How Failure and Risk Helps Me Succeed

A few months ago, when I walked into the advanced ballet class at Alaska Dance Theatre on a warm summer afternoon, I am pretty positive that I caught a few of the kids off guard. I am far from an easy instructor. In fact, I can initially come off a bit harsh in my teaching methods. I'm no bullshit and I will tell a student exactly what I saw. If I truly think they did well or if I have seen marked improvement, I will tell them. But I don't really care to coddle students, patting their backs with comfort, or telling them that it is OK and maybe they'll get it next time. At the time, there wasn't much room for nonsense, anyway, because I wasn't even sure how long these kids would get to have me as their instructor. After what was probably a shockingly difficult barre that required exact precision or a restart to the beginning, I stood in front of the class and told them this. "I want you to fail in my class. Ballet class isn't about succeeding. It's about trying the same step incorrectly multiple ways until you find what works for you. Trip, fall, hold your leg until it is shaking with exhaustion. The studio isn't a place to constantly succeed. It is a place to fail, so that you can ultimately become successful." I don't remember if an instructor ever put it to me this way, but perhaps I feel this way because this is how I live my life outside of the studio.

Attempting to get a good shot as the sunrises over Masada & the Dead Sea in Israel

I've been dancing my whole life, but I didn't fall in love with ballet until I was 15 years old. I was a jazz competition kid who just happened to get bit by the ballet bug while working with choreographer and former New York City Ballet and American Ballet Theatre principal Robert Lafosse. Once I fell in love with ballet, there was no stopping me from achieving a career. With that said, there were countless times that I was told to give up my ballet dreams and head in the direction where I excelled, jazz and musical theatre. Each time I was given that talk, sometimes from the people I most respected, it pushed me to work harder. After finally succeeding at getting into Houston Ballet's year-round program, I probably took the first major risk of my career. After accepting my offer to attend and an August summer intensive with ABT, I came home with three days to pack and head to Texas. As I tried to mentally prepare for a move that I had been waiting over a year to do (I was accepted the year prior, but my mom wouldn't let me go), I slowly began to feel that I shouldn't isolate myself in the middle of the country during the last year or two of my training. I begged my mom to let me risk this opportunity and we drove to New York City to audition for the School of American Ballet year-round program. We drove to Lincoln Center, I auditioned, and the next day I got my results directly from the horses mouth. "No. The notes say, generally poor technique and extremely large quadriceps. Goodbye." I was beside myself!

After this crushing failure, I could have easily jumped on that flight and began training. But I just couldn't bring myself to leave. One day later, we drove three hours south to the Kirov Academy of Ballet. After a private audition, the late director stated in broken English, "Very slow year for boys. One third scholarship." This was far from my full ride to the Houston Ballet Academy and way out of the financial abilities of my family, but we were able to get a sponsor for my first month in the academy. As I headed down to the Kirov, I knew that I had to get greater sponsorship to continue my training at the school, but I felt hopeful that I was still close enough to New York City to feel connected to the center of the dance world. Then, two days later, September 11th happened, my sponsor froze their assets and I was left with an impossibility to continue my training. After the school graciously allowed me to remain for the first two months, they eventually decided to put me on full scholarship and I finished out my year of training.

At the end of my time at the Kirov, I had obtained a corps de ballet contract with Colorado Ballet. While I was ecstatic to begin my career as a professional. I had also been accepted to the School of American Ballet on full scholarship for their summer intensive. SAB was my dream and it had eluded me until this point. Seeing four students who trained at SAB perform in the Nutcracker that Robert Lafosse had choreographed was the defining inspiration that changed the trajectory of my career. I knew that I had to take this summer opportunity to see if a year-round option opened up. If this happened, I was willing to delay my career to live my dream. I called SAB and asked if they were considering me for the year-round program. They told me to take the job with Colorado Ballet because they couldn't promise me anything. So, I excitedly, yet reluctantly, signed my contract and started looking for a place to live in Denver.

