My mother carried me into a dance studio on her hip when I was 3 or 4 years old. I wanted to learn to tap dance. Being the mom she was, she wanted to encourage and nurture my budding interests, and so there we were, signing up for class even though the studio said I was a bit on the young side.
A decade later, she was still encouraging me to follow my passions, and we were moving to New York City and enrolling me at the Professional Performing Arts High School on 48th Street. Fast-forward another few years, and my mother was helping me move into my new apartment in Chicago, where I was joining the cast of Wicked. Now here we are in 2026, and my mother has seen every one of my 12 Broadway shows and countless other gigs and performances.
Dance has been one of the greatest gifts my mother gave to me. It is because of her encouragement and support that I was able to pursue this life. Dance has been my safe space when I’m depressed and going through a hard time, and my place of celebration and joy in the good times.
I dance because it feels like sunlight hitting my cheek. Like floating on a river. Or a warm bath. It feels like life force. Like I can move mountains. Like I can extend my body to take up more space—like I have magic and energy extending out of my limbs. Like I am in discussion with the universe.
I am a healer when I dance, and I am healed when I dance. I am in community when I dance. I am joy when I dance. I am freedom when I dance. I am responsibility when I dance. I carry traditions and history and stories when I dance. I am telling a new story when I dance. I can release. I can lock in. I can switch up the beat, change the tempo. I am in the moment.
And now, I am the mother of a sweet 5-year-old girl who asks for “dance parties” at home, and I want to give her everything. But mostly I want to give her a gift as precious as dance has been to me.
GIPHY App Key not set. Please check settings