family trip reveal my dad proudly wearing a T-shirt that says “Dance or Die—New York City.” I remember feeling embarrassed that he was wearing something that so loudly proclaimed his love of dance to all the other “normal” families.

I dance because dance is home. Home as I have built it, home as it feels, and home where I find the people I love and who love me. Through dance I have tasted freedom, instinct, abandon, and trust. I have learned how to make mistakes, how to fail, how to collaborate, how to be disappointed, how to work hard, how to be proud of both myself and of others. This home has raised me and it has shaped the woman I am. I have found my voice. Dance has shown me that magic is real and this life we have is singular and spectacular.

It was and still is the one thing that makes me feel the most myself…the most alive. Dance offers the gift of being deeply seen, a way to process emotions, a never-ending challenge, an escape.

Surrounded by dancers, from all over the globe—New York locals, talents from Baltimore, Brazil, Eastern Europe, Japan, and beyond—I found a surrogate family in the studio. As a child among them, my youth seemed to bring joy to many who were far away from home. The dancers became my guardians; they nurtured me and supported my development.

How does dance make me feel? Is it even a feeling, or is it a moment, a dream, a reality? I only know that I am myself fully when I am onstage dancing. That’s where I feel safe and right at home.

Dance is power personified. My hope is that the next generation of dancers can start where I’ve arrived: knowing that our art form gives us the tools we need to acknowledge we are important and we belong.