A few months later, I arrived in Lincoln Center to finally realize a 5-week version of my dream. After three amazing days working with teachers I had only read about in Dance Magazine, I was pulled into a conference room along with one other classmate. There I was with one of my peers being the first two dancers asked to stay for this world-famous year-round program. I was committed to Denver, but my dream had just arrived. There was no way I could turn down this opportunity, even though it meant I had to train for another year, as well as destroy a very positive connection in the dance world. I promptly called up the director of Colorado Ballet and profusely apologized as I explained that I had to follow my dream. That next year at SAB changed my life as a dancer.

SAB workshops 2003 (Photo: Paul Kolnik)

One ironic part of my path is that turning down Houston Ballet Academy to train at two other schools only led me to get a job dancing with Houston Ballet. I had an interesting year working as one of Stanton Welch's first hires as an Artistic Director. At contract time, Stanton doesn't typically offer re-engagement to any apprentice across the board. AGMA states that dancers can only spend one year with the company as an apprentice, so they either need to be promoted to corps or let go. Typically, the director waits to see amongst the corps who will stay or leave and, only then, starts to promote the apprentices into the corps. When we all were"let go," I didn't feel comfortable waiting around to find out if I would get hired or not. I quickly obtained a contract with Pacific Northwest Ballet and Boston Ballet and signed with PNB. I still wonder to this day if I would have been offered a corps contract, but I was ready to move on to a more positive environment in a more metropolitan city.

My time at PNB has been well-documented in this blog. It had it's mix of highs and lows. While I was secure in my position and well-respected as a union delegate, I was itching to experience something new. I risked all of this security and seniority to try my hand at working with a fledgling, start-up company. After a great first few months, I injured myself and the company didn't support me. I was eventually fired by that company, which I consider one of my greatest failures. It wasn't so great only because I had moved my life to Philadelphia, but more so because I had given up so much to take such a huge risk.

Taking risks daily

While I gave up all of my security and lifestyle to expand my reach and possibilities as an artist, I was now stuck in Philadelphia, burgeoning on poverty, and injured. In these dark circumstances, I had to find a way to survive. This brought me into freelancing, choreographing, writing, teaching, and traveling. If I hadn't experienced the failure that I did, I don't know if I would ever have traveled the country to dance, written articles that have been published in periodicals, been featured in dance publications, or directed an organization 4,000 miles away from home. If I had stayed at PNB, I would probably be stuck in similar circumstances that I was in nearly four years ago.

As I begin to close the chapter on my most recent risk-taking failure, I am curious where life will lead me next. I took a chance to do something that I wasn't sure if it would be a great or poor decision. While I could look at the whole experience as an utter failure, what I am realizing is that my life is much like a dance studio. I spend each day of my life exploring different ways of experiencing this wild career and testing out ways of achieving my best through trial-and-error, or failure. Some things have worked out perfectly on the first try and some things have failed immediately. But in the end, the knowledge that I have gained and the growth I have had will only make my future experiences more successful. Failure can have such a negative connotation in our culture. But I just don't really see it that way. It takes practicing a pirouette ten-thousand times to finally achieve the perfect one. And, sometimes, right after that perfect pirouette, you fall hard on your ass, get back up, and try to make it perfect again.

My greatest success at Alaska Dance Theatre

Emotional Training in Ballet

After writing about the challenges of success last week, I've had a handful of conversations about success and failure. The world of dance, and beyond, idolizes a story of failure and adversity that opens up unknown doors, eventually leading to hard-won success. Who doesn't love a good cinematic happy ending? Unfortunately, for students in training and professionals with big goals, things don't always turn out that way. For this reason, there are many former and current dancers living jaded with emotional pain, regret, and without closure from the wounds that often go along with such a challenging, strenuous, and personal effort.

Valeska Mosich-Miller in Clara Magazine

While out in Los Angeles prepping to perform for one of my many Nutcracker gigs, I found myself in a conversation consoling a former dancer about her training years. I was staying with my friend and the woman, who was subletting her brother's room while he is out of town working on an FX series, just happened to be a dancer that was in Pacific Northwest Ballet's school during my first few years with the company. Valeska Mosich-Miller and I knew each other from that time, but didn't really interact much. In most schools attached to a company, there is a clear delineation between company talking to school and school talking to company (school students rarely approach company members). Although we had little interaction during that time, I surely remembered her. The reason being that I, and most other company members, recognized that she had stunning looks and a beautiful, tall stature. Many dancers would comment that she should find an agent and become a model. Apparently, we weren't the only ones that felt that way.

Valeska Mosich-Miller in Marie Claire

Valeska left PNB's school to train elsewhere for a short period of time. After a handful of unsuccessful auditions, she stopped searching for a company to call home because she started getting picked up by multiple modeling agencies across the world in places like Brazil, South Africa, London, and Los Angeles. While spending a week living with Valeska and catching up on where we are in our lives, we went out to dinner and had a very striking conversation. While Valeska has had great successes that most people could only dream of having, she was still struggling with the loss of her ballet career and her perception of wasted effort that was put into so many years of training.

I could tell that nearly 5 years of time away from ballet had not healed the emotional trauma and wounds of rejection that the ballet world can place upon dancers. Being that I am very interested in teaching future generations of dance artists, I have put a lot of thought into the whats and whys of a ballet career and how training affects young dancers. And what I have determined is that ballet training is essentially survival of the fittest.

Classical ballet instruction is extremely harsh on the body. Aside from the physical requirements of natural flexibility, accurate proportions, strength, and aesthetic; a dancer needs emotional fortitude to truly make it in this career. How is a dancer going to cope with casting that isn't in their favor? Will a dancer be able to continue with a performance after receiving bad news? What does a dancer do if they mess up onstage? Each one of these items can really challenge a dancer's ability to handle the stresses of a dance career. The physical demands of training will prepare one to execute the most difficult of feats with ease. While the emotional aspects of training ensure that a dancer doesn't fall apart in high stress situations. Unfortunately, the concept of emotional training is rarely revealed to students throughout their studies.  Perhaps, because teachers aren't even aware that they are teaching it.

Very few of my teachers really explained much about the emotional challenges of dancing other than saying, "Ballet is hard," "People get injured," or, "You don't want to be stuck in the corps."  That is until I started training under Jock Soto at the School of American Ballet. One day I particularly remember, Jock had stopped class after a student was having a mini-breakdown over the failed execution of a partnering combination. Trying to calm the student down and keep their head in the game, he stated, "Your grandfather just passed away and you got a phone call minutes before you step onstage to premiere the lead in Theme and Variations. That gray-haired lady seated in the orchestra paid $200 for her ticket and has no idea about your troubles. No matter what happens you must always perform to your best abilities because all the audience knows is that they paid a lot of money to see a good show." This comment seemed utterly heartless having never heard anything like it before. I remember many conversations after class where we tried to validate that what he had been saying was just downright heartless. But I can now tell you from experience, I have watched this exact story happen. I've experienced traumas and performed while reeling through an emotional life experience. It is a part of the job and our training helps us deal with this. Now, if only, as teenagers and young adults, we knew that a handful of the comments and experiences we have on the road to success are a part of the training, and not always teachers and directors playing mind games.

It is very common for students who never become professionals and professionals who never become principals to focus their anger and bitterness towards the last organization or two that they feel let them down or kept them from achieving their dream. I don't think this is avoidable and, sometimes, agree with these dancer's feelings. Unfortunately, though, these dancers got weeded out by ballet's survival of the fittest training. If your body is too weak, it will break down often. If your body doesn't fit the aesthetic, and dancers go to dangerous lengths to fit the mold, they will not make it through the training. I am always asked about anorexic and bulimic dancers, as is every professional in the field. I typically respond that there were some sick dancers while I was training. But for the most part, the career is too challenging to maintain that lifestyle and those dancers with eating problems fall apart before they finish their training or within a year of obtaining a job. If a dancer's technique isn't strong enough and they audition for years and years and eventually give up, they have been weeded out. If a dancer had everything going for them and obtains a job, but quits a year or two in because they didn't have a fairytale rise to the top, they have again been weeded out. There are so many challenges that ballet presents to dancers that make sure that the last dancers standing are those onstage and selling tickets.

It is rare to find a teacher or director that is so especially harsh that they seek to destroy a dancer's love for ballet. There are exceptions to the rule, but it isn't common. Most leaders want a dancer to succeed at what they are doing. The misinterpretation of emotional training is often the downfall of many potential dance careers. When one is involved in a school or institution, that one place becomes the dancer's entire world. My favorite example of this takes place at the dance academy where I was raised. Every year when Nutcracker casting is posted, parents call the director shouting, "WHY DIDN'T MY DAUGHTER GET CLARA." In a fair-sized school in the suburbs of Philadelphia, like clockwork, parents freak out because their child wasn't handed a role just for showing up and paying their tuition. Within days, studio gossip ensues and one small performance becomes a big ordeal, as if it is the make it or break it moment of their child's life. People forget that somebody is always going to be at the top and somebody is always going to be at the bottom. It is like this in school and it is like this in a company. It can become difficult to remember that there are hundreds of schools and companies across the country. And if a dancer is truly unhappy, they can always look elsewhere for an improved situation. Rejection and disappointment tend to be one of ballet's first emotional lessons.

If a dancer is truly talented and being overlooked, it may be time to try somewhere new or to understand that sometimes you are the best and sometimes you are the worst. And sometimes it is all a matter of needs and timing. Dancers often forget, like Valeska did, that ballet is based purely on opinion. Casting decisions and class placement often upset people because there is no formal basis to judge technique, artistry, and performance. Maybe a director put a dancer onstage for a specific role because they thought big eyes would look good in that role. Perhaps, she doesn't have the best technique, but she is intriguing to look at and intrigue sells more tickets than technique. And if the same group of dancers travel from state to state, school to school, or company to company whilst performing the same work, different opinions and choices may put completely different dancers onstage at every institution. There is no best dancer. There is, instead, I prefer this dancer.

What it comes down to is that ballet is often full of political opinion. The end goal of an institution is to put productions onstage as best they can and to please its' patrons and donors. Dancers are just pieces of a puzzle that need to be fit together. If a dancer doesn't fit in a certain part of the puzzle, then they don't fit. A company can't be so concerned about hurting a dancer's feelings that the quality of a production becomes a secondary priority. While dancer's feelings may get hurt, it is rarely personal. Ballet doesn't remember that dancers are human beings with emotions. But people do (and should). For this reason, it is the human side, or artistic staff, of an organization that is responsible in ensuring that there is still humane treatment towards a dancer who may be disappointed by casting or has been left out of a performance during their integral final years of training. This is often where emotional training fails. Instead of having a hard, potentially disappointing conversation, many company and school directors prefer to keep quiet about their reasoning. This leaves dancers to make assumptions that may be far from the truth. Maybe staff feels that they don't owe the dancer an explanation for putting them in the second cast of the corps after giving them a leading role in the last production. Or perhaps, that corps member isn't being cast well to test and see if they can handle performing less, which often occurs during the first years after promotion to soloist. Why can't a dancer just be told that they are being tested, instead of creating circumstances and sitting back to watch their reaction. Directors owe the human being, not the dancer, a reason for casting disappointments, frustrating circumstances, and mixed signals.

A great amount of emotional training happens every day in dance. I have found that, more often than not, the higher powers of dance organizations don't even realize that they are taking part in this important aspect of training. Since ballet is passed on by oral tradition, there is no text book on the exact way to train a dancer. My teachers taught me what their teachers taught them and so on and so on. Every generation tries to take the best part of their training and pass it on, while attempting to avoid passing on the worst parts of their training. But, sometimes, the harshest parts of their training were to make sure that they could survive in our stressful profession. Unfortunately, there are often better ways to go about things and those with power aren't even aware that they are doing more than just training the physicality of a dancer. If students are more aware of the emotional tests that they will be put through, they may have greater lasting power. It is really confusing for a teenager to understand that there are tests in our training, beyond how high one can developpe or how many pirouettes one can execute, if they are not made aware of it. Emotional strength is just as important a factor as technique in becoming a successful dancer.

Valeska Mosich-Miller (Photo: Patrick Fraser)

I felt for Valeska while we talked out her training trauma over tasty pork bao at a trendy L.A. eatery. And at the end of our conversation, she was shocked that she may have been ignored in school as a test to see if she could handle being ignored in a company. Or maybe she just didn't fit into the intricate puzzle of the school that year. Years and years of resentment didn't disappear, but she seemed more at ease with what was a very disheartening and hurtful time of her life. Over the last decade there has been a greater push to help preserve the bodies of dancers through proper maintenance, cross training, and better body awareness. Today, I would like to call upon the dance world to do the same thing with the dancer's mind. We need to start treating dancers with respect, openness, and honesty. There needs to be more support for teenagers who are working as high-level adults, often living on their own, and dealing with insane amounts of pressure. Bringing awareness and structure to the emotional training that is necessary to have a successful career will be the next step in extending the life of a dance career.

What do you think we can do to improve the emotional struggles that dancers experience in their training?

The Glory and Challenge of Young Success

Bowing 2nd from the left (cat outfit) w/many other successful teenagers - School of American Ballet workshop '03

Every one of us has heard these stories. 16 year old dancer is discovered by Peter Martins and named Principal dancer with New York City Ballet before she even turns 20. Preteen posts video on Youtube of himself singing and gets signed for a record deal. In fact, most of us were inspired to begin training in our art or began to pull more focus into our studies after hearing similar glory stories. While we may not all strive to be these people, who doesn't want to be showered with accolades under the premise that they are a youthful prodigy? As a culture, we glorify these kids and emulate their gifts. But more often than not, we indirectly engage in what is the downward spiral of these prodigious artists. Why is it so common for young, talented artists to struggle with their art, their decisions, and their lifestyle choices as they grow into adulthood?

While I wouldn't consider myself to be one of these prodigies, I have experienced the pressures of being very successful at a young age, as have many of my colleagues. Many professional ballet dancers are hired before they are legally adults and even more are considered seasoned before they can purchase a drink at a bar. By the time a dancer enters their 30's, if one even makes it that far, they are considered over the hill. Due to the spotlight and short span of time our careers cover, successes are usually great, lauded publicly, and die out fast. Just making it into such a cut-throat profession is a great success. And since this all happens at such a young age, nearly all dancers are used to the feeling of success and the impression it makes upon non-dancers around them.

Abby & me motivating for a performance of Swan Lake

I was speaking to one of my dearest friends, former Pacific Northwest Ballet dancer Abby Relic, via text the other day. She left the company a year after I did to pursue a broader perspective in the world of dance and acting. We have both endured struggles since we left the comfort of a big company. Some simply being life-related and others relating to our struggle to find our new place in the dance world. In the process of being each other's support system, I had responded with what was just a thoughtful response to a comment. Her response was, "So insightful!" That thought is what inspired this post and I would like to share it with you. "Being super successful young is a lot of pressure as you get older. Maintenance of those feelings becomes exponentially harder to maintain." As professional dancers, we are all super successful just for achieving a position in a world that offers few job opportunities.

It is human nature to keep pushing forward and growing. People want cities to become bigger with taller buildings. People seek to find the most cutting edge science and technology. And people want their salary to continue growing. We are innately wired to push forward and want more. If a teacher makes $50,000 a year and decides to leave the profession, they probably don't feel very good about taking a job that only pays $30,000 a year.

Feeling Puck-ish backstage w/my friend Joerg

I experienced this struggle after leaving my job at PNB. Not only was my salary one-third of what it had been, our productions didn't have a live orchestra, Pointe magazine wasn't writing about us, and our audiences were, at most, 400 people (compared to the nearly 3,000 I was accustomed to). As I began freelancing, even my successes started to feel like failures. The first time I got hired for a job, which I made happen on my own, I felt elation. By the tenth time, I wasn't happy with the quality of jobs I was being offered. At another point, I danced one of the most accomplished performances of my career. But there were only 60 people in the audience, making me feel it was less valid. Everything started becoming a comparison game. Well, this success wasn't as big as my thrilling debut (or so I was told) as Puck in Balanchine's A Midsummer Night's Dream, so it must have been a failure.

This can be the biggest challenge of being successful. Comparison of successes. Is a success a success? Or is a lesser success a failure because it is not a step up on the success ladder? Today yields a great example of this thought. Justin Bieber, love him or hate him, is an incredibly talented guy. He was discovered on Youtube, at a ripe young age, singing and playing the guitar. Being discovered was his first great success. Next, he dropped his first album. Further ahead, he had his first tour. He has won awards for his music, crossed over into a more adult fan-base, and garnered millions of dollars. But today he was arrested for a D.U.I in Miami. Over the past year, we have watched this talented young artist become the male Lindsay Lohan of the tabloids. He's considered out of control, hanging out with bad people, doing drugs, having a god-complex, etc. But if we take a step back and see what is going on, he is a victim of his own success. His successes have been so great, that it is becoming hard to live up to his own record. To the public eye, anything that he is achieving which is not perceived to be greater than what has happened before is a failure. The stress of success is great. How does one cope with that?

Bieber's story is not the first, nor will it be the last. On the dance side of things, we can look at Gelsey Kirkland's rise to stardom, drug addiction, and fall from grace. This story is documented in her book, Dancing on my Grave. Gelsey was lucky that she was able to survive the demons of her own success. Not only did her career end way too early, she fell off the face of the Earth in regards to the dance world, only to reemerge many years later to open her own school, the Gelsey Kirkland Academy of Classical Ballet. Probably enough time for her to stop comparing her former successes to her current successes. Recently, Darcey Bussel, famous former Royal Ballet ballerina, stated, "At least I'm not being compared to everything I've done in the past," in a recent article that spoke about a deep depression that she went into after retiring from the stage. Inevitably, the pressure of other's expectation of her ever-growing success became too much to bear. And I get it.

The biggest challenge of being successful is the way that people view you. At first, gaining praise for a success feels good. This motivates us to push harder to continue the flow of positive feedback that received praise. If one continues to achieve on a linear level, praise will disappear as the achievement loses it's excitement and becomes old news. As one's accomplishments grow larger and more exciting, there is less room to grow and greater expectation to continue that growth pattern. By the time an artist reaches the pinnacle of their achievements, there must be a fall. Success is fleeting because a singular success is not sustainable over a long period of time. Public pressure, whether national or local, can put so much stress on a person that they may begin to collapse. This leads to depression, burn-out, and/or self-destructive behavior.

How does one avoid the pitfalls of young success? It is challenging. First and foremost, we successful artists need to surround ourselves with people that love us for who we are, and not what we are. At times, artists may come off as cool and awkward upon meeting them. This is usually their way of assessing whether somebody wants to get to know them or get to know what they can do for them. Assessing friendships and finding people that one can trust are pertinent to keeping a level head. The next step is to stop comparing successes. This is most challenging for me. When you start comparing successes to one another, the excitement of big successes doesn't last as long and the smaller successes don't hold you up to keep you on a straight path to the exciting, big successes. One of the last things that helps keep oneself on track is to find a third party to speak to that has no stake in your success. I have recently started seeing a counselor to help me cope with the stresses of working as a traveling freelancer. My counselor doesn't just listen to what I may not be able to share with most people, they offer support, insight, and exercises to help me cope with my successes and failures.

While our culture looks at young success with wide smiles and high praise, it also relishes watching the downfall of the adult version of these young, successful artists. Many of us strive to become those artists that are at the top of their game at the earliest age possible, but steady success as we grow older seems to be underrated. Glory is good, but stressful. Surround yourself with trust and love and stop comparing yourself to yourself. You are who you are today, not yesterday. The biggest lesson I have learned in the past 3 years has been that my big successes are my trophies and my failures are, most often, actually successes that I didn't give enough value to when comparing them to my bigger achievements. Be kind to yourself and enjoy all of the success that you have had!